The Devil Never Waits
Dream World – February 1957
(1957)*
Randall Garrett

	Ed MacMurty got tired of waiting for streetcars, subways, and taxis. So the man in the black suit said, "Chum, you won't never have to wait for nothing nohow—ever again!" Ed thought his problems were solved. Do you agree? Whatever you decide, don't bet on it until you read this story.

-

	Ed MacMurty jammed his token into the subway turnstile, charged through it like an angry bull, and plowed his way through the crowd toward the train platform.

	He hadn't noticed the man in the black topcoat who had been knocked aside in his rush, and he wouldn't have cared if he had.

	The gentleman in the black topcoat picked up his soft black hat from the pavement and gazed speculatively after the retreating figure of Ed MacMurty. An oddly unpleasant smile crossed his face.

	Ed, meanwhile, barreled toward his train. But before he reached it, the doors slid shut, and the train rumbled off into the darkness of the tunnel, leaving Ed MacMurty snarling furiously after it.

	"There'll be another along in three minutes," said a smooth voice behind him.

	Ed turned to see a man clad entirely in black. Coat, hat, topcoat, trousers, shoes, socks, shirt, necktie—all black. Ed had thought he was a priest at first, but when a faint smile crossed the other's face, he knew he was wrong.

	Even the man's hair was black, and his eyes were like polished obsidian.

	Somehow, without knowing how he knew, Ed MacMurty was aware of the identity of the man who stood before him. But Ed MacMurty was a brave man; he simply looked at the man and said: "Three minutes is too long."

	"Perhaps it is for you, MacMurty. I, myself, have waited much longer."

	"I dare say," agreed MacMurty. "But you've got more time than I." Then he narrowed his eyes. "These are all your inventions, I dare say. Subways and trains and busses and planes—all your inventions. A man has to get to the station and wait; then he gets on the train and he waits. All that time wasted when a man could be doing his business. Yes, they're your inventions, all right."

-

	The Man in Black looked thoughtful. "I'll not deny, MacMurty, that there may be a germ of truth in what you say. And since you dislike them so, I'm going to do you a favor; I'll relieve you of the necessity of using them. Goodbye, MacMurty."

	"I'm asking no favors of you, sir!" shouted MacMurty.

	"Yeeeek! How—how did you get—where did you come from, Mr. MacMurty?"

	MacMurty realized with a sudden shock that he was no longer standing in the subway station. He was in his office, and, standing directly before him was his secretary, Louise Alder.

	She had had her back turned toward him when he appeared from nowhere, but when she heard his voice, the reaction was violent. To MacMurty, it seemed as though she must have sprained her back in turning so fast.

	He saw that she had been arranging his morning mail. Some pieces scattered.

	"I—ah—just walked in," said MacMurty.

	As the shock wore off, Miss Alder's eyes took on a look of suspicion. "Oh? I see, sir. I'll go now, if you don't—uh—want me anymore."

	MacMurty, thoroughly flustered, mumbled, "All right," and walked over to his hat-rack. He took off his hat and coat and sat down to take care of the mail.

	It was less than fifteen minutes before there was a rap on the door. It was Guilfoyle, the senior partner; a tall, cadaverous man who contrasted oddly with MacMurty's bull-like rotundity.

	"What seems to be the trouble between you and Miss Alder, Mac?"

	MacMurty lifted his brows. "Trouble? What trouble?"

	"Well, I overheard her say to one of the other girls that you sneaked in early this morning as though you were trying to catch her at something," Guilfoyle said in a funereal voice. "Has her work been unsatisfactory in any way, Mac?"

	"Of course not!" MacMurty thundered. "What's the matter with that girl?"

	Guilfoyle shrugged and backed out the door. "You'd better clear it up with her, then," he said as he closed the door. "Don't want to lose a good employee over a misunderstanding."

	MacMurty stood up. "I'll go see her immediately."

	Without moving—Pop!

	MacMurty was standing in a room he had never seen before. It smelled faintly of perfume. Miss Alder was standing in front of a mirror, applying lipstick, and MacMurty's sudden appearance startled her so much that she smeared the crimson stuff all over her cheek.

	"Mr. MacMurty! What are you doing in the ladies' lounge?"

	"I—I—ay! yi! Ladies' lounge?" MacMurty suddenly wished he were home in bed.

	He felt suddenly dizzy—diz—

-

	MacMurty's older sister, Belinda, was sweeping the floor outside her brother's bedroom when she heard something bounce on the bed. "Darn that cat," she said, "I've told him to stay off—" She flung the door open wide. Her eyes did likewise, and, a moment later, her mouth followed suit. "Edwin MacMurty! What do you mean, being in bed with your shoes on? Get out of there this very instant!"

	MacMurty leaped out of the bed with alacrity, for his sister Belinda was the one woman in the world who could bellow louder than he.

