letting it roll off his tongue in long consonants and lazy vowels. “You know, you’re pretty smart, kid. I admire that.”
While Jonah found it very hard to take a compliment from the Devil, he also found he couldn’t help but grin. “What do you want from me?”
“A bet.”
Jonah lost the grin and tensed at the word. “What kind of bet?”
“An easy one. A fun one! Don’t you trust me?”
No. Jonah didn’t trust him. “What kind of bet?”
“Wow, you aren’t in the mood for chatting, are you?”
“Look,” huffed Jonah. “I wish I were in more of a chatting mood, as you put it, but considering that my best friend’s corpse is lying on the side of a busy highway, rotting in the midday sun while the Devil goes on about the price of words, I think I have a right to feel out of sorts!”
Satan raised a dark brow at Jonah, but said nothing.
“Sorry,” Jonah said. “Just … please, just tell me what you want.”
This solicited another wide smile from the Devil. “That’s more like it. Listen, son, I have a simple proposition for you. Nothing outlandish or crazy. Just a simple bet. Are you a betting man? No, I wouldn’t think so. Then here is your chance to make your very first wager and make it worth something. Make it meaningful.”
“What do you want?” Jonah asked again, in a very tired, very worn voice. It was the same voice he used when he was sick of arguing with Dale about something. The fact that Dale and the Devil were so very much alike struck Jonah as a disturbing coincidence.
“I propose a race.” Satan’s blue eyes twinkled with mischief.
“A race? Against who?”
“Father Time.”
Jonah groaned. This whole conversation was like running up a down escalator—getting nowhere, fast. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”
“What I propose is a simple race against the clock. A little on-the-road hide and seek, as it were.” Satan reached into his jacket and pulled out the beer bottle. Even under the shower of sunshine, Jonah could see the soft glow of the trapped soul behind the brown glass. Satan continued, “I’ll take Dale’s soul to an undisclosed location and hide it. Then you do the seeking. Find where I’ve hidden it in a week, and I’ll give it to you.”
Snapping his eyes from the bottle to the Devil, Jonah asked, “What do you mean give it to me?”
“I’ll relinquish Dale’s soul, free and clear. No harm, no foul. Yes?”
Jonah ran the fabric of this proposal under his intellectual microscope and found a million snags. The whole thing sounded like a setup. It sounded like the plot to a bad novel. It sounded ridiculous. No, this whole idea blew right through ridiculous and came out the other side. There was no dick about it. It was ricockulous. And Jonah knew, without a doubt, that he was going to fall for it. Cock and all.
“If I find where you’ve hidden Dale’s soul in seven days,” Jonah started, pointing to the bottle, “you swear you will give it back?”
Satan nodded. “You have all the time it took to make the world.”
“And I’m expected to just believe that?”
“Yes.”
“Just take you at your word?”
“Yup. I guess you’ll have to trust me.”
“Why should I trust you? You’re the Devil.”
“Because I’m also the one offering you the only chance you’ll ever have to get your friend back.”
Jonah paused at this. In his worldview, the word ‘Devil’ was synonymous with the word ‘liar’, which meant this whole thing was a complete load of crap. But on the other hand (or was that ‘on the other hoof’?), it was Jonah’s only chance. And as such, it was deathly serious. He needed to face it head on. He decided the best way to avoid panicking was to approach it like he would any other offer. When buying a car, or choosing a long-distance carrier, or presented with a possible life-or-death deal with a being of infinite evil power, Jonah always did the same thing.
He haggled over it.
“I’ll
While Jonah found it very hard to take a compliment from the Devil, he also found he couldn’t help but grin. “What do you want from me?”
“A bet.”
Jonah lost the grin and tensed at the word. “What kind of bet?”
“An easy one. A fun one! Don’t you trust me?”
No. Jonah didn’t trust him. “What kind of bet?”
“Wow, you aren’t in the mood for chatting, are you?”
“Look,” huffed Jonah. “I wish I were in more of a chatting mood, as you put it, but considering that my best friend’s corpse is lying on the side of a busy highway, rotting in the midday sun while the Devil goes on about the price of words, I think I have a right to feel out of sorts!”
Satan raised a dark brow at Jonah, but said nothing.
“Sorry,” Jonah said. “Just … please, just tell me what you want.”
This solicited another wide smile from the Devil. “That’s more like it. Listen, son, I have a simple proposition for you. Nothing outlandish or crazy. Just a simple bet. Are you a betting man? No, I wouldn’t think so. Then here is your chance to make your very first wager and make it worth something. Make it meaningful.”
“What do you want?” Jonah asked again, in a very tired, very worn voice. It was the same voice he used when he was sick of arguing with Dale about something. The fact that Dale and the Devil were so very much alike struck Jonah as a disturbing coincidence.
“I propose a race.” Satan’s blue eyes twinkled with mischief.
“A race? Against who?”
“Father Time.”
Jonah groaned. This whole conversation was like running up a down escalator—getting nowhere, fast. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”
“What I propose is a simple race against the clock. A little on-the-road hide and seek, as it were.” Satan reached into his jacket and pulled out the beer bottle. Even under the shower of sunshine, Jonah could see the soft glow of the trapped soul behind the brown glass. Satan continued, “I’ll take Dale’s soul to an undisclosed location and hide it. Then you do the seeking. Find where I’ve hidden it in a week, and I’ll give it to you.”
Snapping his eyes from the bottle to the Devil, Jonah asked, “What do you mean give it to me?”
“I’ll relinquish Dale’s soul, free and clear. No harm, no foul. Yes?”
Jonah ran the fabric of this proposal under his intellectual microscope and found a million snags. The whole thing sounded like a setup. It sounded like the plot to a bad novel. It sounded ridiculous. No, this whole idea blew right through ridiculous and came out the other side. There was no dick about it. It was ricockulous. And Jonah knew, without a doubt, that he was going to fall for it. Cock and all.
“If I find where you’ve hidden Dale’s soul in seven days,” Jonah started, pointing to the bottle, “you swear you will give it back?”
Satan nodded. “You have all the time it took to make the world.”
“And I’m expected to just believe that?”
“Yes.”
“Just take you at your word?”
“Yup. I guess you’ll have to trust me.”
“Why should I trust you? You’re the Devil.”
“Because I’m also the one offering you the only chance you’ll ever have to get your friend back.”
Jonah paused at this. In his worldview, the word ‘Devil’ was synonymous with the word ‘liar’, which meant this whole thing was a complete load of crap. But on the other hand (or was that ‘on the other hoof’?), it was Jonah’s only chance. And as such, it was deathly serious. He needed to face it head on. He decided the best way to avoid panicking was to approach it like he would any other offer. When buying a car, or choosing a long-distance carrier, or presented with a possible life-or-death deal with a being of infinite evil power, Jonah always did the same thing.
He haggled over it.
“I’ll
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