{"id":6948,"date":"2014-04-07T23:47:03","date_gmt":"2014-04-07T23:47:03","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/?p=6948"},"modified":"2023-11-04T15:06:29","modified_gmt":"2023-11-04T15:06:29","slug":"devil-at-the-crossroads","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/?p=6948","title":{"rendered":"Devil At The Crossroads"},"content":{"rendered":"

Willie\u2019s full of shit<\/em>, Colton thought. This thing doesn\u2019t lead to the devil.<\/em> He glared at the brass compass duct-taped to the dashboard of his Chrysler 300. The black needle hadn\u2019t changed direction for over an hour. It still pointed due east, further into flat, dusty, desolate Utah. <\/p>\n

He ought to turn around right now, go back to Reno and kick Willie\u2019s ass. He smiled at the image of knocking out some teeth with his fist or his nightstick. No, he would use his mini baseball bat. Then he\u2019d break a couple of those saxophone-playing fingers. Well, maybe not Willie\u2019s fingers \u2013 his music sounded too good now to ruin. He\u2019d bust Willie\u2019s toes. Did you need all your teeth to play sax? He\u2019d ask him first.<\/p>\n

He reached up and covered the pentagram-shaped compass with the palm of his hand. It gave him the same tingly, belly-flipping sensation that convinced him it was legit when he stole it out of Willie\u2019s saxophone case last night. Reassured, Colton settled back into his seat and adjusted the angle of his counterfeit Gucci sunglasses. <\/p>\n

He\u2019d been on the road seven hours since he\u2019d followed the compass out of Reno and onto the highway. He was surprised when it didn\u2019t point south. He would\u2019ve bet money the devil was in Vegas, but no. The needle summoned him eastward. He figured he was getting close when it steered him onto US-6. He kept watching the highway markers for those two missing sixes, but an hour into Utah it was still just Route 6. Where the hell were the crossroads? How much further could they be? <\/p>\n

He had to take a piss. He shouldn\u2019t have gotten that Big Gulp when he stopped for gas, but the cashier was too pretty to pass by. He\u2019d hoped to hustle her back into the storeroom. She\u2019d giggled when he offered to demonstrate the Cherokee method of going down on her (seeing as he was one-eighth Indian), but he didn\u2019t have enough time to talk her into it. He had places to go and a devil to meet. It had taken ten minutes to get her phone number as it was, and he drank more of the Dr. Pepper than he should have while he was flirting.
\n
\nHe pulled over, shut off the car and watered the bedraggled vegetation with his name in cursive. He crossed the T with a flourish, zipped up, stretched and looked around. Hazy mountains off in the distance broke up the boredom of the baked scrublands surrounding him, where the tallest weed didn\u2019t reach his knees. There was something peaceful about mountains. Like if you climbed one to the top you\u2019d get away from all your problems. Of course, trying to climb to the top of a mountain was a problem, but there you were. Life was like that.<\/p>\n

BANG! The sound of a gunshot had him flat on the dirt and cursing himself for leaving his Glock in the car. He twisted his head toward the road and saw a dark blue station wagon veering past him and trailing tire tread from the rear rim.
\nColton let out the breath he\u2019d been holding. Not a gunshot. A tire blowout. He rose and brushed himself off.<\/p>\n

The Saturn careened to a stop on the side of the road about fifty yards ahead. Smoke drifted from the tattered wheel and the smell of burnt rubber wafted back to him. He got back in his car, took the pistol from the glove box and shoved it in his waistband under his shirt. He should just keep on driving. If he didn\u2019t have time to bang a cashier, he sure as hell didn\u2019t have time to do roadside assistance. Everyone had cell phones, anyway. They could call for help.<\/p>\n

He pulled back onto the road. As he maneuvered around the debris, he locked eyes with the driver \u2013 a steel-haired, weathered woman who strongly resembled his deceased grandmother. Mean old bitch. He shuddered at the memory of the switch bush outside her front door, then sighed and steered his sedan over to the side of the road in front of the Saturn L-Series. Great. They didn\u2019t even make parts for that anymore. He\u2019d just make sure someone was coming to help, then he\u2019d get going.<\/p>\n

