Good to be Evil
1034 Words
Old Marishka spat. "The Sheriff, why would you want to speak to her? That woman has the heart of a dragon. You'd be better off marrying one of my granddaughters."
"I'm not looking for another wife right now." Harold said.
"Ah, the one in California, she would make for a good tumble." Old Marishka said. "Or perhaps you are more interested in some of my grandsons?"
Slayer of Men said.
"I am not..." Harold sighed, taking a moment to right a world suddenly gone sideways. "Marishka, my sword says I need to speak to the Sheriff."
"Really? All Old Marishka has heard is it is wise enough to agree. You need a wife."
Slayer said.
"Wait." Harold said. "You can hear my sword, also?"
"Old Marishka may not rule over a plantation of satyrs, but she has her own powers. Ah, if you do bend that way, you simply MUST try a satyr. Strong and merciless, like a bull."
"Okay, okay, fine." Harold conceded. "Please DON'T talk about that. If you can help me talk to the Sheriff, I'll date one of your granddaughters."
"In public." she said.
Harold scratched a sudden itch on his earlobe. "I did say date, yes."
"Ah, good. One of the adopted ones, I think. You might like her, she is a businesswoman, no time to find her own dates. No trying to escape, date lasts at least as long as your time with the Sheriff."
Slayer of Men said.
"HEY." Harold said. "I never gave you permission to make deals on my behalf."
"Heh. Sword knows a good deal, so should you. Everybody wins." She scuffled over to her kitchen, dialed a number on her phone.
"Hello, this is Old Marishka."
Something hissed at her from the other side of the line.
"Ah, Mardak. How are the kids?"
More hissing.
"Eh? That is disturbing, but Old Marishka might be able to help."
Angry hissing, perhaps a word that ought not be used in polite conversation.
"Don't you tell me not to meddle. Which of us is the elder?"
A subdued murmur.
"That's right, and don't you forget it. Now, I'm going to send someone by to talk to the Sheriff, and you are going to be polite when asking him to look into this matter, yes?"
Old Marishka nodded. "Yes, yes. It is all good. Be well, Mardak."
"Okay, all is set. Digital Dreams, just off the highway."
"The virtual reality company?" Harold asked.
"Where else would you hide the fact that you have scales? A hospital?" she asked. "Now, shoo. Shoo. Old Marishka is busy. And you need to get your meeting done in time for your date. You will shower and shave and brush your teeth, yes."
Digital Dreams was set in a building that might have been a modern barn, if they were poured out of concrete and covered with wooden paneling. It looked less like an office building, and more like a barn. It certainly would have stood out among the glass and aluminum giants, but for a strip mall it was only odd, unusual.
Inside, Harold found it tasteful, if too much... sanitized. It was like a science fiction rendition of a meeting space, rather than a place where people would gather to share an imaginary landscape. On monitors, scenes from picture-realistic to poorly rendered cartoons played out.
"We're closed." said a man who entered from a hallway leading deeper inside. He wore a suit, and makeup that made him look something like a klingon from Star Trek.
"You must be Martak." Harold said.
"No, I'm George. Martak is in the back. Look for the demon."
Martak was short and hunched, yet sported a pair of swollen antlers that curled backward like those of a ram. They were a sickly yellow color, dull and lacking of sheen. Harold thought they looked like untrimmed fingernails.
"Hi, Martok." Harold said.
"Geezuz!" Martok screamed. "The mail! The check is in the mail!"
"Old Marishka sent me?" Harold tried again.
Slayer of Men told him.
"Oh. What? Oh, right. Right. To meet the Sheriff." Martak slammed the filing cabinet closed, and led him to a pair of double doors that looked like they belonged in some sort of movie about spies, or perhaps the heist of a bank vault.
NO ENTRY
They were clearly labeled. "Right through there, and past the entry guardians."
"Uhm, are they dangerous?" Harold asked.
"To you? Absolutely. YOU can die of old age."
Harold steeled himself for the hounds of hell, and pushed on the doors. They didn't budge. He threw his weight onto the handle, which also did not budge.
"These doors are locked." Harold said.
"Nope." Martak said, sauntering away. "If you can't figure out how to open those doors, you don't deserve past them."
He drew Slayer of Men from his pocket, set the butt end of the letter opener on the handle. "What can you tell me about the doors?"
"What, like hi, doors, are you a Sagitarius?"
"NO." said the door.
To his credit, Harold didn't jerk away from the door by reflex.
"Oh." he said. "Talking doors."
"YES."
"Excellent, doors will you please open?"
"WHY?"
"Because I need to see the sheriff?"
"LIAR. NO."
"Uhm... because I want to the see the sheriff?"
"LIAR. NO."
"Because if you don't let me pass, I'm going to pull up My Little Pony on my cell phone and make you watch?"
"YOU ARE A MONSTER. MONSTERS MAY PASS."
The doors opened, letting a waft of steam into the hallway.
"PASS QUICKLY." they said.
Harold passed into what appeared to be a combination of a hot tub and greenhouse. Seeing no guardians, he rapidly crossed to what appeared to be a normal glass office door.
TABITHA DRAGONHEART - SHERIFF
said the door, and just underneath
NORMAL DOOR - PULL
Harold passed through the door before his suit began to wrinkle.
- Writer
