Into the Desert and Back Again: The Travels of an angelic Devil (or devillish Angel)
Chapter 1: Desert distractions and a battered army
Driving fast distracted him, always: The joy of speed combined with the joy of breaking the rules! The hot desert wind rushed through his hair as he sped down highway 15 from L.A. towards Vegas. He had carelessly stuffed some of his suits and belongings into a bag and tossed it into his back seat, threw out some orders for covering up his place, then left. He had to get away, to forget…
But the speeddistraction alone was not sufficient this time. Lucifer still saw her pale face, her frail body, her shiny grey-blue eyes. And finally, when the danger of her death was averted, her hopeful smile, cutting though his heart. He was always amazed at how the colour of her eyes seemed to change with her moods, sometimes aqua and shiny, then green with anger or mischief, and the next moment grey and sad like the stormy sea. There was so much to her very being, her soul that he had hoped to discover over the years. How he had longed to just continue where they had left off, before his mom had ruined everything! How he longed to know nothing about the "miracle birth" story. To be near to her, to feel this infectious, radiating happiness again that overwhelmed him for a few glorious hours!
But he had to step away from her, had to leave. So that she would not become a target of his manipulating celestial family. So that she could get over him and be free of him. So that…. It hurt more than he had thought possible, a persistent, nagging pain in his left chest side that simply stuck, regardless of how fast he drove. He sighed and forced his thoughts away from her. He had to! To save her, but also to save himself! Only his damn thoughts jumped back to her every instant he did not rigorously control them, like playful kittens after a mouse. Damn his fighting, manipulative parents‼ He groaned and grinded his teeth, accelerating even further.
Of course violating the speed limit by driving "German Autobahn style"-like on Highway 15 called for (nicely distracting) trouble. He had already seduced two officers who had pulled him over for ignoring the speed limit. Again, he picked up promising motor cycle noise from far behind him with his supernatural senses. Heaving a sigh, his face contorted into a Cheshire cat grin. He braced himself for the next bribe…. but even this got boring after some time. These last country officers from somewhere between Barstow and Beacon Station had been even easier to seduce than the LA ones: They all had some kind of kinky dreams that he lured out with ease. The last one, a heavy not-very-sportsman-like sweating guy in his middle fifties with a large grey moustache was highly amusing. He had even come up with the desire to win the next open-beach windsurfing championship in LA, although he had admitted right away that he was unable to swim!
Looking back in the mirror he saw that there was not just one bike, more like four or five, in about one mile distance back down the straight highway. The amount of roaring noise was indeed louder than it should be for the distance. Lucifer concluded that the roaring must have been deliberately tuned up for fun or intimidation (or for the fun of intimidation). Thus the bets were on that they belonged to one of these special biker club specimens, zoological Order and Family "drug dealer-and-panderer", Species "bullying criminals", disguised as freedom-seeking lonesome riders. He allowed them to roar a bit closer to take the bait that was him – a fancy Corvette and its snob driver, alone and undefended, good prey to play with in the middle of nowhere. The Devils thoughts, of course, went exactly into the same direction – good prey to play with in the middle of nowhere - for distraction. "And the detective is not around to hold me back…" again, he yanked his thoughts back from that unwanted path that was Chloe.
His trademark smirk crept across his face as he accelerated the Corvette, for fun plus gaining distance and time to come up with a plan. A pity Maze was not with him… but he was glad that she had promised, reluctantly, to watch over Chloe and her spawn, as had Amenadiel. The straight highway heading for Baker started to turn to the left where it sharply descended, curving downwards, into a wide, breath-taking desert valley some hundred meters below, glowing in the late-afternoon sunlight. After two more ridges and downward turns, he spotted a viewpoint that was clearly visible from the street and blissfully deserted. He slowed down, stopped the car and stepped out, listening. Lighting a cigarette (the lighter surprisingly worked), he leaned elegantly on the fence, looking down and exhaling the smoke. Having a supernatural metabolism was clearly an advantage when one travelled in an open Cabriolet through the desert in a suit. Every other man would already have drowned in his own sweat without air conditioning, but Lucifer actually enjoyed the familiar hell-ischly hot breeze. Below, the colourful, sun-baked landscape stretched spectacularly from horizon to horizon. Due to the setting sun, Lucifer could feel the soft downward air movement of the cooling air on his face and hands, as it lazily seeped downhill towards the valley bottom.