	Belinda speared him with a cold eye. "Why aren't you at the office?"

	"Never you mind!" snorted MacMurty. "I'll thank you to remember that this room is my own. I have thinking to do, Belinda, so close the door behind you, if you please."

	Taken somewhat aback, Belinda did as she was bid. But not without sniffing loudly as she closed the door.

	"Now," said MacMurty, to himself, "what the devil is this all about?"

	It seemed, apparently, that any time he wanted to go somewhere—he got dizzy and—there he was. Well, now, that was a theory easily tested.

	"I want to go across the room," said MacMurty.

	Nothing happened.

	"Very well, then, I want to go out in the hall."

	Still nothing happened.

	And that was very odd, because it was farther from his bedroom to the hall than it was from his office to the ladies' lounge. Evidently distance had nothing to do with it.

	"I want to go to my office!" The dizziness again.

-

	He was back in his office, which, fortunately for him, was empty. Determinedly, he strode over to his hatrack, took his hat and topcoat and strode toward the door. "I'm going out in the hall," he announced to the empty office.

	Again, nothing happened.

	He strode through the outer office, heading for the elevators.

	Miss Alder ran up to him. "Wait, Mr. MacMurty; where are you going?"

	"To Murphy's Bar," he said, on sudden impulse. He started to tell her he could be phoned there, but—

	MacMurty swayed ...

-

	He was standing near his favorite booth in the dim rear of Murphy's Bar & Grill. He glanced around furtively, but, luckily, no one had seen him.

	He'd have to watch himself, he thought as he sat down, because if he simply went popping in and out of places, it could become downright embarrassing, to say the least. He could well imagine how he would feel if someone kept vanishing and appearing all over the place without rhyme nor reason. It wasn't natural, at all!

	He knew well enough who was behind it all—but how did anyone go about dealing with such a personage as that?

	"What'll it be, Mr. MacMurty?" said a voice. "I didn't see you come in."

	MacMurty looked up at the tall figure of Houlihan, the bartender.

	"The usual, Houlihan," said MacMurty disconsolately. "And make it double this time."

	When Houlihan returned with the double Irish, he sat it down before his customer and said: "Not that it's any business of mine, Mr. MacMurty, but it's not well at all you're looking."

	"I shouldn't doubt it," said MacMurty. "I've been doing too much rushing around."

	Houlihan shook his head. "A young fellow like you working himself sick. That's not good at all, Mr. MacMurty. Why don't you take a vacation? Why not go to Mexico or somewhere?"

	"I'd like to," said MacMurty before he realized what he was saying.

	He scowled. That blasted dizziness—

-

	He was standing near an adobe Spanish-style villa. Facing him were two dark-faced men in sombreros who were staring at him, bug-eyed.

	"Que es esto?" one of them asked, quivering.

	"El Diablo!" shouted the other in fear.

	"Madre de Dios!" moaned the first.

	"Back to Murphy's!" bellowed MacMurty.

	Pop!

-

	Houlihan the bartender was still standing there. He blinked. "Now that I consider a good trick, Mr. MacMurty," he said. "Would you mind telling me how you did it?"

	MacMurty groaned. "Houlihan, I swear to you, it wasn't I who did it. I—"

	There was a sudden commotion at the front door, and MacMurty and Houlihan both swiveled their heads. It was, of all people, Miss Louise Alder, who was marching toward the rear of the bar with a determined click of her high heels. "So there you are!" she said when she spied MacMurty. "Boy, am I glad I found you!"

	"What is it, Miss Alder?" MacMurty asked sadly. "More trouble, I suppose?"

	She smiled at him. "Mr. MacMurty, I've been your private secretary for five years; I suspected there was something wrong with you when you came in this morning. But now I'm sure of it; I was positive when you vanished in the hall."

	MacMurty downed his whiskey and indicated to Houlihan that he should refill it. "I don't—" he started to say.

	But Houlihan, pouring the drink, looked at Miss Alder and said: "Vanished? Then he pulled it on you, too? It's a very good trick."

	"It's no trick," said Miss Alder.

	MacMurty perked up suddenly. "How do you know it's no trick?"

	"Because—" She leaned forward. "—when you appeared and disappeared in the ladies' lounge, there was a definite aroma of sulfur dioxide left afterwards."

	Houlihan looked puzzled. "Sulphur dioxide? And what might that be?"

	"Burning brimstone!" Miss Alder whispered.

	"Aaahah!" said Houlihan, eyeing MacMurty suspiciously.

	"It's not my fault!" MacMurty protested; "Listen, I was walking—well, running to catch ..."

	He proceeded to tell them what had happened from the time he met the Man in Black up to his trip to Mexico.

	"Hmmm," said Houlihan. "It sounds mighty convenient. Think of the money you can save on fares!"

