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Sid, Ombudsman of Hell
And I made home-made cinnamon rolls, too!
The Halfway Inn wasn't a large place. It was wider than it was deep, perhaps twenty feet across and half that from the front door to the bar. The walls and floor were from some dark wood, and gave a rich and primordial feel to the place. The bar itself was a blond color, like pine, and was polished to a high shine, or as high a shine as one could get in Limbo.
The inside of Harry's Halfway Inn was well lit. Limbo was lit with the air sort of heavy and casting a cataract over everything, making the dispersed light seem to be dimmer than it ought to be and causing everything seen to appear to be viewed through waxed paper. But Harry's was WELL lit. There were candles on the tables and multi-colored paper lanterns hung from the ceiling. All were burning merrily, and casting flickery happy shadows on the walls and floors.
The air was kept clear by two constantly circulating fans. The fans were run by cables that disappeared into the ceiling and went somewhere else. They were a wonder to Sid, who wondered if maybe Harry had some trained monkeys stashed away in the ceiling, peddling their tails off just to keep the fans running. Electricity in Limbo was like gasoline. It could be created, but it was highly unreliable, and the user was likely to spend a very long time recovering from his burns.
Harry himself wasn't very big. All five feet of him, Harry stood behind the bar, washing glasses, nodding and smiling at his patrons. He wore a forest green vest over a red and white shirt, with the shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He had wide green eyes above a broad mouth. His hair was a flaming pile of red, like a burning bush. Sid thought he looked like an escapee from a midget barbershop Irish quartet.
Harry's Halfway Inn had a cheerful feel, and Sid was puzzled by this. Although he wasn't normally allowed outside of his office, the indication he got from the newspapers he read indicated that Limbo was a pretty horrible place. Not as horrible as say, Hell, but still, you weren't here to have a good time. These people were laughing and joking among themselves.
"Hey!" A deep voice from their left called out. "It is the kid!"
There were maybe a half dozen people inside, standing or sitting at one of the three round tables or at the bar. One of them, a hulking monster with a uni-brow and a bullet shaped bald head rose from his table and came over to them. Old faded jeans and a sleeveless shirt was all he wore and he bent the floorboards with his stride. In one of his hands was a mug the size of a bucket.
Oh my God! Sid thought as his eyes got wide. What is this guy? Seven feet? Eight Feet? He could tear me apart with his bare hands as if I was a Kaiser roll. With butter.
"Siegfried!" Justin shoved his hand out. "Good to see you!" His hand disappeared into the big mitt of the mountain that must be Siegfried. "How're you doing?" Justin asked. "Did you find your family yet?"
Siegfried shook his head. "Not yet," he admitted, sadly. The man's brown eyes misted over. Or eye, anyway. His right eye was covered by a massive scar that ran from the top of his head to his chin. "But there is always hope, eh?"
Justin turned to Sid and made introductions. "Siegfried here has been dead for over three hundred years. He knows his family is somewhere, and he's been searching for them since he got here."
Justin turned back to Siegfried. "Sig, this is Sid. He's going to help me get out of here." Justin's eyes got rounder. "Say, maybe he could help you find your family!" To Sid, he said, "How bout it, Sid? Think you could help?"
Sid felt the weight of Siegfried's eyes on him, and he felt the power of Justin's faith. "Sure," he said, not knowing where the words were coming from. He fished around in his jacket pocket and pulled out a business card he didn't know he had. "Give me a call when I'm done with Justin. We'll talk."
It wasn't a lie. Justin couldn't lie. It was one of the rules of this place. To lie, to tell even a tiny white lie, would have been considered a sin by the PTB. Sid was wondering what the heck was happening to his head. He didn't have access to that sort of information. Well, he did, but it would require having to deal with Edra, who could find anyone at any level of Hell, Purgatory, or Heaven.
It was not something he wanted to do, but here he was, agreeing to talk to this man-mountain about finding his family, who might be Who knows where. Oh yeah. Edra knew. Probably the Big Guys, too. Maybe he could do something... wait a minute! What was he thinking? He wasn't a detective. He didn't even want to be here!
Siegfried took the card and a look of gratitude came into his eye. He read the card. "Sidney Fishbeck. Ombudsman of Hell." He looked confused. "What is an ombudsman?"
Sid shrugged. "It's a fancy word for a mouthpiece. If someone feels that they have been unjustly accused or if they have a gripe to take to the PTB, then I speak for them."
"Oh." Still looking uncertain, Siegfried pulled a massive wallet from his back pocket. The wallet had a heavy chain that ran from it to the pocket. Siegfried stuck the card in the wallet and shoved it back where it came from. "I'll look you up when you have some time, Mister Fishbeck." He nodded and stuck out his hand.