The peaceful atmosphere was now pierced by bike noise as they came steadily closer, but still they were about one third of a mile away. Lucifer took his eyes from the valley, flicked the ash off his cigarette and turned around, still leaning nonchalantly against the fence and glancing up the road. "Ah, how lovely! These idiots again" he growled under his breath, as five motorcycles of the "Devils Army" Biker Club came into his (far-reaching) sight, riding their chrome blinking, martial-style-like Harley Davidsons. Devils Army, my ass! He had long-since wanted to have some fun with these nutters!
Suddenly his senses picked up irregular movements with the margins of his vision, plus some rumbling-crashing noise on the hillslope above the roads' last turn, where a small foot path wound its way downward. Some larger stones and gravel came tumbling down, and with it a slender figure who stumbled along and desperately tried to stay upright within the down-sliding material. The cloud of dust briefly swallowed the person when the hill-slide crashed onto the road, just as the bikers who had slightly reduced their speed to keep clean of the slide thundered closer. Surprisingly, as the slide came to a halt and the dust cloud started to settle, the figure emanated from it, upright without stumbling or limping, even starting to run in controlled, powerful strides down the road, away from the approaching riders. A woman in tight-fitting clothes, obviously a practised runner by the sight her fluent movements, and obviously not severely injured by being caught in the gravel slide. As she drew nearer, her gaze set onto a nearby downhill hiker trail that started from the viewpoint, Lucifer could make out that she was covered in dust to a point that mostly obscured her skin and clothes' colour, except for some red bleeding scratches on her right leg, arm and forehead and a long honey-coloured braid with one completely white streak in it. Foreseeable, she was unable to outrun the approaching bikers.
They closed in on her and encircled their new-found prey. He could clearly hear their gleeful shouts over the uproar. The runner had turned around and to face them, her back to him and he wondered if she had noticed him at all. Suddenly his mind's version of Chloe popped up from his memories, unwanted but lively, oh ever so lively! "We need to help her!" And of course she would say that! He could clearly see her determined features before his inner eye, down to the wrinkle between her brows. His minds' version of her even poked him in the chest with one finger to get him going. "Yes, I know that we should, stop it, detective! It will be my pleasure for a bit of fun-play, anyway!", he murmured aloud. He briefly wondered if his painful human feelings were driving him insane so that he started talking to himself. Annoyed with the unwanted reminder of (and from) his detective, Lucifer stomped out his cigarette. Bloody hell, would he ever be allowed to smoke one entire cigarette in peace? (He would suspect his Dad's interference if it wasn't something so insignificant!). So he slowly set into motion, hands in his pockets, strolling towards the scene.
"Hey, aren't you that white horse bitch that interfered with Sinnerman's business, hiding that traitor Jannik? Handing him over to the police for protection so that he escaped his punishment? I know your description! It has to be you! Now we got you, now we finally know your damn dirty face!" he heard one Devils Army guy shout at her, not noticing his own irony, with the runner covered in dust. Lucifer could tell that the muscular guy with grey-streaked greasy long hair held in a ponytail was the leader of the little gang. Greasy-Hairs parked his bike and approached the runner menacingly. "You know what happens to traitors – we drag them to the dungeons and they never appear again! But first we will teach you a lesson, horse bitch!" He licked his lips and grinned. Completing their package delivery for Sinnerman to Vegas AND catching the mysterious, ghostly Mojave Desert white horse who always popped up in unexpected places, hiding traitors they chased after, all in one go! Oh Man, he was some lucky son of a bitch! Don Vittorio, who directly reported to Sinnerman, would reward him so much! He'd be drinking the finest bourbon and he'd be fucking the most salacious of Don Vittorio's whores tonight! He could nearly taste in his mouth the fat nipples of that blonde luxurious whore with the raspy voice he'd set eyes on the last time he was at Don Vittorio's gambling den. The lean, muscular runner was not really to his liking, he preferred curve-rich blondes, but a good rape always sparked his appetite. When they were all through with her she would just whimper for mercy. He grinned, enjoying the arousal he already felt at the prospects while his biker buddies cheered. The lean mouse-haird Jake was cackling like a blearing goat while they roared their encircling bikes around the woman.
