Chapter Twenty-Three

The trespasser let out a small yip of surprise, then peered down at himself, his face assuming an expression of exasperation as he peeked down the front of his toga thing. "Oh, not another tie, well doesn't that just take the biscuit, you bloody… I mean," with some apparent difficulty, he appeared to master himself, "That was quite… rude. Do not shoot me again. Please."

David gawped at the man – with a dozen rounds in the centre of mass, he should've been a twitching, oozing corpse. "Who… who are you?" he stuttered.

The robed figure's face became pained for a moment, then reassumed its grave expression. "I am Crowliel, an Angel of the Lord, a Messenger of Heaven," he reiterated solemnly. "I did already say, do try to keep up. And I am manifest unto you to…"

David sprang to his feet, hauled off and hit the guy as hard as he could.

"Your manners really do leave something to be desired, don't they?" observed Toga-guy, as David rolled on the floor, howling in pain, clutching at his hand. "Come on, don't be such a baby, it's not broken. Now, where was I? Yes, right. David Proll, hearken unto me, for I am…"

"Who the fuck are you?" screeched the bewildered corporate raider, eyes bugging.

Toga-guy pinched the bridge of his nose. "For somebody who's made more dollars than the Queen of England has eaten Corgis, you are apparently astonishingly slow on the uptake. I am Crowliel. I am an Angel. Of The Lord. A Messenger. Of Heaven. Look, I'll write it down." He headed for the electronic whiteboard, and picked up a marker, printing carefully onto the surface:

CROWLIEL
ANGEL OF THE LORD
MESSENGER OF HEAVEN

He considered his work for a moment, then drew a small conical angel next to the text. "Shall I do you a print out? Oh, this one does colour, spared no expense I see, Verael would cut my throat if I tried to get…" his eyes suddenly widened. "Oh, Hell's bum, forgot the bloody wings," he muttered. "You might want to shield your eyes a bit," Toga-guy announced, standing back, "I need some fairly bright light to do this."

With that, there was another bright flash, although not as intense as the first one. In the momentary illumination, David saw the shadows of an impressive wing span thrown onto the wall behind the interloper. "Uh," he said, goggling at the wall.

"Notice how my wings are tapered and pointed, with heavy wing loading," Toga-guy said cheerfully, "Build for speed, and steep gliding, because I'm a Herald…" he turned and followed David's line of sight. "Bollocks," he sighed, taking in the tapered and pointed wings charred into the wallpaper. "Sorry, I think I gave the light thing a bit too much juice. Still, you'll probably have to redecorate anyway…"

"What… what are you?" David stuttered, getting to his feet. "What are you doing here?"

Toga-guy rolled his eyes, and jerked a thumb at the whiteboard. "Well, as I've been trying to tell you, I'm an angel, I'm here to save you, I'm doing my best, but frankly, if you don't at least get on board with the whole conversation thing here, I'm pissing into the wind."

"Save me?" David peered at the shorter man. "What are you here to save me from? Have you come to save me from the terrorists? The nukes?"

"What?" Toga-guy looked perplexed. "Um, there's no terrorists, radioactive or otherwise. Well, unless you count that shrill woman with a tea cosy on her head who clearly hasn't brushed her hair in a long time, you know the one, she pops up at your General Meetings and shouts about rainforests, she's just delivering a rather strident letter to your front desk downstairs as we speak…"

"The light, the shaking," David managed to find a more level voice. "I thought it was terrorists. Pocket nukes."

"Oh, no," smiled Toga-guy, "That was all me. It's us Angels of the Lord, you know. We're terrifically powerful beings."

David couldn't help himself. "Are you all British?"

"Absolutely," stated Toga-guy firmly, "Except for a few Norwegians, and an Australian who only got in because there was a mix-up on the form and everybody thought he was from Austria. So, David Proll, paying attention now? Well done. I am here to save you."

