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Lucy in Love

Hank Quense

     Lucy, nee Lucrezia Borgia, sat at her desk in the small office.  Besides the desk and chair, the Spartan workplace contained a battered file cabinet and a droopy potted plant.  Through the front plate glass window she watched people hustle past on the sidewalks of Manhattan’s Upper West Side.  The window needed cleaning and, like the Italians in the 1500’s, so did many of the pedestrians.  

     In the rear office, her father, Pope Alexander VI, a.k.a.  Rodrigo Borgia, fussed around, nervous about the first day of business because Satan had expressed an interest in the operation and wanted reports.  Satan hated failure, and as Pope, Alex had demonstrated success in only one area: raising money to wage wars. 

     A short, skinny man in jeans, a tattered sweat shirt and a baseball cap with a white NY on it, stopped to look at the sign in the window that read Malevolent Money Management.  He squinted through the glass and saw her.  She waved at him. 

     Seconds later, he stood in front of her desk and asked, “You do loans?”  Despite the warmth of the late spring weather, he shivered beneath his sweat shirt.

     “Yes, we do, and we have very competitive rates.”

     “I need money.”  The man spoke in a croaky voice.

     “Your name?”
     “Juan Gomez.”

     Lucy punched a number into the phone.  “I have a client who wants a loan.  Are you available to speak with him?”

     “Send him in,” Alex replied.

     “Follow me, please.”  Lucy stood and smoothed the old-fashioned pleated skirt she wore, the most modern garment she could find in Hell’s wardrobe department.  She simply had to go shopping.  She opened the door and stood aside for the client to enter.  “This is Mr.  Gomez,” she said to Alex before she took a seat to watch how Alex dealt with his first client. 

     Gomez stood at the door, shocked by the sight of Alex who wore a white cassock and had a full beard that reached below his chest.  It reminded people of a squirrel’s nest.  Alex had a beak of a nose so great that in profile he resembled a bird of prey.   Lucy wanted him to wear a business suit but Alex refused, saying that as a Pope, he was entitled to wear the white cassock.

     “Good day, Mr. Gutterez,” Alex said,

     “Gomez.” 

     Lucy silently groaned as Alex blinked, frowned, and said, “Our standard loan is five thousand dollars for three years.  Do you understand?”
     Gomez nodded.

     “Do you have any collateral, Mr. Gonzelves?”
     “Gomez.  No I don’t.”

     “Gomez, you say.  I thought I had a meeting with Gonzelves.”  Alex looked at Lucy.  “Where is he?” 

     “There is no Gonzelves.”   She shook her fist at Alex.  “There’s just Mr. Gomez.”

     Alex started and turned away from Lucy’s glare.  “Well.  With no collateral, I’m afraid we’ll have to apply our top interest rate to this loan.”  Alex extracted a sheet of paper from a folder.  “Your payments,” he read, “calculated at one percent interest, will be $141.04 per month.”  Reaching into a drawer, he took out a blank contract and filled it in.  “Look this over carefully.  Our company is very adamant about on-time monthly payments.” 

     Gomez glanced through the paper. 

     “If you’ll sign,” Alex gave him a toothy smile, “my assistant will write a check in your name for five big ones.”

     “I don’t get cash?”

     “Of course not.  If we kept large amounts of cash in the office, every criminal in Northern Manhattan would be lined up outside our door to steal it.”

     Gomez sighed and, with a shaky hand, scrawled an illegible signature.  

      Lucy took him to her desk and typed a check.  “This is drawn on Diablo Off-Shore Trust Company in the Bahamas.”   Diablo, run by dead bankers, was Hell’s biggest money launderer.  It generated a ton of cash for other ventures.  “Have a nice day, Mr. Gomez.”

     Gomez looked euphoric as he took the check and left.

     Lucy sat back in her chair pondering the remote chance of Gomez ever making a payment.  The fine print, exceptionally fine print, in the contract stipulated the loss of his soul if he was late with a payment.  Satan insisted that the condition be added to all contracts issued by his realm.  It was part of his Ambivalent Truthfulness campaign designed to counter Heaven’s propaganda about Hell’s deceit.