The runner's dishevelled braid swung back and forth as she steadied herself and observed her attackers. She did not respond to Greasy-Hair. Although Lucifer was sure that she must be afraid to death this was not what her body language conveyed. Rather, she radiated an attitude of "I will hurt you as much as I can and go down fighting" that started to pique his interest.
With a sudden movement she dashed backwards and collided deliberately with one of the bikers who had two metal frisbees in each earlobe and metal rivets all over his leather jacket. He was short and overweight with a wobbly belly, while the other three were not. Lucifer thought that she may have made him out as the weakest foe. She had slammed her elbow backbards against his adams apple in her backwards jump ehich gave her a spin-back she used to her advantage. While her hit caused a gurgle, she had grabbed Frisbee Earlobes's right wrist and left ear – and in the next moment, she had sent him over her shoulder so that he crashed heavily into the ground. His bike went forwards another few meters in slow motion and toppled over onto its left side, front wheel still spinning. The runner immediately used the opening and jumped over the fallen bike's front wheel. In the move, she snatched the bottle of water from her hip and whirled it at Greasy-Hairs the moment she landed in an upward angle. It hit the DA squat leader square in the face with surprising force and broke his nose with an audible crunch, followed by spraying droplets of blood and a loud howl. Two down, three upright: The runner dashed past Lucifer in her attempt to break free while the three remaining bikers, shouting and cursing, chased after her.
She headed for the steep, downwards-curving hiking trail that started at the left corner of the viewpoint area, just behind Lucifers Corvette. Her intentions were clear to Lucifer who watched her moves in delight: If she got there, the bikers would not be able to follow the steep tiny trail on their bikes. And her running condition, as it seemed, would make sure that none of them would be able to chase after her either.
Later, Lucifer could have sworn to Dad that he had heard a breathless "help me" when she dashed past him. But when they discussed it months later, bantering, she always insisted that she had just been panting.
However, he did not need an invitation, he was happy to oblige. He grabbed the first biker of the three chasing after her, a broad-shouldered tattooed guy by his belt and collar, lifted him off his bike and threw him forcefully into the next approaching one, the smaller, rat-teethed blonde with the blearing cackle, knocking him off his bike with number one. Then, in one swift movement, he grabbed a piece of dead wood from the floor and hauled it into the spokes of numero très bikes' front wheel, with a very satisfying effect: That particular member of the "Devils Army", a Hispanic stubbly guy with over-large teeth, took flight in a nice graceful arc, arms and legs flailing useless (moth wide open, large teeth on full display). He crashed down heavily in front of his Corvette and lay still in a crumpled heap.
Lucifer briefly shuddered at the thought that the little rat might have demolished his beloved Corvette! Dusting off his hands and arranging his cufflinks, he proceeded to fat Frisbee Earlobes who was struggling to get up after the runner had knocked him off his bike, and lifted him up, dangling, from his left hand. "Dearie me, you poor sod! First flattened by one weak injured girl…." He imitated sadness on Earlobes' behalf. "And now, look at you, tsk, tsk… facing the disapproval of the Devil!" Lucifer's velvet voice had suddenly dropped one octave with the last words, shaking Earlobes slightly, summoning the first sparkles of hellfire into his shining black eyes. The fat man's demeanour instantly turned from "how dare you" to "submissive" – of course he did, no backbone to be found in this one, Lucifer concluded. Earlobes chocked for help and tried to free himself, his thin legs under his large belly kicking. "Surely you know, deep in your heart, that your behaviour deserves punishment. So, tell me, now: how am I to punish you properly, hmm…? Let's see… Classic-style Hell, sulphur and fire? Or rip your balls off and make juggle them…? " Lucifer cocked his head to one side as if he expected an answer from the chocking and spluttering former-bully-now-coward still dangling from his grip.