He shifted into park and opened the door. Wait a minute. Maybe . . . he checked the compass. Still pointing east. The old bag wasn\u2019t the devil. <\/p>\n

Ten minutes later, he was squatting at the back of her car, threading the lug nuts on the spare tire while she chattered at him.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy are you wearing all black in this heat?\u201d she asked. \u201cYou think you\u2019re Johnny Cash or something?\u201d<\/p>\n

Blood doesn\u2019t show up on black.<\/em> He flashed one dimple. \u201cI do like some of his music. You think I could be a rock star?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFeh.\u201d She shook off the notion with a push of her hand and a curl of her lip.<\/p>\n

\u201cCome on, now. Listen to this:”<\/p>\n

He gestured with the passion of Pavarotti as he sang and tightened the lug nuts. When he finished serenading, it took a moment to realize the raspy noise coming from the old woman was laughter. He let his shoulders droop as he rose to his feet. \u201cI bare my soul, and she mocks my voice.\u201d<\/p>\n

She shook her head. \u201cNo. You have a beautiful voice. You should sing in a church choir.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHa!\u201d He stowed the bent rim in the trunk along with the tire iron. \u201cI really would burst into flames. Don\u2019t go over 55 miles an hour, and get a new tire put on as soon as you can.\u201d He brushed his hands on his Dockers, leaving dun colored dust smears on the black fabric.<\/p>\n

She fumbled with her pocketbook. \u201cHere. Here\u2019s five dollars. Now where did I . . .?\u201d<\/p>\n

Five? Seriously? I just saved you at least a hundred.<\/em> He backed away to his car, palms out. \u201cYour money\u2019s no good here, Ma\u2019am. I\u2019ve got to be on my way. You be careful on that tire.\u201d <\/p>\n

She was still twittering as he pulled away. He floored the gas pedal as soon as he could without showering her with debris. <\/p>\n

Five miles down the empty road, at high noon, the compass needle began spinning counterclockwise. He slammed on the brakes, parked and snatched the compass off the dash, barely aware of the electric buzz it gave his hand. As he climbed out of the car, he scanned the area. Same as it had looked for hours \u2013 pitiful tufts of dry weeds dotting brown flat ground. <\/p>\n

The road ahead began to shimmer, and crossroads appeared where none had been. It looked kind of far to walk. Maybe he should drive the couple hundred yards to . . . nope. As he grasped his door handle the crossroads started to fade from view. He locked the car and started walking, and the crossroads reformed. His palms became damp as he strode forward. He was used to the rollercoaster belly feeling now, and he was glad his black t-shirt wouldn\u2019t show the pit sweat trickling down his ribs. <\/p>\n

A lone Joshua tree coalesced at the crossroads as he approached. Then he<\/em> appeared. That had to be the devil leaning against the trunk looking all James Dean in jeans, biker boots and a white t-shirt. <\/p>\n

Be cool.<\/em> Colton straightened his shoulders, scratched an ear and sauntered towards the devil, heart pounding. Don\u2019t trip. Don\u2019t run your mouth. Get your game face on.<\/em> He felt a sneeze tickle. No! Not now.<\/em> He pressed hard on the tip of his nose, breathing through his mouth deep and slow. The tickle faded. OK. You got this.<\/em> He hitched his thumbs through his belt loops and adjusted his saunter so it didn\u2019t raise so much dust.<\/p>\n

Ten yards away, and the devil still hadn\u2019t looked up from his folded-armed slouch. Colton stopped, jerked his chin skyward. \u201cS\u2019up.\u201d His mouth was dry and his greeting didn\u2019t carry like he\u2019d meant it to. Should he repeat it? No. That would sound weak. He shuffled his foot and kicked a stone. Don\u2019t fidget.<\/em> He stilled. Waited. The devil didn\u2019t move. This was getting kind of awkward.<\/p>\n