     She sensed a presence in the office and felt a tendril of trepidation.  She focused her eyes on a building across 73^rd Street while scanning the room with her peripheral vision.  For an instant, she glimpsed a pair of small wings.  A cherub!  Just opened and already Heaven spied on the loan office. 

     Lucy stood in front of a full length mirror in her apartment above the loan office.  The Real Estate Division, staffed by late industry executives and experts, owned the three-story town house and made it available for Alex’s operation.  The Division had grown into the biggest slum-lord in the city and produced a steady stream of souls because of the late rent payment provision in its leases.

     She twisted in different directions to get a better look at the clinging, low cut dress that came from Sak’s Fifth Avenue.  Earlier, Lucy had gone on a midnight shopping spree at the closed store and came home with six shopping bags of new clothes.  She liked the contrast between the black material, her dark blonde hair, and her olive complexion.

     Her elation over the new clothes clashed with her uneasiness about the loan operation.  Alex gave out twelve loans on the first day.  Every one of them went to people who were alcoholics or drug addicts destined for Hell with or without a loan.  She had warned Alex this was the wrong neighborhood, but he refused to listen to advice from a woman.

     Click.  Bang.  “Damn!”

     The noise came from Alex’s apartment upstairs.  The apartments contained shotgun-style rooms, each room behind the other with the kitchen in the rear and a living room in the front.

     The annoying thing about the loan operation was that it was her idea.  She had touted it as a guaranteed way to improve Hell’s market share in souls, but when she presented it to Satan, he put Alex in charge because she was only a woman.

     Click.  Bang.  “Hells Bells!”

     Her father must be hitting golf balls in the kitchen, trying to pitch them into the front room.

     She looked back at the mirror and giggled.  The men in Renaissance Italy would go crazy if they saw her.  The spaghetti straps alone would have the Inquisition sniffing around.  The Renaissance!  What a wasted life she had back then.  Married for the first time before her boobs had blossomed.  Married twice after that.  Each marriage had been arranged by her father as part of a treaty designed to strengthen the Papacy’s temporal powers.  Her husbands weren’t bad men but she had never loved any of them.  Her father had always ended the marriages, legally or fatally, so he could use her as a bargaining chip in another alliance.

     Click.  “Yes! -- Uh-oh.”

     The sound of a breaking window was followed by a metallic thump and a howling car alarm.  More of Alex’s irresponsibility.  She had to give him credit for constancy. 

     After Alex died, Satan appointed him Hell’s chief-of-staff to piss-off Heaven at the joint meetings that took place every hundred years.  Alex, dressed in papal regalia, always outraged Heaven’s emissaries.  She had ended up in Hell because of Alex’s insistence.  He had her appointed as Satan’s personal secretary. 

     She sighed.  If nothing else happened during her time here, she hoped some guy would make love to her.  If it happened, it would be the first time a man made love to her instead of taking his pleasure.  All she had ever experienced were contrived arrangements between a woman and a man. 

     The next morning, Lucy sat at her desk in a short skirt and a tight blue sweater that matched her eyes. 

     The door opened and a tubby man in a wrinkled suit entered.  Lucy smiled at him until he pulled out a badge and flashed it in her face.  “Gafney.  Buildin’ Inspector.  You gotta CO?”

     “A what?”
     “Certificate of Occupancy.  You gotta have one of them to legally open a business.  Let’s see it.”

     “We misplaced it.”  Lucy gave him a dejected look and batted her eyes.

     He ignored her and examined the ceiling.  “No sprinklers.  No smoke detectors.”  He barged into Alex’s office without knocking.  He disregarded Alex who sat at his desk reading Penthouse magazine.  “No emergency exit.”

     “Who is this cretin?”  Alex said. 

     “This is Mr. Gafney, a building inspector.  It seems our office doesn’t pass his inspection.”

     Alex raised an eyebrow.

     “That’s right, lady.  I’m shuttin’ you down until you get the work done.”

     “Umm, perhaps Mr. Gafney could use a loan.”  She gave Alex a warning look.  “At a very low interest rate.”

     Gaffney looked at her with a quizzical expression on his face.

     Alex looked at her with an astonished expression on his face.