Suddenly, Lucifer's devilish grin brightened. "Well, well, now I know what to do with you all!" he beamed with joy, as he informed Earlobes. "Punishment by humiliation it will be, then, starting with your boss!" He loosened his collar-grip on Earlobes but brought his knee up, so that the dropping fat man's privates crashed into his knee cap. "Sorry you'll have to wait a bit for yours, darling!" he purred. Earlobes fell flat to the floor, howling, writhing and panting, holding his family jewels.
Greasy-Hairs, meanwhile, had pulled himself up, his front sparkled with the blood leaking from his swelling nose, drawing his gun from behind and hissing with all the hatred he could muster "You win pay fon tnis, we win kinn you!" Only that his lines failed to make a proper impression, as they reminded Lucifer on his collection of Lucky Luke first-print comic books and the stories therein. A short glance over his shoulder told him that the first three DA members, battered, struggled to get up again. Good, so he'd have a nice audience… with a pang he suddenly missed Maze. How much fun she would have had, here at his side, together in this!
"Sorry to disappoint, but I do not think I will". He tilted his head in mock concern, giving Earlobes on the soil another casual kick to keep him down. "I rather think that you need to be taught some manners. A task that has, unfortunately, been completely neglected in your youth!" he started to walk towards greasy-hair. "But never fear, your educating devil is here! Never too late to learn something new!" Greasy-Hair narrowed his eyes, took aim and fired the first shot at the approaching devil which hit Lucifer square in the left upper torso. Only without any visible effects. Instead, the Devils' grin broadened. Immortality really came in handy… without the detective being near… he quickly yanked his thoughts back and directed them towards his prey instead. "WHO the hell ARE you? You should die! Die! DIE, you bloody demon! TAKE THIS!" now the leader screamed, as he started firing the entire magazine at the approaching Devil.
"How dare you! I CREATED all the demons in hell since I AM the Devil!" His eyes flashed glowing red now. "I disapprove of your petty criminal club! You dare DISRESPECT my NAME!" Lucifer roared, now sounding really pissed, and all five Devils Army members later swore that the voice they had heard had a deep, eerie, otherworldly resonance that sent shivers down their spines. And as he closed in with his face transforming, as greasy-hairs fired his last shot without any effects and as the leaders' face turned into a fearful mask, he added, as an after-thought "And I do, at any rate, really disapprove of your behaviour towards women…" Lucifer snatched the leaders' useless gun away and threw it effortlessly behind him, where it sailed over the viewpoints' fence and into the abyss.
In one moment the leader peered into a gruesome face with red fiery hell-blazing eyes, too shocked to move a finger, and in the next moment he found himself grabbed by the neck and turned over his bike, with his backside sticking up, legs kicking, while Lucifer broke the long, sturdy metal antenna off the bikes' end, twirling it around his hand with a swishing noise. It then followed that the "Devils Army" leader, nicely on full display to his men, received a special (alas old-fashioned) punishment. This one had gloated in causing pain and humiliation to others since his early young bullying days, so Lucifer found that turnabout was just fair play. And by then, it was never too late to learn something new!
When Lucifer left the viewpoint, straightening his clothes and dusting off his hands, he felt content with himself, humming a little as he drove the Corvette back to Highway 15. That had been a distraction worth the effort! He even had managed to forget the detective for about 20 minutes, which was an achievement, compared to his previous state of mind. The detective would not have approved of his actions, though, she would have… he yanked his thoughts back and turned the music on, mocking the beaten Devils Army squad in his rear mirror with some pulses of thundering orchestra sounds of Richard Wagner's "Walkürenritt", before switching back to classic rock jam.
The Corvette and its driver left a battered and sufficiently humiliated "Devils Army" of five behind who, as they tried to adjust their backsides onto their bike seats, swore to each other to never, ever talk about this… special experience. Within their organization, however, they were not useful any longer. Because they did never, ever shut up about the necessity to adopt a new bikers' club name, claiming that all Hell would break loose if they didn't. Because they were absolutely sure that the Devil disapproved.