Bathsheba caught a flash of red to the left as it tore down the street toward the mall. Neither cops, nor angels, nor hellfire would deter it from its errand. To refurbish the rundown apartment she had assumed with the Jefferson Dunleavy identity.
That and bringing Jessica Michaellson to her senses. And back to Hell.
But, for now, it was becoming a “metro-sexual.” (Whatever that was.) And getting a hair cut. Even Hell had kept up on current styles.
Satan had saddled it with a geek extraordinaire. Not-to-worry. There was always Toni & Guy.
And that’s exactly where Officer Robertson found the demon. Getting it’s hair highlighted in a salon at a mall.
“You know, spiky highlights are so last season,” she whispered to Satan’s minion.
“I thought that was you, Candice. You are as lovely as ever. The bosom does you justice.” Jefferson/Bathsheba leered. Like a drunk at a truck stop.
“Yeah, well. You know. Sorry I had to give you a ticket. We have plans for Donald Hefeweizen and Jessica Michaellson. Can’t have you interfering.”
“You must be joking. I haven’t been shopping in three hundred years. And my manicure is even further out of date. I’m just glad to get a gate-pass for once in my un-life.”
Bathsheba was admiring its newly buffed nails, thinking it was much more fun to be a man in the 21st century. What with the nails and hair and fashion. Much more feminine than the last time it was corporeal. “I’m not really interested in what Lewis has planned. I’m just wanna have fun.”
“You always were shallow.”
“Shallow, but deadly.”
“True.” Candice examined her own nails. Bitten to the quick with torn cuticles. She loved being cop. It was exactly like delivering justice from On High. Except with more paperwork. “I think we should work together on this one. Neither of us wants her to be in charge.”
. . . to be continued.
(c) copyright 2008 Jennifer J. Knighton