     “How much and how low?”  Gafney asked.

     “Let’s say five thousand for five years at one percent interest?”  Lucy ignored her father’s open-mouthed stare.

     “One percent interest.”  Gafney rubbed his chin.  “I can get a lot more than that by investing the five thou.”

     “Oh.”  Lucy put a hand on Gafney’s arm.  “You men are so clever.  How do you come up with these money schemes so fast?”

     Alex recovered, opened a folder and ran a finger down a page.  “That comes out to $85.47 a month repayment.”  He took out a blank contract.

     “I’m sure we don’t need a contract with Mr. Gafney.”  Lucy made a face at her father behind Gafney’s back.  “A handshake is all we need to do business with a man like him.”

     “I don’t see any buildin’ violations.”  Gafney gave her a wink.  “I’ll mail you a CO when I get back to my office.”

     “If you’ll come to my desk, I’ll give you a check.  Made out to ‘cash’ of course.”

     At her desk, Lucy wrote out the check while asking, “How did you know we were open?” 

     “Funny thing.  I gotta phone call about you.”

     “Really.  Who called?”

     “Don’t know.  It was anonymous.”

     Lucy mouthed swear words much favored by Renaissance Romans.

     “Whoever it was must have used a cell phone inna church.”

     “Why’s that?”

     “I could hear this singin’ in the background.  It was .  .  .  that chantin’ stuff.”
     “Gregorian chant?”  Lucy’s anxiety grew.

     “Yeah, that’s the stuff.”  He accepted the check from Lucy.  “Thanks for the loan,” he said on his way to the door.  “See you next year.”  

     Lucy slammed her palm on her desk as soon as Gafney closed the door.  Heaven wanted to close them down.  Why?  Heaven should be more worried about the real estate business or Hell’s money laundering in its Caribbean banks.  They were much more dangerous to Heaven’s market share as were the deceased lawyers who managed to clandestinely alter contracts with soul-binding clauses.  Not to mention the late-lamented ministers who preached Reformed Satanism as an alternative to the boredom of Heaven.  What was so important about this obscure loan operation?

     “Lucy, my dear,” Alex said from the doorway.  “You just bribed an official.  Bribery is a man’s work and it is unseemly for a woman to do it.”

     “Unseemly?”  Lucy counted to ten, then turned and glared at her father.  “What’s unseemly is your bias towards women.”

     While Lucy read the New York Times the next morning, Alex practiced his putting on his office rug.  He regularly played on Hell’s golf course.  Carved into the side of an active volcano, the course – nineteen miles, six holes, par 525 – featured bubbling lava pits instead of sand traps.

     Two beefy men walked in wearing jeans, t-shirts, and tattoos.  One looked to be in his thirties and the other in his twenties. 

     “May I help you?”

     “Yeah, stay out of the way,” the older one said while scanning the office.  “Over there.”  He pointed to Alex’s door.

     “Wait,” Lucy said.  “You don’t have an appointment.”

     They crashed into the office and she heard one say, “Time to retire, old man.”  

     When Lucy heard Alex’s putter hit the wall, she grabbed the phone and dialed 666.

     “Special Services.  Beelzebub speaking.”

     “Bubba.  It’s Lucy.  I need four imps right away.”

     “What’s going on?”
     “Two thugs are beating up Alex.”

     “Alex, huh? How about I send the imps tomorrow?”
     “If they’re not here in thirty seconds, I’m calling the boss.”

     “Just joking.  They’re on their way.”

     The imps arrived as Lucy hung up.  Each of the three-foot hairless, jade green creatures had a set of teeth that would make a piranha jealous.  “This way.”  She led them into Alex’s office just as the young thug punched Alex in the gut.  Alex, already sporting a black eye, folded up and groaned.  “Leave the guy with the white beard alone but get the other two.”

     One imp jumped on the younger man’s shoulders and tried to pull off his scalp.  The second imp bit his buttocks.  The man roared and reached up to get the imp away from his head, but only succeeded in getting his hand bitten.  He tripped, bounced off a wall and collapsed in a heap.

     The other two imps attacked the second man and grabbed mouthfuls of bicep and thigh.  The thug screamed, released Alex, and tumbled to the ground.