Sid looked at the big hand in front of him. He considered for a moment turning away and saying to heck with it. The kid can defend himself. All he has to do is get through six levels of Hell and find that priest he says he didn't kill. This was getting too weird. He'd been away from people too long. He wasn't sure if he could handle the strain. It was giving him a headache.
Sid extended his own hand. His traitorous hand. The thing that had been with him since birth, seemed to take on a mind of its own and reached out and gripped the massive and calloused hand of Siegfried the Giant and shook it. "Be glad to help, if I can."
Siegfried smiled and the expression turned him from a monstrous Cyclops into a less monstrous Cyclops. He was still frightening, but in a friendly "I won't eat you... yet" sort of way.
Sid looked at Justin, who was smiling like a canary that just missed the cat. "I don't know what I can do for him," he whispered.
Justin clapped Sid on the shoulder and said, "Don't worry, Mister Fishbeck, you'll do what you can, and that's all anyone can do. Let's go meet Harry and ask him about Virgil." To Siegfried, he said, "We might join you at your table, Sig, if it's all right. We just need to talk to Harry about something."
"Sure, sure!" Siegfried showed his teeth again. "Tell Harry it is on my tab, okay?" He reached down and picked Justin up in a bear hug that would probably have killed a bear.
Justin returned the hug and it was a brief contest to see whose ribs would crack first. When no damage was apparently coming, he said, "Now, now... That's enough of that. Remember what we talked about?"
Siegfried placed Justin gently back on the floor and nodded. "That I should ask before picking someone up?"
"That's right," Justin said. "Remember, not everyone is comfortable with public displays of affection. You might make a bad impression, and we don't want to do that, now do we?" He placed a hand on the big man's shoulder, reaching way up to do it. "I'm sure that Sid here is not one that would like to have a hug like that, no matter how good it might feel." He turned to Sid and nodded. "Right, Sid?"
"Uh, right." Sid nodded, strongly. "I'm one of those that gets uncomfortable, that's for sure." With everything that is happening.
"See?" Justin patted Siegfried's shoulder again. "Now go sit back down. We'll be there after we're done with Harry."
"Okay, Justin." Siegfried made his way back to his table, calling over his shoulder, "My tab, remember."
"What did you do to tame that guy?" Sid straightened his tie out of nervousness. "He looked like he could have chewed us up, but he treated you like a long lost brother."
"Oh," Justin said, "Sig's really a nice guy." He started across the short area between the door and the bar. "He ended up here because he fought in some war and killed some folks he probably shouldn't have. Seems it's one of those rules that if you fight for a righteous cause, but still commit murder, you go to Limbo."
Which, technically, was true, as long as you lived a clean life otherwise. This explained why there were far less soldiers in Limbo than might be expected. Just because a person fought in a Holy War did not mean they were immediately exempt from Hell. Even if the Pope himself expunged all the sins of the soldier, there were other sins and other times to consider.
"Harry!" Justin pulled over a stool at the bar and sat on it. Sid stood a bit behind him. "Pull up a stool, Sid. Get comfortable. Order something. Sig's buying, remember?"
"I, uh... I wouldn't feel right ordering something." Sid pulled up a chair. "I haven't had anything to eat or drink since I got here." He shrugged. "I just never thought about it, and it's not like I need to, you know?"
Justin stared at Sid, unbelievingly. "Really? You haven't had anything to eat or drink in... Forever? How long have you been here?"
Sid shrugged again. "Seems like a couple thousand years, to me. Time is subjective. I died in 1964." He didn't mention that the PTB had moved him through time so that his job of Ombudsman actually started about the time that Rome fell. That would have been confusing. Yeah... Confusing. Just like everything else since this kid showed up. Aw well, it would all work out.
"Hey, I remember 1964!" Harry nodded. "That was the year the Beatles came to America..." He sighed and closed his grass green eyes. "Those were the days."
"Sid, meet Harry. Harry, meet Sid."
"Sidney Fishbeck?" Harry was polishing a tall glass while he spoke. "The Ombudsman? I've heard of you, buddy. Nice job you did for Sybil."
Sybil? Sid ran his mind through the names he could remember, which weren't very many because he had only had... what? A couple billion cases in the last thousand and a half years?
"Sybil?" he said, out loud.
"Yeah. Sybil, the witch. Or, rather, not a witch." Harry sat the glass down and picked up another to polish. "You defended her and got her sent upstairs." He nodded. "Good job, bud."
