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Chapter 9

Glibspet didn't have a secretary, and he didn't want one. Not again. The women up here got upset about the simplest little things, like his grabbing a handful when they were bent over the copier, or when they noticed that peephole in the john. Sometimes they reported him. He could deal with the law—that wasn't the problem. The problem was having all his mail misfiled, having his calls rerouted, and handing out business cards that read Glibfink Infestations for weeks before taking the time to read one. Truly, Hell's office had no fury like a secretary scorned. Still, if he'd had a secretary, he might have gotten some warning before stepping into his office and coming face to face with three of the Fallen.

One was seated at his desk, while the other two flanked him like bookends. That book would never be a bestseller. "Sit down, Glippet," the one behind the desk said, and Glibspet felt an invisible hand grip him and press down hard. His knees bent and he sank into that damned visitor's chair. He dropped the bag of Twinkies he'd been carrying and the Twinkies jumped from the torn top in a high-fat stampede. The invisible hand let him go then, but he knew better than to get up. A prudent devil didn't mess with the Fallen.

Glibspet studied the three, trying to place them in the Hierarchy. All of them were in human form, and radiantly beautiful. Two of them were manifesting as males; those he pegged after a moment as Venifar, who was standing, and Kellubrae, who had taken over his desk. The third had chosen a female persona, and looked like Grace Jones, but as far as he knew, Grace Jones was still alive—though maybe he'd been out of touch too long. He couldn't place her . . . but he could think of where he'd like to place her.

"What do you want?" Glibspet asked finally, when it became apparent that none of them were going to say anything.

"We've got a job for you, Glippet," Kellubrae said.

Glibspet squirmed on the chair. "That's Glibspet," he said.

"Whatever," Kellubrae shrugged. "You're supposed to be a detective—we need you to find somebody."

"Well, find him yourself," Glibspet snapped. "I've got all the work I need." Even as he said it, though, his mind started spinning furiously. Devils didn't mess with the Fallen . . . back in Hell, anyway. But they needed him for some reason. And if they needed him, that meant that in some way he didn't yet understand, he already held the upper hand. All he had to do was figure out why.

The Grace Jones lookalike spoke for the first time. "Glubsput, dear . . . Lucifer is personally interested in this matter." Her voice was honey golden, and her smile drew his eyes irresistibly to her form, which was ripe and suddenly seemed to promise so much. She sauntered towards him, and he smelled roses. "Trust me, little devil. You want to help us. The rewards for success will be—considerable."

Glibspet's trousers grew tight, and as quick as that, he was furious. He'd done enough manipulating to figure out when he was on the other end of a well-played line. He stood up and faced the Fallen. "I can get my own women now, thank you. I may have to pay most of the time, but it's not like at home where you and the leccubi get all the action and down in the trenches we don't even get the smell of a piece of ass for thousands of years. I work for money, and lots of it. If you've got it, I'll find this guy for you. If you think you're going to get a freebie, though, bugger off—I've got paying clients."

"Have a care, Glibspet," Venifar said. "The terms of the Unchaining may limit the Hierarchy's power here, but you will rotate back down someday."

"Yeah, and maybe the Hierarchy will have changed by then." Glibspet held his ground. "It's not like the upper levels are known for stability. Take my offer or leave it—you can pay me lots of money, or you can sniff your victim out alone." The invisible hand clutched Glibspet again, but it did not crush him, and he stared Venifar straight in the eyes.

There was some kind of communication between the Fallen then, and the invisible hand loosened. "All right," Kellubrae said. "Your terms—for now. What you have to do . . ."

"Wait a second," Glibspet said. "My terms are, I sit in my chair, with you on the other side of my desk. Move it." He walked over to his chair and shook it. Kellubrae gave him a look that promised many things, all of them unpleasant, but the fallen angel moved. Glibspet sat down and put his feet up on the desk. "Hey, sweet tits," he said, "toss me a Twinkie."

 

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