David eyed the alleged angel dubiously. "From what?" he asked suspiciously.

"From yourself!" the angel burst out. "You are a sinner, David Proll, you are steeped in the Seven Deadly Sins, and if you do not repent, you are bound for Damnation, where you will spend an eternity in the endless torments of Hell!"

David crossed his arms, and glared at the interloper. "Are you that guy who stands on the corner on Tuesdays and shouts at the traffic?" he demanded.

"What? No! No!" replied the indignant angel, "Look, you shot me, you hit me, you did no damage. Well, except to the robe, and I won't mourn that, and the tie, which I will miss. Then there's the earth-shaking, eye-searing entrance, the impressive wing-span, the, the, the halo! The harp! Which bit of 'angel' do you not understand?"

"Angels aren't real," snapped Mr Proll, "They're just another fairy tale made up by religion, to frighten gullible people into doing what they're told."

"You know, if that was true, it would all be so much simpler," sighed the robed being, absently plucking a sad minor chord on the harp he carried. "Unfortunately, they are real. Painfully real. Just like Hell. And I'm warning you, if you don't repent, you are going straight there the moment you die, and you will not enjoy it."

"Repent?" snorted David, "What for?"

"You sins, duh?" the alleged angel snarked back. "What do you think? 'White Collar Crime' isn't just a suitable name for a pretentious indie band, and it's every bit as grubby as any other sort of crime."

"Well, I don't think I have anything to repent for," David smiled the suave smile that had clinched so many deals, "I have buildings full of lawyers, accountants and economists to make sure that I don't get into any trouble with the law."

"Ah, the law," nodded the self-declared angel, "Well, the thing is, you can buy off the law of humanity, but the moral code, that's where it gets tricky. You're a bastard, David, an unashamed, unreformed, utter utter bastard. A ridiculously successful bastard, I'll grant you. You may be a bastard who can afford to wiggle, waggle, avoid, dodge, buy out, or, if necessary, just fuck the law, but you are a bastard nonetheless."

"Why, thank you," grinned David.

"It wasn't a compliment!" yapped the angel, Crowliel. "Although I can admire real talent when I see it… ahem. Look, it's the Seven Deadly Sins. Greed, obviously, hence the decidedly dodgy dealing that's made you the obscenely wealthy individual you are today. Pride: you do it because you like to frighten people. Envy: you do it because you want what other people have got. Sloth, Gluttony – you can afford to have others pander to your whims and desires. Anger: you'll pull out all the stops to destroy anybody who gets in your way, or doesn't fawn hard enough, or just looks at you sideways, because you can, and you enjoy it. And as for Lust, well, that sofa for starters, soaked in the tears and other distasteful fluids of more people than the average cardboard cut-out of a sparkly vampire in a cinema foyer."

David was genuinely amused. "So, what, you've come to sit on my shoulder, and tell me what a naughty boy I've been?"

"Well, basically, yes," nodded the angel, "Except for the shoulder bit. I'd fall off. And I couldn't bring myself to tramp all over that jacket – cashmere blend, isn't it, Italian? Lovely fabric – but I am here to help you see the error of your ways before you are irredeemably Damned to the perpetual torment of The Pit."

"Why?" asked David, leaning on the desk, genuinely curious. "Why does my soul matter so much? What do you care whether I'm Damned or not?"

The angel's face assumed an expression of sorrowful compassion. "Because every soul matters to… *ahem*… to my… Father," he said earnestly, "Every single soul. No matter how wicked a person has been, there is always hope of Redemption. Hate the sin, not the sinner," he added meaningfully. "And He, er, He wants you to see the error of your ways, and behave in a moral fashion, and be a good person, and enjoy an Eternal Reward in Heaven when you die."

"Behave in a moral fashion," mused David, "And be a good person. So I don't go to Hell."

"Exactly!" smiled Crowliel. "Oh, don't forget making amends. If you're going to repent properly, you have to try to set right the wrongs you may have done to anybody."