	"But I don't like it!" MacMurty growled. "I feel like Captain Vanderdecken, of the Flying Dutchman—always traveling under a curse."

	"You think it's a curse then?" Houlihan asked.

	"It's no blessing," said MacMurty.

-

	Miss Alder had been looking thoughtful. "But why is it that it sometimes works and sometimes doesn't?"

	"Dam—I mean, blessed if I know," MacMurty confessed.

	"That's not the point," Houlihan objected. "We've got to get this curse off Mr. MacMurty. Perhaps we should see a priest?"

	Miss Alder frowned. "I don't know. Some of these younger men are pretty skeptical. They'd likely think Mr. MacMurty was lying."

	"He could prove it," Houlihan said. "All he'd have to do is go someplace."

	"Likely I couldn't, with a priest around," MacMurty said.

	"In any case," said Miss Alder, "we've got to find out more about it. Let's find out why it works sometimes and not others."

	"Hold it!" said Houlihan. "I've got another idea. If you'll recall, there's some spirits that can't cross water. Try wishing yourself across the East River."

	"No," Miss Alder said sensibly, "give him a really tough one. Go across the ocean."

	"All right, I'm going to Shannon, Ireland."

	No results.

	"That was a failure!" chortled Houlihan. "He couldn't take you across the water! Now, if my theory is correct, he can't put a curse on you and then not keep it. If he fails once, he's got to lift the curse "

	"That's right!" said Miss Alder. "I remember now! If you can get him to go back on his word, he's licked! We've done it!"

	MacMurty grinned. "Pour me another, Houlihan! I'll try again to make sure!" He drank the whiskey and said: "Miami, Florida! I'm going to Miami!"

	Again there were no results.

	"Hooray! Houlihan, you're a genius!" He shook Houlihan's hand briskly, and Houlihan refilled his glass.

	Then Houlihan set two more glasses on the table. "I'm buying this round. Is Irish too strong for you, Miss Alder?"

	"I should say not! Pour away!"

	MacMurty took her hand and shook it. "Thanks for your help. You're a wonderful girl, Miss Alder."

	She blushed prettily.

	"In a way, though," MacMurty sighed, "it's too bad. I could have seen all sorts of interesting places. Suppose I'd said I wanted to go to a Sultan's harem. I—"

	Dizzy ...

-

	The turbanned giant who stood before MacMurty looked startled for a moment, then went for the wicked-looking scimitar that hung at his side.

	"Eeeeeeek!"

	At the sound of the scream in his ear, MacMurty jerked his head around. Miss Alder was with him! He was still holding her hand!

	Then he saw the glitter of a blade in the air. He ducked just in time. It sang past his ear and went chunk! against the tile floor.

	MacMurty leaped away. Around him, he saw a confused blur of Oriental splendor and veiled women, but he was too busy with the harem guard to pay much attention.

	He couldn't wish himself away again; he couldn't desert Miss Alder. He had let go of her hand! He'd have to get her back again.

	The giant eunuch was lifting the scimitar again. MacMurty's foot lashed out, kicking the blade. It skittered across the floor with a ring of steel.

	It didn't seem to bother the huge giant any. He came at MacMurty swinging his huge fists. MacMurty swung at the eunuch's midsection, and it was as though his fist had struck a truck tire.

	MacMurty ducked under his opponent's swing and slammed a fist into his jaw. That did it. Big as he was, the guard had a glass jaw. He looked definitely groggy. MacMurty threw another punch into his solar plexus, and this time the muscles were a good deal softer. Another blow to the jaw, and the giant toppled.

	Then something hit MacMurty from behind ...

	When he woke up, his head was throbbing; it felt as though the sea were pounding against it. He shook his head dizzily and sat up. He was in a dungeon cell. It was locked tight with heavy bolts, and an armed guard stood outside glaring in.

	MacMurty thought about it for a little. Then he said to himself: I hope this works! Aloud, he said: "I believe I'll go to wherever Miss Alder is."

	His head reeled ...

-

	Again he was surrounded by Oriental tapestries and walls. But this time, there was a cruel-looking bearded man on a high throne. The Sultan himself, MacMurty assumed.

	"Mr. MacMurty!" It was Miss Alder standing nearby. She was clad in what looked like almost nothing at all but thin, diaphanous silk. Before any of the Sultan's men could move, she had leaped into MacMurty's arms.

	"Back to Murphy's!" he shouted.

	Not so much dizziness now, but—

	Houlihan was waiting, but this time there was a gentleman in clerical garb waiting, too. The priest looked a bit shocked at the appearance of Miss Alder, but then he sniffed the air delicately.

	"Houlihan," he said after a moment, "you're right. I'm sorry I doubted you."

	"This is Father Riley," Houlihan explained. "When you didn't come back for so long, I got worried and called him."