He cleared his throat. \u201cI\u2019d like to make a deal.\u201d Aaarghh! How game show did that sound? Dammit!<\/em> <\/p>\n

A smile curled the devil\u2019s lip. \u201cWhat kind of deal?\u201d He tilted his head just enough to show blazing red irises under hooded eyelids.<\/p>\n

Colton was glad he\u2019d stopped to piss before he got here. He\u2019d looked the devil in the eye and didn\u2019t wet himself. Not many men could say that. He wanted to stare and get a real good look at the devil\u2019s face, but his eyes started to sting. The pain increased until he dropped his gaze. \u201cI\u2019ll sell you my soul.\u201d His hand itched to wipe his watering eyes, but he held tight to his belt loops.<\/p>\n

The devil uncrossed his arms and straightened, pushing off the Joshua tree with his boot. \u201cWhat do you want for it?\u201d <\/p>\n

This was it. No more taking orders from mobsters. No more watching scumbags advance in the organization while he was stuck doing loan shark collections year after year. No more seeing assholes get rich while he scraped by. Time to get paid. \u201cI want to be a rock star.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou don\u2019t . . .\u201d The devil\u2019s thick black eyebrows flew together. \u201cReally?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYep. That\u2019s what I want.\u201d <\/p>\n

He shook his head, a little smirk on his face. \u201cSorry. You don\u2019t have enough soul left for all that.\u201d He leaned back onto the tree.<\/p>\n

Colton\u2019s eyes bugged out as he went lightheaded. What the hell did that mean? He took a deep breath and blew it out. Sure, he was no angel, but he already had the rock star look \u2013 ripped body, spiky brown hair with blonde highlights, blue eyes. He even had dimples, for chrissakes, and he could sing. How hard could it be to put him in a viral YouTube video that got him an agent and fortune and fame? The devil was trying to trick him into a bad deal, the sneaky bastard. He puffed his chest out. \u201cThat\u2019s what I want. Take it or leave it.\u201d<\/p>\n

The devil shrugged. \u201cI\u2019ll leave it.\u201d The air around him began to shimmer, obscuring his form.<\/p>\n

\u201cWait! What can I get?\u201d He wasn\u2019t that<\/em> bad. His soul had to be worth something.<\/p>\n

The shimmering stopped. \u201cWhy should I give you anything? I\u2019ve already got most of your soul, and you\u2019re only 25. You\u2019ll give me the rest of it on your own within the next decade.\u201d<\/p>\n

Colton began to pace, forgetting the terrain. Now what? He\u2019d be stuck at the bottom of that mob racket forever, always being told what to do and when to do it. The hours sucked. The cloud of dust raised by his steel-toed Red Wing boots tickled his nose, and a massive sneeze rocked him before he could suppress it.<\/p>\n

\u201cBless you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThanks.\u201d He wiped his nose on his wrist and his wrist on his pants. \u201cLook, there has to be some arrangement we could come to. I\u2019m not that bad a guy. I could meet some nice Catholic girl, settle down, raise a big family. You\u2019d lose me then, right? Why roll the dice?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou think that\u2019s what\u2019ll save your soul?\u201d The devil sat on a tree stump that materialized underneath him, and gestured for Colton to sit on another that appeared next to it.<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know.\u201d He slumped on the stump. \u201cThat always sounded like hell to me, so I figured it must earn a ticket to heaven.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt wouldn\u2019t earn you one.\u201d<\/p>\n

Colton picked at the rubber sole of his boot. The heat coming off the devil was uncomfortable, like sitting too close to his grandma\u2019s pot-bellied stove. He wasn\u2019t going to scoot away, though. Didn\u2019t want the devil to think he was intimidated. \u201cGuess I never thought I was all that bad.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou hurt people for a living.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cC\u2019mon, man. So do boxers. They all going to hell, too?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou like it.\u201d The devil held out a lit hand-rolled cigarette. Colton accepted it and took a drag. It tasted funny. Kind of sweet.<\/p>\n