"I see," nodded David, "So, be a better person, set right the wrongs. Where would you suggest I start? What with you being an Angel of the Lord, and everything…"

"And a Messenger of Heaven," prompted Crowliel.

"Yeah, that too, so, you'd know a lot more about morality, and good works, than ol' sinner me." He gave Toga-guy his most convincing genuine smile. "So, I've been sinning for a long time, where do you think I should start?"

The berobed man blinked at him. "Well," he said eventually, "I suppose… you could start with, say, a reforestation program, maybe a health clinic or two in remote areas, definitely put one near the worked out mine where all those little kiddies got sick, you could build them a school, too, that'd go down well, the media loves that sort of thing, oh, and the young lady you were speaking to earlier, it might be a well-received gesture to send her a nice note of apology and some roses, and make provision for the upkeep of the child once it's born, you know, milk of human kindness stuff."

"So, essentially, it just boils down to giving money away to people who really need it, and don't have much," suggested David.

Toga-guy beamed at him. "Yes! Yes, that's exactly it!" he enthused. "Well done! 'Tis easier for a camel, needle, rich man, et cetera, and all that. You know, I thought you were going to be a lot more difficult to reason with than this…"

"Or," mused David thoughtfully, "Or I could tell you to go and fuck yourself."

"Because when I… what?" The angel looked up, bemused. "You can't do that! I'm an angel!"

"Do you mean I can't tell you to fuck yourself," asked David solicitously, "Or do you mean that, if I do tell you to go fuck yourself, an angel is not actually able to do that?"

Crowliel's mouth opened and shut a few times, then his face became stern. "Look, I don't think you understand who you're dealing with here," he began.

"I know exactly who I'm dealing with," David grinned smugly, the thrill of the battle of wits singing in him, "Or at least, I know what I'm dealing with. I don't know how you got in here, or how you can do what you do, but I do know that you're a con-man. You're a hustler, you're a dealer, and you're damned good at it. But not quite good enough." He stepped up to the smaller man. "And frankly, if you are one of Heaven's representatives, I don't want to join your organisation. Look at you!" He waved a hand dismissively. "An Angel of the Lord, come to save my soul? You can't even save your own hair!" With a yelp, the angel's hand flew to his hairline. "I like being an asshole, okay? I like it! It's fun! And it's profitable! And if I have to go to Hell for that, so be it! Fuck," he loomed over Crowliel, grinning wolfishly, "If they're as incompetent in Hell as you apparently are in Heaven, and they must be, or they'd have eaten you for breakfast by now, I might just take over, and show 'em how sin is really done. Yeah," his grin widened at the look of horror on the angel's face, "Yeah, I think I could really make a difference in Hell."

You can't… you can't… I'll… I'll…" quivering with indignation, Crowliel rallied magnificently, "I'll smite you!"

"What are you gonna do?" chuckled David, "Harp at me?"

There was a fizzling noise, and a small blue ball of light bounced slowly through the air like a small cheerful balloon, until it made contact with David's watch. There was a sound like zzzzzt, and then the zwing of tiny parts springing apart.

David let out a bark of outrage as Crowliel smirked. "You asshole!" he snarled, as Rolex confetti sprayed the room, "Do you have any idea how much that watch is worth?"

"I warned you," the angel grinned smugly and most unangelically, "Don't mess with an Angel of the Lord."

Dead watch rage filling his mind, David cast around for something to throw at the infuriating angel. "Oh, yeah?" His eye fell on something on the floor. "Well, Angel-of-the-Lord this!"

...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo...

The minute that Crowley showed up at Singer Salvage again, they knew that he had not completed the Trial before he even said a word.

They knew it from the look on his face.

And if that wasn't hint enough, the fact that he had a small figurine of Uncle Pennybags from the game 'Monopoly' stuck up his nose was a bit of a giveaway.

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