     Alex smoothed his cassock as if nothing had happened.  

     “That’s enough for now.”  Lucy positioned the imps to attack again and said to the younger man.  “Who sent you?”

     The guy said nothing.

     “You better tell me now.”  Lucy smiled.  “Because after an imp rips out your throat, you won’t be able to.”

     An imp leaned closer and sniffed the man’s throat.

     “We don’t know who he is.” 

     “Yeah,” the second one added.  “He comes up to us and gives us five hundred to do the job.  Didn’t tell us his name and we didn’t ask.”

     “What did he looked like?”

     “Weird.”  The younger one said.

     “Yeah.  Really tall.  About six-six.”

     “And he had his head shaved.”

     Lucy crossed her arms and took a deep breath.

     “He had these strange eyes,” the older one said.  “Like they had lights behind them or somethin’.” 

     “Yeah, it hurt your eyes to look at his.”

     Lucy’s irritation climbed.  Michael, Heaven’s war-chief.  But why?  She nudged the young one with a toe.  “You two can leave.  Make sure you don’t come back.”

     Alex crossed the room, picked up his putter, and examined it.  “I was sure those ruffians had bent it.”

     Lucy went back to her desk.  “I want you guys to stick around,” she told the imps.  “Catch the cherub that’s spying on us.”  She sensed more trouble was on the way, for still unknown reasons.  The use of violence by Heaven shocked her.  Was nothing sacred anymore?

     A few minutes later, one of the imps squawked, jumped onto a file cabinet, and leaped in the air.  He fell to the floor holding a cherub by its leg.  The angel had a Mohawk cut, wore a black leather jacket covered with metal studs, and looked more scared than tough.

     Lucy stared at the figure and asked, “Why is Michael doing this?”

     “I’m not telling you.”  The angel scoffed. 

     “All you cherubim act like male gangsters these days.  Let’s see how tough you are after I make you look like a girlie cherub.  I’ll put a dress and panty hose on you.  Add some lipstick and eyeliner and let you go.  I’m sure your punk friends will be very interested in how you got that way.”
     “No!”  The cherub’s eyes became as big as billiard balls.  “You wouldn’t do that, would you?”

     Lucy shrugged.  “I will unless you tell me what I want to know.”

     The angel sighed and said, “Michael was ordered to get that guy who used to be Pope.”

     “Alex? Why?”
     “He was the worst Pope in history.”

     “Well, that’s true.”  Alex spent most of his time as Pope auctioning Church offices and selling Papal Indulgences to raise money to fight wars against other Italian city-states.  When not involved with those schemes, he found time to impregnate a few of Rome’s prostitutes.

     “He betrayed Heaven and broke his vows.  Michael has to mess up whatever he’s doing.  Maybe even destroy the guy.”

     “Michael hired thugs to beat up Alex.  Since when does Heaven allow him to commit crimes?”

     “Michael was told to do whatever he had to do.” 

     “Let him go,” Lucy told the imps.  So now she knew.  Alex’s sordid past had came back to haunt him.  Heaven wanted revenge for all of Alex’s nasty deeds while he ruled the Vatican and much of Italy.  That wasn’t really surprising.  The shocker was the methods Heaven used to retaliate.

     Taking a lunch break, Lucy left the office and walked to nearby Central Park.  On the way, she stopped at an Italian deli and bought a chunk of salami, some mortadella, and a wedge of provolone cheese.  She carried an uncorked half-bottle of Chianti wine in a paper sack.  Underneath many of the trees in the park, masses of red and yellow tulips waved in a slight May breeze.  Jonquils, in a riot of colors, grew everywhere, giving the park a festive look.

     She found a bench, sat down, fished a pocket knife out of the sack, and cut a slice of salami.  The spicy taste and aroma brought back memories of sitting in the ducal gardens in Ferrara.  That happy earlier time contrasted with her present foreboding.  She wasn’t going to be around long enough to have an affair.  Just her luck to finally get back here only to get a taste of life without any time to enjoy it. 