	MacMurty noticed that there was no one else in the place, and the bar was closed. "How long have we been gone?"

	"About three hours. I closed the bar early. I didn't want such goings-on to ruin the business."

	Miss Alder, cowering behind MacMurty, said: "Can I borrow your topcoat? I look rather conspicuous in this. That horrible Sultan was going to marry me or something."

	The priest raised an eyebrow at MacMurty. "Houlihan told me you wanted to see a harem. Are you satisfied?"

	"Yes, Father," said MacMurty. "But tell me: How come it worked this time? Why didn't it break the spell? How could I cross water when I couldn't before?"

	As MacMurty handed his topcoat to Miss Alder, Father Riley said: "Houlihan made a slight mistake. It's only supposed to be certain sprites, werewolves, or vampires that can't cross water. Besides, that's all superstition. The One with whom you're dealing isn't bothered by such trivia. If he were, every sailor would be pure at heart. Well, almost."

	"Well, then, Father, can you exorcise him?"

	"According to canon law, I would have to get the bishop's permission," the priest said. "You'll have to tell me all about it from the beginning."

	"Just a minute, Father. He can't go into a church, can he?"

	"I should think not."

	"And if I get rid of him that way, he'll have no more power?"

	"It's not as easy as that," said the priest. "He isn't around now; his power only operates when you ask him to—by making a wish to go somewhere."

	"All right, then, I want to go to the church."

	Nothing happened.

	"Maybe that broke it. Let's see. I want to go to Africa."

-

	There—

	A huge yellow lion was charging straight for him. MacMurty said: "Back to Murphy's!" just as it leaped.

	—And back.

-

	"I guess that didn't work," said MacMurty. "But there's something funny going on here." He frowned and thought a moment. "Let's go over this again, like you suggested, Father."

	For the second time, he told the story of the Man in Black.

	Then, suddenly, he leaped to his feet. "I think I've got it!" Without another word, he rushed to the pay phone booth, closed the door, and fed in a dime. The other three watched him dial. After half an hour and several more calls, he came triumphantly out of the booth.

	"I think I've got it. There's just one more question. Father, is the door to the church open?"

	"Of course, my son."

	MacMurty grinned. "I thought so! Now, Father, will you help me a little. It's nothing much, but I think I've got him beaten."

	"I'll help you all I can."

	"Good! Then let's walk down to the church. And I want you to go inside and lock the church doors."

	"But—"

	"It'll only be for a few minutes, Father."

	"Well—" Then a strange light glowed in the priest's eyes, "I see what you mean, MacMurty! And I think it will work!"

-

	The four of them stood outside St. Luke's Church. The priest had securely locked all the doors.

	"Here goes," said MacMurty. "I want to go inside this church!"

	Nothing happened.

	Then a gentleman in black strode around the corner and smiled at MacMurty—he smiled with his mouth, but there was hatred in his eyes.

	"Very well, MacMurty," said the Man in Black. "You've won. Next time you may not be so lucky."

	"Go!" said Father Riley.

	The Man in Black turned away. "I was just leaving. Good-bye, all—for a while."

	And he was gone.

-

	"I don't see how you figured it out," said Houlihan.

	"Well," said MacMurty, "it was simple, really. You see, the curse was for my hating to wait. I hated to wait for any kind of transportation or wait for something to happen.

	"Therefore, if I could have gotten to some place without waiting, or achieved my objective without waiting, the curse didn't work.

	"If I just wanted to cross the room or go out in the hall, for instance, I could have walked straight there without waiting. But if I'd have had to wait—there I'd be." He turned to Miss Alder. "For instance, when I went to talk to you in the ladies' powder room, I'd have had to wait for you to come out. So there I was, inside."

	"Then why," asked Miss

	Alder, "didn't you go to Shannon or to Miami?"

	MacMurty grinned broadly. "I checked on that, too. I called the airlines. I found that if I'd taken a cab to the airfield, I would have been able to board a plane immediately for Shannon, Ireland, or Miami, Florida.

	"But the church?"

	MacMurty's grin grew even broader. "When the church door was open, I could have walked right in. So his curse didn't take effect. But if the doors were locked, I'd have to wait until Father Riley unlocked them.

	"Church doors are kept open nearly all the time; he didn't think I'd ever figure out his curse!"

	"It only shows," Father Riley said "that exorcism isn't really needed; a man can get rid of the Devil himself if he has the determination."

	MacMurty glanced at his watch. "Good heavens! I have to get to the office! It's almost closing time! Miss Alder, you can have the rest of the day off. I'll be over to pick you up tonight; I have a very important question to ask you."

	"Shall I call you a cab?" asked Houlihan.

	"Call Miss Alder one, Houlihan. I'll take the subway. I don't mind waiting." 

The End