SIX

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

January 17th, 2009

Jack Sherman opened his briefcase with shaking hands and slowly removed the Smith and Wesson 431PD revolver he had put inside it early that morning. The gun felt cold and hard - heavy - in his hands. He took a deep, shuddering breath and pulled back the hammer, jumping a little when he heard it click into place, the gun cocked but with the safety still on. His hands fumbled slightly as he tried to thumb the safety without making too much noise.

If he hears me, I'll never get a chance to use this darn thing, Jack thought as he frantically glanced up.

Jack gazed through his office's glass door at a man who stood talking to his receptionist, Holly. The man appeared to be flirting with her, his back to Jack. He was tall and dressed in an expensive looking charcoal grey suit that complimented his silver-flecked black hair.

Jack supposed the man would be considered good looking. The way Holly was throwing her wavy brown hair over her shoulder as she giggled at whatever nonsense he was feeding her, made it clear Jack's receptionist thought he was. He must have his normal face on, Jack thought, because she wouldn't be acting that way if she saw the face I've seen.

He shivered, and after finally managing to get the safety off, shut the briefcase and placed it on the floor where it leaned against the side of his desk. Still holding the gun, he slid his hand under the top of his desk and tried to put on a calm expression. A second later, his intercom buzzed, making him jump and almost drop the gun.

"Mr. Sherman, I have a gentleman here to see you," Holly's tinkling voice announced. "He says his name is Walter Conroy and that you would be expecting him."

"Yes, yes. Send him in," Jack stuttered.

There was a pause as Holly took in her boss' unusually nervous manner, then he saw her rise and lead the thing pretending to be Walter Conroy to his office. Holly opened the door, obviously brushing her slender frame against Conroy, as she held it open for him. Conroy beamed at her. Even from where Jack sat, he could see the smile did not meet the steel gray eyes behind dark rimmed glasses.

Walter Conroy turned his smile on Jack as Holly quickly left them alone, closing the door behind her. Jack tried to smile but felt it falter on his face. "Mr. Conroy," he said as he extended his hand to offer the man one of the black chairs in front of his desk. He remained seated in order to conceal the hand holding the gun and hoped Conroy wouldn't notice the difference in his routine.

"I thought I told you to call me Walter." Conroy sighed. He remained standing. "Why so nervous, Jack?" He grinned sadistically at Jack then, no longer in the mood for pretenses. "I'm disappointed in you, Jackie," Walter said, clicking his tongue in a tsk-tsk sound.

"You-you are? Wh-why?" The gun grew heavier in Jack's hand and his palms began to sweat.

"Because all I came here to do was talk and you came with a loaded gun? To what? Kill me? How will that look to your partners? To the fellow co-workers buzzing about just outside that door?" Walter paused as he pointed to the office door.

Jack watched as one of his partners, Anthony Cipriani, walked by, out to lunch, as usual, with his wife. He could feel sweat budding at his temples and above his quivering upper lip. He was suddenly ice cold and his breath came in a ragged hitch. Could I kill him? Jack thought desperately. Was the monster standing before him, looking serene and certain, right in his assumption of Jack's cowardice? He gulped, trying to force down the lump that had risen in his throat.

"I-I can do it," Jack said shakily and raised the gun. He used both hands in an effort to steady them, but the gun continued to jerk erratically anyway.

"That's so disappointing, Jackie. I thought you were smarter than this. And here I was, hoping we could keep our little arrangement for a just bit longer. A shame really." Walter took a step forward.

"Stay back!" Jack shouted, but Walter took another step towards him, a twisted smile spreading across his face. Jack gasped and instinctively squeezed the trigger.

The shot was deafening in the small, closed office and the smell of gun powder burned his nose. Jack could hear people screaming and yelling, but it all sounded far away, as if from down a long tunnel. The body of Walter Conroy staggered backwards and clutched his chest where a small hole had appeared. Jack couldn't believe his shot had actually hit the man, but was glad it had. He didn't think he had the guts to pull the trigger a second time.