     Alex’s loan operation was turning into a disaster.  Not only was Heaven out to screw it up, but everyone who applied for a loan was certain to go to Hell without any help from Alex.  When Satan visited the shop tomorrow for a status report, he was sure to spot this flaw. 

     She needed a plan to rescue the loan venture.  It was the only way she could stay around long enough to have an affair.  The first step would be get rid of her father so Michael would stop interfering.  How was she going to do that without insulting Alex?  The man had an enormous ego, even though there was no reason for him to have one.  Her only hope was to convince Satan that her original business model was better than Alex’s.  She didn’t think her chances were too good.

     Lucy barely made it back to the office before three uniformed officers from NYPD burst in.

     “Where’re the dogs?”  The first cop looked pugnacious.

     “Dogs?”  Lucy was taken back.  “What dogs?”

     “Listen.  We have two guys who were mauled by dogs.  They’re inna hospital gettin’ sewed up and they gave this address.  Now, where’re the dogs?”

     “There are no dogs here.  I don’t know what you're talking about.”

     “Search the shop,” he ordered the other two.  He had a weary expression, as if he didn’t expect any cooperation.

     Lucy turned toward Alex’s office.  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a man in a suit walk in from the street and wave to the cops.  A detective she assumed as she hustled into Alex’s office and said, “These policemen are looking for dogs.”

     “Dogs?”  Alex blinked.  “How absurd!  I hate dogs.  I’m a cat person.”

     “Where do you live?”  the first cop asked.

     “Upstairs,” Lucy said.

     “We have to look.”

     “The key is in my desk.  I’ll get it for you.”  She brushed passed the detective, opened a drawer and handed the key to the officer who said, “C’mon.  We’ll search the apartments.”  All three left. 

     She sat down and looked at the detective.  He looked at her.  Both stared into the other’s eyes.

     Lucy felt dizzy.  Her stomach lurched and her groin tingled.  The guy reminded her of the first crush she had as a ten-year-old.  She wondered what had happened to that young nobleman.

     The detective grew pale and put a hand on the file cabinet as if steadying himself.

     Lucy took a couple of deep breaths to slow down her back-flipping heart.  This guy was IT.  He was tall and slender with a slight bulge at his gut.  He had brown hair and eyes and even, white teeth.  His features were more rugged than handsome.  And he didn’t wear a wedding ring.

     The guy looked as if someone had clubbed him in the back of the head.

     Lucy had to act before he got away.  She smiled and said, “The answer to your two questions are ‘No’ and ‘Yes’.”

     He frowned.  “What --” He cleared his throat.  “-- questions?  You’re not talking about the dogs, are you?”

     “No, I’m not.  Your first question is, ‘Are you busy tonight?’ and the second is, ‘Want to have dinner with me?’”

     He frowned again.

     Lucy experienced a pang of despair.  Maybe she had been too forward with him.  “Unless you’re busy.  Or don’t want to have dinner with me.”

     “No. . . I mean yes. . . Wait.  I’m not busy and I’d love to take you to dinner.”

     “Pick me up at seven? What’s your name?”

     “Vinny Risotto.  Seven is fine.  What’s your name?”

     “Lucy Borgia.”

     They exchanged pleasantries until the cops returned.

     “Ain’t no dogs up there,” the one in charge said to Vinny.  “No water bowls and no dog food in the closets.  Know what I think?”

     “Tell me,” Vinny said. 

     “Those two jokers busted into someone’s house and got chewed up by guard dogs.  They gave us this address to throw us off.  We gotta ask them some more questions before they leave the hospital.”

     “I think you’re right.  Let’s go,” Vinny said.  He followed the cops out the door but paused before shutting it and turned to Lucy.  “See you later.”

     Lucy blew him a kiss.

     Lucy lay in bed in Vinny’s apartment in Manhattan’s Inwood section.  He slept alongside her.  Lucy beamed at the memory of a great evening.  Vinny was the first man she ever met who believed that sex was something to be enjoyed by both partners.  She had never experienced an orgasm with her three husbands, but tonight she had two.

     She had worn a slinky red dress and exotic underwear, clothes that would have gotten her burned at the stake in the 1500’s.  In Chinatown, they had dined on steamed vegetable dumplings, Szechwan shrimp, and Hunan chicken.  Afterwards, they bought a bottle of wine and went to Vinny’s apartment. 

