"I didn't know you smoked." I said to The Devil. It was true. I didn't know that the Lord of Darkness puffed on the cancer sticks, although I'd have to say that it didn't surprise me very much.
"There's probably a lot of things you don't know about me."
I took a drag off from my Camel Light and held my double bourbon, neat, under my nose. The aroma took me back to college, those dim days attending Chico State, mercilessly punishing my liver on a nightly basis. I tipped the glass back, made a face, and coughed. The Devil clapped me on my back.
"Been a while has it?" he said with a crooked smile.
"Yeah, kind of. I don't go out to the bars anymore. Seems like all I do is work and sleep."
"What a pathetic fucking existence."
"Go to Hell."
That made him laugh.
Scooter's Bar and Grille was hopping for a Wednesday night. I'd have to say that the ratio had to be at least three to one, which was alright by me. There was a cute redhead sitting at the bar nursing a Long Island Iced Tea, looking bored. She was wearing a tiny blue dress with spaghetti straps that hugged her in all the right places along with a pair of heels. I didn't catch her face, but with a figure like that, it probably wouldn't matter that much. I told myself that after another drink or three, I'd get the digits and be The Man, but then again I tell myself a lot of things.
"So Mr. Devil-"
"You can call me Lucifer."
"Alright, Lucifer. Tell me something about fire crotch sitting at the bar over there?"
He hit off his cigarette and leaned back.
"First thing, she isn’t a fire crotch. She was born a brunette, but regularly dyes it because she thinks it makes her look younger. But she doesn't go the full boar, or at least not anymore. Some time ago she tried to color the hair below her belt and she wound up contracting a nasty vaginal infection. Now she just does the top."
"Pretty impressive. You know everything about everyone, don't know?"
"It's my job. Well THAT, and torturing the souls of the eternally damned."
"Tell me something about myself."
The fucker started to smile like it was his birthday. He opened his mouth but I stopped him.
"No wait. Forget about it. Some things are better left unsaid."
He shrugged and told me ‘whatever’.
"Hey, Lucifer? How come you're not chillin' in Hell?"
"Ahh, I gotta get away every now and again. Shit just gets too hectic. Believe it or not, I get stressed. My doctor says that I need some unwinding time. So about two or three times a month, I take a night off, get laid and sing a little karaoke."
People had started to move onto the dance floor. Scooter's was loud, but not loud enough that conversations couldn't be heard. I was sitting down having a drink with The Devil as if it was the most natural thing in the world. I guess after a while, things like spending time with demons just become commonplace. After all, I've been living in Los Angeles for a year. There was something I really wanted to ask the Devil, but I didn't know if it would offend him or not. I said fuck it.
"You wanna answer something else for me?"
"Shoot."
"What's the deal with you and God?"
"How do you mean?"
"Do you two get along? Ever exchange emails or Christmas cards? Or is it more of a hatred thing?"
"He's a pretty cool cat, very introspective. Rarely loses his cool, but when he does...damn, it's quite a thing. You know that whole stereotype about Asian men?"
"Lacking in the bulge, right?"
"Yeah, wasn't always that way. In fact, in the ancient days, the Asians held the same stereotype that modern day black men call their own. Round about 99 B.C., God was at this brothel in Mongolia-"
"Brothel???"
"Uh-huh. Hey, don’t look so shocker. He likes to get his rocks off just like the rest of us. Anyways, God was kicking back, enjoying himself, when some Mongolian yahoo tried to pick a fight with the Lord Almighty. Dude broke a piece of pottery over God's skull. You know how those Mongolians were, rowdy fucking bunch. So in return, he started making all Asians with teeny itsy bitsy fuck sticks. Guess he caught God on a bad day."
"You're so full of shit."
"Buddy, you don’t know the half of it."
We sat smoking our cigarettes regarding the patrons of the bar. Redhead was still sitting at the bar with her L.I. iced tea, still looking bored, still alone.
"Are you going to sit here jawing with me all night, or are you going to make your move?"
"I'm working up to it."
"Tell you what. I know that bird over yonder like the back of my hand. She's like an open book to me."
"Your point?"
"I can tell you a surefire pickup line that will win her heart."
I chewed on my lip and thought it over. Maybe he did know. After all, he was The Devil.
"What is it?"
He leaned over and whispered it in my ear. I burst out laughing.
"You're kidding me." I said.
"Prove me wrong."
Fuck it.
I flicked my cigarette away and made my way to the bar. The bartender, a stocky guy with a caveman's forehead stood nearby with a considerable fist stuck in a mug, giving it a thorough polishing. I took a seat next to the redhead and looked at her face for the first time. She had a tiny nose and full lips, but it didn't look bad or anything. Actually, she was quite attractive. So I went for broke.
"Hi. My name is Lenny, and I have an eleven inch penis. Can I buy you a drink?"
She stared at me for the world's longest second. Then she burst out laughing. She said sure I could, and what a crude, yet original pickup line I had used, still laughing a bit. She was hooked, it knew it. I looked back at Lucifer; He smiled and raised his glass to me. I guess The Devil can be an okay guy after all.
I wonder if he'll be as nice the next time I see him. Somehow, I doubt it.
I'm a northern California community college student working transferring to a yet-to-be-determined film school. Elmore Leonard is my hero, with Jonathan Lethem riding a close second. I'm into all sort of fun shit: underwater basket weaving, watching paint dry, tying my shoes, comic books. I think that in the future I'll either be rich, famous, and successful or a hapless loser facedown in the gutter. Both are looking pretty promising right now.
