THE PENTHOUSE - NOON
Things in the penthouse were basically how we left them, the jukebox was playing - Ella Fitzgerald singing some old show tune - and Balthazar and Crowley were still on the piano bench, halfway through a bottle of whisky. Crowley was trying to relax, but still seemed perturbed. Balthazar had noticed.
"They were off duty," Balthazar said, kind of out of no where. He put his glass back on the piano.
"They?" Crowley asked.
"The twins," Balthazar said. He took Crowley's glass from him and put it with the other. "Still, I don't know if they could've helped with the security breech."
"I'm not angry," Crowley said, though unconvincingly. "I'd tell you if I was."
"No, you wouldn't."
"No, I wouldn't," Crowley admitted with a smirk.
"That's fine," Balthazar said bitterly. "You don't have to tell me anything."
There was something dark in his expression. His eyes began to glow an eerie blue and he put a hand on either side of Crowley's head, looking like he might crack it open. Crowley hardly reacted. He closed his eyes, seemed to nod off, but his lips were moving, like he was muttering something. When his eyes opened again, they were violet, and it was as if there was a light behind them. After about a minute, Balthazar let Crowley's head go, but had to catch him at his good shoulder to keep him from falling off the bench. Both of them were back to normal.
Crowley opened his eyes, startled. "What?" he asked, as if someone had said something.
"I asked if you were alright," Balthazar said. "I think you lost consciousness."
"I don't remember," Crowley said, looking surly, confused and a little panicked.
"Yes, well, you wouldn't remember that, would you?" Balthazar said blithely. "It's a catch 22. Maybe we should take a hiatus."
"We just came back from hiatus," Crowley said.
"Excuse me for not knowing what else to do," Balthazar said.
"I said I wasn't angry," Crowley said, still sounding angry.
Balthazar smiled. "I believe you," he said.
"And why are you suddenly pleasant?" Crowley asked, suspicious.
"I'm always pleasant," Balthazar said. "You're sweet, you know that?"
What? Crowley looked at the whisky bottle - no, Balthazar hadn't finished it by himself.
"You're a strange little man," Crowley said.
"You have no idea," Balthazar said. He poured them both a drink.
Crowley looked back over his shoulder at Balthazar. For a minute, he didn't know what to say.
"Can I be honest with you?" Crowley asked, in a tone that made it sound like he was going to say something awful.
"Of course!" Balthazar said gleefully, as if he couldn't wait to hear something awful.
"I'm beginning to think you didn't hire me for my typing skills," Crowley said.
The door to the apartment burst open. Dolly and Mog were dragging a bloodied man in blue coveralls into the room. They were followed by a few other henchmen: Shipley, Lydecker, and a big guy we haven't seen before. He was kind of malevolent looking - really tall and broad, built like a bouncer, with a mean smile and the kind of haircut one might unfairly associate with mental hospitals. He was dressed like a cowboy without the hat, and carried a red tin tool caddy.
Crowley grinned when he saw everyone enter and absentmindedly flicked a hand back, hitting Balthazar in the nose.
"Fix your face," Crowley said, and hopped to his feet like someone who hadn't just had a bullet pulled out of his back.
He opened the coffin table up. There was a bowl of skittles inside; he gave Balthazar a look and tossed him the bowl, then stood back as Dolly and Mog practically carried the guy over and dumped him into the coffin.
It was Samandriel.
"Good work, girls," Crowley said. "There'll be a sheet of stickers in your lunch tomorrow, promise. Where's the Colt?"
Dolly and Mog looked at each other, clueless.
"The gun?" Crowley asked.
"Nay, there weren't no gun," Mog said.
"Just a dork in a onesie," Dolly said.
"He didn't shoot me with his finger!" Crowley roared. He was pretty steamed at first, but took a moment to collect himself. "Call the boys in band," he said nicely. "Tell them to get their snouts on this - the Colt has to be somewhere. And if you think anyone's nicked it, I want their thumbs in a box."
Dolly and Mog laughed evilly to themselves, but didn't move.
"What are you waiting for?" Crowley asked. "You'll get your treat when I get my gun."
"We wanna watch," Dolly said.
"Aye!" said Mog, in her inexplicably piratey way.
Crowley sighed. "Alright," he said, being gracious. "My suit's already ruined anyway. Butcher, bring me my instruments."
The big cowboy-looking dude, Butcher, came forward and set the tool caddy beside the coffin. Crowley knelt by Samandriel. He snapped his fingers and the jukebox started playing the Andrews Sisters' "Bei Mir Bistu Shein."
"You're a real dead-eye now, aren't you?" Crowley said to Samandriel, and flicked the name tag on his coveralls. "Habib?" He shook his head. "After all we've meant to each other over the years..." He took a power cord out of the caddy and whipped it at Shipley. "You, plug me in."
It took Shipley a second to get what Crowley meant. He grabbed the cord and, when he found an outlet, he plugged in whatever it was.
Shipley went back to the others and whispered to Lydecker, "So what happens now?"
They looked back as they heard a high-pitched buzzing. Crowley had turned on the implement he had Shipley plug in. It was a delicate little craniotomy drill.
Lydecker's body language suggested he didn't wanna see this. "Time to play doctor," he said. "You're not squeamish, are you?".
"Me?" Shipley asked smugly. "Are you kidding? I might be fresh off the line, but I doubt this guy's gonna-. Oh, sweet baby Jesus!" Shipley turned away quickly, shielding his eyes as the sound of a grown man screaming for his life filled the room.
The other henchmen gave Shipley a derisive look.
Lydecker pat him on the shoulder. "New guy," he told them all.
After a while, Crowley turned the drill off. Samandriel was hysterical, as you'd imagine - his chest was cut open, his rib cage slightly exposed and two holes were drilled into one of his ribs, like perforations. Crowley's hand was covered in blood. He held the drill up to Samandriel's face.
"Clever, isn't it?" Crowley said. "Angel tools. Easiest things in the world to make, as it turns out. But from what I hear, you know all about that."
When Crowley said that, Samandriel's eyes flicked to Balthazar.
"That's right," Crowley said. "Taz blabbed. Now I know about all that stuff they did with the things. For shame, Habib, I thought you lot were supposed to all be one big, happy family, but it turns out... that the only real difference between Heaven and Hell, is the climate." He started sucking the blood off his fingers.
Samandriel panted, his voice breaking. "What do you want?" he asked.
"Want?" Crowley asked. "You've already put two bullets in me in less than a year. Right now, all I really want is to take my misery and resentment, fashion it into a shiv, and shove it up your ass. Which I think would be good for both of us - I'd get to turn my pain and degradation into something constructive, and you'd get to change your relationship status on facebook to, 'It's Complicated.' But right now, I what need, is to know where the other angels are hiding. I promise, it'll be quick for you all if you tell me. If not-."
He reached into Samandriel's wound and snapped the perforated rib out, causing him to scream in agony. The rib still had flesh on it. Dolly jumped up and down, waving, trying to get Crowley's attention. He turned his back on the henchmen and threw the rib over his shoulder like the bouquet at wedding. Dolly caught it, but Mog started fighting her for it. They struggled for a moment until Mog kneed Dolly in the stomach and she folded like a deckchair.