     Vinny, divorced and without any children, faced one of life’s turning points.  Next month, he would have twenty years with NYPD and planned to retire, but he wasn’t sure what to do after that. 

     Her mood shifted when she thought about Alex and the problems with his loan venture.  She wanted to stay here and spend more time -- a lot more time -- with Vinny, but this assignment was about to end.  Tomorrow, when Satan found out that Michael harassed Alex and that Alex handed out loans to dubious clients, they would both be back in Hell.  Her only chance to remain here was to convince Satan that the operation had failed because of Alex’s intransigence in following a woman’s advice.  But, how could she persuade him to let her run the loan business? If she explained how to operate it successfully, his instinct would be to put another man in charge. 

     She pulled the blankets up to her chin.  Face it.  Tonight was her last night on Earth.  Nothing was going to change that.  Maybe she should wake up Vinny and have some more fun.  It would be her last opportunity for at least another millennium.

     A sudden idea made her sit up in bed.  Her mouth dropped open in surprise.  If the boss let her stay here to run the operation, maybe she could have another child.  The thought of motherhood brought a flood of emotions she hadn’t felt in so long she forgot she had ever experienced them. 

     The possibility of another child fortified her determination to stay here.  She had to convince Satan that modern times called for modern methods, like women in charge.  If it worked, she would have a shot at true love, happiness, and motherhood.

     She ticked off on her fingers what she wanted from Satan tomorrow.  First, permission to run the loan business according to her original design.  Second, no male supervision.  Third, at least forty years on earth.

     Now, that was a set of objectives worth fighting for.

     Just in case she was unsuccessful in reaching her goals, she shook Vinny’s shoulder.

     Satan showed up before the shop opened. 

     He acknowledged Lucy with a nod and walked into Alex’s office.  Dressed casually in slacks, a knit shirt, and sneakers with a red cape draped across his shoulders, Satan reserved the red suit, horns, tail and pitchfork for formal occasions like the meetings with Heaven.  Tall and well-built, he looked ordinary except for his eyes which frequently acted like miniature black holes, sucking up light.  When in a good mood like now, his face was visible, but when his anger grew, so did the darkness.  Enraged, his head and upper torso would be hidden in a black cloud.

     She followed him into the office.

     “I’m glad you’re here, Master,” Alex said.  “My loan store is an unqualified success.”

     “Really?”  Satan chuckled.  “With your record, claims of success make me nervous.”

     Alex nodded.

     Lucy sighed.  Her father always played the sycophant. 

     “Look at this.”  Alex picked up a sheath of papers.  “Thirty signed contracts.  I’ll wager not one of them makes all the payments on time.”

     “Hmm.  Most surprising.  I suppose Lucy is responsible for this success?”

     Alex almost choked.  “She’s nothing but a clerk.  I tell you, my business plan is brilliantly coming to fruition.”  A red-faced Alex picked up his putter and ran his hand down the shaft. 

     All three jumped when the front window shattered inward and four sticks of dynamite with burning fuses rolled across the floor.

     “That’s an awfully big firecracker,” Alex said just before the dynamite exploded.

     Once the smoke cleared, Lucy saw the blast had destroyed the office.

    Alex sobbed.  His white cassock was a smoldering rag and the contracts were ashes.  His putter was wrapped around a lamp stand.  He picked it up, tried to straighten it, then threw it to the ground in disgust.  “My favorite putter.”  He looked crest-fallen.  

     Satan stared at Alex for a few moments.  “I think the pressure of the job is getting to you, Alex.  Why don’t you go play a few rounds of golf?”

      “You’re right.  These times are treacherous compared to the simple days in Rome.”  Alex cheered up.  “Lucy can clean this mess.”

      Satan waved his hand and Alex disappeared.

      Sirens sounded in the distance.

      Lucy noticed that the explosion had ripped off her clothes.  She was naked while Satan’s clothes were untouched.  “A gentleman would offer me his cape until I can get more clothes.”

     “What happened here?”  Satan asked, handing her the cape.  