He did like to hurt people. Not everyone, just his opponents. Ever since he was little he\u2019d look for fights to jump into. He got in less trouble if he jumped in on the side of the weaker kid, so he started doing that. He didn\u2019t get hurt much worse, and he liked seeing how big a kid he could whip. Or how big a kid it took to whip him. He played football for an excuse to hit, joined the wrestling team to learn ways to hurt. He went to bars for the fights more than the booze, and he did take pride in the effectiveness of his loan collections. He took another puff of the cigarette. \u201cI s\u2019pose I do. But I never hit a woman or an animal.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re young, yet.\u201d<\/p>\n

Colton bristled. \u201cI wouldn\u2019t. I never have and I won\u2019t. And I don\u2019t pimp or deal drugs or cheat on my tax . . . well, I guess I don\u2019t really pay taxes. But I\u2019m nothing compared to some of the other slimeballs out there. I helped an old lady change her tire on the way here, for chrissakes. I can\u2019t believe my soul won\u2019t buy what Snooki\u2019s got.\u201d <\/p>\n

He swiveled around on the stump and pointed his cigarette at the devil. \u201cAnd Willie! You made a deal with Willie.\u201d He ticked off points with his fingers. \u201cNumber one, Willie doesn\u2019t take care of any of the four kids he\u2019s got from three women. B, he\u2019s a cokehead and a gambler. Finally, he leeched off his girlfriend, who works her ass off trying to get that catering business going. And fourth, I know he knocked Mona around. She did not get those bruises falling down the steps. And yet you gave him that music! He barely knew which end of the horn to blow. Now he makes magic with that sax. Clubs are standing in line to get him onstage. He\u2019s making a name for himself, pulling in some real money. And you know the first thing he did when things started happening for him?\u201d Colton was breathless with indignation.<\/p>\n

\u201cHmmm?\u201d <\/p>\n

\u201cHe kicked Mona to the curb and got him a white girl. How evil is that?<\/em> You telling me he had more soul to trade than I do?\u201d<\/p>\n

The devil rose and locked his crimson eyes on Colton\u2019s. \u201cI don\u2019t have to tell you anything. You\u2019re not worth any more of my time. Give me the compass.\u201d<\/p>\n

What did I tell you at the beginning, Colton, you asshole? I said not to run your mouth.<\/em> \u201cWait! I\u2019m sorry.\u201d He jumped to his feet and held out both hands, appealing. \u201cI didn\u2019t mean to be disrespectful. Please give me another chance. I\u2019ll make my soul worth your while, how\u2019s that? I\u2019ll go get born again. I\u2019ll . . . I\u2019ll get a legit job. I\u2019ll donate to charity. I\u2019ll visit my ma more and help take care of my grandpa. What else, what else would make my soul worth becoming a rock star?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re asking me to tell you how to save your soul?\u201d The devil chuckled, and the sound surrounded Colton and gave him a crawly tickle on his scalp, like a cockroaches skittering through his hair. <\/p>\n

He shuddered and wiped his hand over his head, relieved when no insects were encountered. Shake it off. You can still do this. Think.<\/em> Colton mopped at the moisture on his forehead. \u201cYeah, my bad. I can figure it out though. I know I can. Give me . . . give me a year. Let me keep the compass, and give me a year to make my soul worth selling.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou intrigue me.\u201d The devil stroked his cleft chin. \u201cBut how do I know you won\u2019t decide to keep your soul after you\u2019ve cleaned it up?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll sign a contract. You draw it up. I\u2019ll sign right now.\u201d<\/p>\n

The devil flourished a pitchfork-shaped pen with tiny flames coming off the tines and held out his hand. \u201cSign here on my palm. Right on the fate line,\u201d he said, pointing.<\/p>\n