"Dammit! This is a three thousand dollar suit!" Walter roared. Jack stared in horror, struck dumb by fact that the man was not dead, or even appeared to be hurt for that matter.

"I-I shot you. Why-how-how come..." Jack stuttered.

"Because you're an idiot!" Walter spat. He strode forward in three quick steps, ripped the tilting gun from Jack's lax fingers, and, in a swift, fluid movement, cocked and fired the gun into the frightened man's head. There was more screaming and Walter could see the panicked people trying to run for the exits.

He took a deep breath, inhaling the smell of gun powder and blood. It wasn't a distinctly unpleasant smell to him; he had become accustomed to much more contemptible smells during his last stay in hell, but his nose crinkled anyway. He glanced down at the small round hole that had been blasted through his meat-suit's chest and groaned as he saw the damage done to the expensive suit.

"Dammit,' he growled again. In the distance he could hear sirens and cursed his stupidity. I shouldn't have antagonized him, he thought idly, chuckling lightly. But it was kind of fun watching him squirm. "Ruined a good suit," Walter mumbled aloud. He sighed and, realizing the sirens were louder now, threw open the office door with such force that it shattered, before melting into the crowd of screaming, fleeing people.

Once outside, Walter pulled his suit jacket tightly closed in an attempt to hide the bullet hole and jogged to his car. The sooner he was out of the eye of all these monkeys the better. He slipped in behind the wheel of his silver Mercedes and eased out of his parking spot. He could just see the lights of the police cars as they screeched to a halt around the building where the law offices of Sherman, Cipriani, and Schwartz were.

Lilith was going to be displeased with him after this catastrophe. The fact that a man had walked out of an office, apparently unaffected by being shot, would surely catch the attention of the loathsome Winchester boys. Walter knew they were currently snooping around the bodies he'd left behind in Honey Brook. He would have to fix his current blunder in some manner before reporting back to her. He shuddered, in fear this time, at what Lilith would do to him when she heard about today's mistake.

He drove easily through the city, heading to his apartment to change, trying to think of a way to rectify the current situation. Walter had just turned onto South 25th Street, heading to the large building that contained his current host's home, when she appeared beside him in the car. A small, fair girl of no more than seven with wispy blonde hair, dressed in a pink frill dress and matching patent leather shoes regarded him from the passenger seat. The normally soft, angelic-like face was twisted and hideous to Walter's eyes.

"Hello, Lilith," he nodded at his leader's current form.

"That was very rash of you, Malphas. I'm very disappointed," she chided. It sounded absurd coming out in the melodic voice of the small, human child sitting beside him. "I thought you knew better than to upset me."

"I was reckless in dealing with Jack Sherman the way I did, I admit, but the puppet's use no longer served us. He was getting careless and paranoid. I told you he was weak." He glanced at the small girl, looking for her reaction to his defiant attitude. "If I may say so, sooner or later the Winchesters would have made a connection that would lead to him and he would have spilled everything. I merely removed that possibility." Walter eased into his assigned parking spot and turned off the car. The silence was maddening, so he turned to face Lilith to watch her reaction.

"You were hasty and foolish, Malphas, but you have a point. Those insipid Winchesters are not totally doltish. They'll figure out what I'm planning all too soon. Why should you help them any more?" She was swinging her dangling legs and playing with the bottom of her dress. It would have been cute to anyone else who couldn't see the monster beneath the facade.

"I suppose I'll pardon you this mistake. After all, you are rather important to me, Grand President." Lilith climbed up onto her knees and kissed him on the cheek. A shiver ran down his spine, but Walter quashed the sensation to keep from giving away his current discomfort. She smiled at him, already aware, and then flopped back into the seat.

"Now, how about we go upstairs to your meat's apartment and you can make me a giant ice cream sundae?" Lilith scooted out of the car and skipped to the front door, humming as she waited for him to follow. He hurried to catch up, trying to determine if Lilith was just setting him up, giving him a false sense of security. He shuddered again as he thought about what he'd seen Lilith do to other demons in his place. Walter stood, holding the door open for the most appalling little girl on the planet, smiling down at her. You really are the most evil, he thought to himself.