     “Michael did this.”

     “Michael?  Why would that underachiever do this?”

     “Heaven hates Alex for all the wicked things he did while he was Pope and it ordered Michael to sabotage anything Alex does on earth.”

     “I don’t believe it.  Heaven is migrating towards lawlessness while we’re moving into legitimate businesses.  .  .  well, semi-legitimate businesses.”

     “I’ll be right back,” Lucy said.  “Don’t go away.  We have to talk about this loan business.”
     When she returned in slacks and a blouse, she said, “All of Alex’s contracts were useless.  Those people would have ended up in your domain anyway.  I know how to make this loan business impact on your market share.”
     “You always were a lot smarter than your father.”  Satan paced the office, kicking debris out of his way.  “All right.  I’ll send somebody else up here.  You fill him in.”

     “No.”  She held her breath.

     “No?”  Satan was so shocked he stopped pacing and stared at her with his mouth open.

     “It’s my plan.”  Lucy stood with her hands on her hips.  “I want to run it.”

     “You’re a woman.”

     “It’s the twenty-first century.  Women run corporations now.  Women are judges, police officers, lawyers, soldiers, politicians.  Women can do anything they want and I want to run a business.  This business.”

     “How droll.” 

     “Well?”  Lucy could barely contain her excitement.  She almost bounced on her toes.  Satan hadn’t rejected her plan yet.

     “Convince me you’ll do things differently than Alex.”

     “I’ll open up in neighborhoods where people go to church.  Most of them end up in Heaven.  But I’ll be looking for a neighborhood where the folks experience financial problems.  Lower middle-class in other words.  They’ll be desperate for low interest loans.  But you have to keep Alex in Hell.”

     “I’ll give you a year.”

     “That won’t do any good.  To put a dent in Heaven’s market share, I’ll need franchises everywhere, and it’ll take years to get them up and running.  I'll need at least forty.”   She started making a mental list of things to do.

     “Lucy!”  Vinny ran into the office.  “Are you all right?”

     Satan faded from human view.

     “Yeah.  I’m fine.  I was upstairs.”

     Vinny looked around at the damage.  “I heard about the blast at the station house and drove over to see if you were okay.”

      “How sweet.”  Lucy patted his cheek.  “Listen, I’m tied up right now.  How about dinner tonight?  I’ll need a strong shoulder to help me through this mess.”

      “Sure.  Seven?”

      Lucy nodded just as the NYFD trucks pulled up in swirl of noise and yelling.

      “The bomb squad will ask a lot of questions.”  Vinny raised an eyebrow as if he had a few of his own.

      “I’ll explain tonight.”

      Vinny nodded, then turned and left the ruined shop.

      “Who’s that?”  Satan asked.

      “He doesn’t know it yet, but next month he’ll be my chief of security.”

      “Is it serious?”

      “Very serious.”  Lucy smiled at Satan.  "And I'd like to have a baby with him.  All right?"

      "All right.  I'll make it happen."  Satan stroked his chin.  “Well, that explains why you’re so anxious to stay and run the business.  When you get back to Hell, someone else will be my secretary.”

      “When I come back to Hell, maybe I’ll fight to get my old job back.”

      “I look forward to seeing that.”  He patted her shoulder.  “Good luck, girl.”  He disappeared.

Hank--assisted by his faithful mutt, Manny--writes Science Fiction and Fantasy stories (along with an occasional writing article) from Bergenfield, NJ. All of these stories are humorous or satiric because he refuses to write serious genre stories. He feels that folks who crave serious Fantasy and SF can get a full measure in any daily newspaper. In the spirit of disclosure, Hank reports that all of the story ideas (the good ones anyway) come from Manny. Hank merely translates the dog’s ideas into a manuscript.

Hank can be reached via e-mail at hanque99@verizon.net while Manny refuses to get an internet address until someone develops a paw-friendly keyboard. The pair of them have sold stories to Andromeda Spaceways, Here and Now, Cyberpulp, Fantastical Visions, Neo-opsis, Irish Fantasy Quarterly, Faeries (France), Jupiter World Press, and Electric Spec, as well as several anthologies.

Visit their website at http://hankquense.com