\u201cHey, cool pen.\u201d Colton took it and ran his hand over the flames, flinching when they singed his finger. \u201cCan I keep this?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh. OK.\u201d The devil\u2019s big hand was unmoving as Colton wrote the first letter of his name on the smooth palm. \u201cUh . . . you got all the details about being a rock star, right? Everything from that Nickelback song is part of the deal?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cEverything.\u201d<\/p>\n

It was then that Colton remembered the line \u2018we\u2019ll all stay skinny \u2018cause we just won\u2019t eat,\u2019 but decided it was too late to worry about that. He signed the rest of his name and handed the pen back. \u201cOh, wait! I won\u2019t have to stay celebrate, like a priest, will I?\u201d He thought his stomach was flipping before \u2013 he could almost feel his bowels loosening with fear.<\/p>\n

The devil furrowed his brow. \u201cYou mean celibate? Chaste?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah.\u201d He puckered his ass as tight as he could. He would not shit himself in front of the devil.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt couldn\u2019t hurt.\u201d<\/p>\n

He wiped the sweat from his upper lip. \u201cIt\u2019s not a deal-breaker, though, right?\u201d<\/p>\n

The devil shook his head. \u201cIt\u2019s not a deal-breaker. But no more hints.\u201d<\/p>\n

Colton\u2019s knees buckled and he grabbed the trunk of the Joshua tree for support. \u201cThank God.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHey, hey! None of that.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSorry! It slipped. I\u2019ll just be on my way then, all right? I\u2019ll see you in a year.\u201d He touched the compass to his forehead in a little salute and trotted back to his car.<\/p>\n

The devil watched as the sedan turned westbound and disappeared. He sat back on the stump and puffed on a fresh cigarette. His features blended and reformed into a long sharp nose and tall pointed ears. Light brown fur covered the coyote head that now perched atop human shoulders.<\/p>\n

The old lady from the Saturn strolled up, melted into the form of a dun-colored hare the size of a raccoon, and hopped onto the vacant tree stump. \u201cHo, Coyote,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

\u201cHo, Rabbit.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGood day\u2019s work, Trickster.\u201d<\/p>\n

Coyote bowed his head in acknowledgment. \u201cThank you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou going to make the Rockstar song come true for him next year?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNah. That would ruin his life.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah.\u201d Rabbit peered around and scanned the sky. \u201cOne of these days, the devil\u2019s going to figure out who\u2019s been impersonating him. My luck, I\u2019ll be sitting next to you when he does.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t believe in the devil.\u201d Through his canine snout, he blew a smoke ring that rearranged into a horned head before it dissipated into the air. <\/p>\n

She shook her long ears and looked about once more before settling onto her haunches. \u201cI didn\u2019t know about Willie. Why did you give him The Music?\u201d<\/p>\n

Coyote stubbed out his cigarette and tucked the butt in his pocket. \u201cIt was the best way to get Mona free of him. Her business could succeed, now. Might rebuild her self-esteem. And it\u2019s a long shot, but The Music is only thing that has a chance to save Willie\u2019s soul.\u201d<\/p>\n

Rabbit nodded. After washing her face with her paws for a moment, she sank into a comfortable squat. \u201cThere\u2019s a meth addict in Fort Lauderdale I\u2019ve got my eye on.\u201d <\/p>\n

Coyote cocked his head. \u201cWhat tribe?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDoes it matter?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n

Her whiskers twitched. \u201cShe\u2019s Choctaw. Has some potential. You in?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m in.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Willie\u2019s full of shit, Colton thought. This thing doesn\u2019t lead to the devil. He glared at the brass compass duct-taped to the dashboard of his Chrysler 300. The black needle hadn\u2019t changed direction for over an hour. It still pointed due east, further into flat, dusty, desolate Utah. He ought to turn around right now, …<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2566,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3,902,108],"tags":[903],"class_list":["post-6948","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fiction","category-tcl-10-winter-2014","category-urban-fantasy","tag-the-colored-lens-10-winter-2014","entry entry-center"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6948","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2566"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=6948"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6948\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":139634,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6948\/revisions\/139634"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=6948"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=6948"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=6948"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}