Infernal Dick: Durante's Fall

It’s distressing to know that you’re dying, all the more so when you realize you’re going to the wrong after-party.

I fell. For a long time. Days? Nights? Who could tell? Why Hell and why me? I’d never been an angel; I cursed a lot and drank even more and sure, I’d certainly skinned more than my fair share of broads but had I ever transgressed anything that would lead me to the realm of eternal damnation and suffering? Fuck that! If anything, I’d always felt as kind of a guardian for those around me that were unable to do what had to be done to defend themselves, and I’d taken no small number of pro bono cases when I felt my help was in need but couldn’t be afforded. So what the hell was I doing going to Hell? And murdered by a demon, no less! What kind of shot at life was that?

I was falling towards a huge glowing red haze and it was when I first noticed the haze was actually a sprawling metropolis with each building ablaze that my hair and eyebrows first singed then burst aflame. I stopped trying to put out the fire with my hands when I realized that they too were blazing hot and I was only making it worse. I mourned my hair for about a second –hey, I’d managed to keep a full head of hair in spite the ravages of time and a hard life- then turned my mind to the situation. That’s one thing about being not just a detective but a great one: you gotta roll with the punches and work on what’s comin’ at you next.

So, why does a demon travel to the living world to kill little ol’ me? I had to go on the assumption that, strange as it sounded, my murder wasn’t personal. Which meant it was vocational. Old Man Weatherington was pretty connected, but nobody’s that connected and if the Santorelli gang had the pull to send a full-fledged devil from hell after me they would have done it a long time ago.

I was puzzling over that when a hoard of winged demons circled towards me, cackling viciously with pitchforks a’waving. I could see another poor soul already skewered on the end of one of these bastard’s forks, crying and moaning and strange as it may seem, I hated him more than I hated the demon. I vowed they wouldn’t find such an easy ke-bob in this soul and readied myself.

Fights aren’t like in the movies with those big, gorgeous roundhouse swings all the time. Fights are fast. Fights are dirty. You ever find yourself in a fight, what I’ve found is the faster guy generally wins, every time. You get in more shots and more accurately and he’s lyin’ on the ground and not you, which is a good thing. Because then you can start kicking him. Hey, I told you I’m no angel!

Now, if you ever have the misfortune of being unarmed against more than one armed attacker it’s of quintessential importance that you make an example of the first one, and you want to take his weapon away from him. Which I did.

I knew he was going to try to spear me like his buddy did the other ass-soul and when he did I grabbed the shaft and twisted it from his grip, just like I did former Golden Gloves boxer turned bodyguard for scumbags “Knuckles” Kazlowski when he came at me with that mop handle, and I took all his momentum and swung him behind me. Old Knuckles had crashed unconscious into the trophy case where Weatherington had cleverly hidden the Jade Seal, but I wouldn’t be so lucky with this demon. Or his buddies. But I’d never been real lucky anyways. Just ready.

The next one that came in was entirely unprepared for me, which is why I was able to jab him right in the face. Hit ‘em where it hurts, that’s always been my motto and it’s served me damned well over the years. His shriek was girlish and he spiraled harmlessly away from me and I laughed the first laugh since, well, my death, I guess. But there were so many more coming, like hoards, one would say.

I figured if I was going to Hell because of some asshole demon I’d make the whole shit-heap pay. For me and for Margie. I twisted my body so I was falling head first, tucked my arms at my side and my legs together so my body was like a knife. Or a missile.

I blew through the hoard like a hot knife through butter as my body picked up tremendous speed. I was screaming, laughing, burning, insane as right near the end I tucked my body into a cannonball. It’s an odd plan, setting out to put a dent into Hell, but a good dick has always has a plan.