"OH!" Sid's mind suddenly filled with the memory of a statuesque red-haired beauty, with flashing grass green eyes. "Sybil, of course. Thanks." He looked at Harry, saw the resemblance and prodded, "She was...?"
"My mother, who was, as you proved, practically a saint. The same can't be said for me, and that is why I'm here." He finished polishing the glass he was holding to his satisfaction, tossed it into the air and caught it expertly. "What'll you have? There's crummy beer, crummy water and crummy milkshakes."
"Milkshakes?" Sid let his eyes shift from Harry to Justin. "You actually have milkshakes?"
Yeah, but I don't recommend them. We can get milk all right, but it just doesn't taste like it ever got near a cow. And ice cream... well, it's just not quite right."
Harry opened a small door under the bar. Wisps of cold steam curled up. He bent down and did something unseen. He came back up with two scoops of what looked like chocolate ice cream in a glass bowl, the sort of glass bowl that was found in old time soda shops. He sat it in front of Sid.
"Is that cold?" Sid asked, curiously. "I didn't think things got cold here. I thought they just stayed... um... lukewarm."
"Normally they don't. Cold is a luxury, for sure and true." Harry agreed. "There's a little special dispensation I have going for me." He winked and tapped the side of his nose. "Maybe I'll tell you about it sometime. Try it," he urged, placing a spoon in front of Sid.
Sid picked up the spoon, looking at Harry skeptically. He looked at Justin, who just looked back, blandly smiling. "Sounds like a dare, almost," he said.
He looked down at his bowl of ice cream. It looked chocolate. He smelled it. It smelled, faintly and a bit sulphury, of chocolate. Old chocolate. Old stale chocolate.
Sid pushed the spoon into the ice cream and dug out a frozen bit of it. The steam rising from it curled around the spoon and drifted, like snow flakes, down to the bar. Hesitantly, Sid touched it gingerly with his tongue.
The cold bit back and Sid pulled his tongue away. "It's too cold to taste anything," he grumbled.
"Well, then," Harry said, smiling enigmatically, "give it a few seconds."
Sid, just enough for most of the steam to waft away, then spooned the ice cream into his mouth. It was cold cold. The cold of a shoulder turned away. The cold of a closed mind. But it was chocolate, sure enough. Chocolate maybe mixed with something else, something that gave it an aftertaste of dark chocolate that has been burned. Still, it wasn't bad. It had that chocolaty taste. It was just not quite right.
"It's okay?" Harry's smile faded. "You say its okay? It should taste like three day old crap." He grabbed for the spoon. "Let me see that." He dug out his own bit and shoved it into his mouth, not waiting for it to warm up. The steam dribbled from his lips as he exhaled, trying to warm it up.
"Cold! Cold, cold, cold." Harry swallowed it and immediately regretted it. He reached up and grabbed his head. "Ow! Ow! Brain freeze!" He poured some lukewarm beer down his throat. A few seconds later, he was recovered enough to say, "Still tastes like crap to me." He took another tentative bite. "A slightly better level of crap, but still crap."
Justin cleared his throat and reached over to touch Harry's arm. "Harry, we're looking for a fellow named Virgil. I hear tell that you might know of him. Do you?"
Harry paused in mid-bite. His round face showed obvious enjoyment from the ice cream, regardless of his words. "Virgil? Which Virgil, Justin? There's been maybe... oh..." He dug another bite from the bowl. "A million Virgils come in here." He swallowed his latest bit, rolled his eyes and said. "Still crap. Good crap, mind you, but crap."
Justin tapped the bar top. "Harry! Please! This is a fellow that we need to find who knows the way through the Levels of Hell. There's a man on the sixth level that can prove my innocence and Sid and I need to get down there."
"Sixth level?" Harry's eyes got round and serious. The green of his eyes darkened to a deep sea green. "Oh, Justin." He shook his head negatively, and his put his spoon decisively on the bar top. He reached across the bar and grabbed one of Justin's hands. In a serious and concerned voice he said, "You don't want to go down there. It's dangerous as he... heck. There are all sorts of nasty things even before you get to the fifth level." His voice turned quiet, and he looked at Justin with pleading eyes. "Don't go, okay?" He turned to Sid. "Talk him out of it, okay?"
Sid shrugged his shoulders. "It's not my decision. If Justin wants to go, I have to go with him. It's a divine mandate." Still, he turned to Justin. "Harry seems to think it's too dangerous, Justin."
Justin thought for a very few seconds. He took that time to look at Harry, long and hard, weighing what the man had said. He turned to Sid and asked, "If I go, you'll be there, right?"
Sid shrugged, non-committal. "I have to, kid. It's part of the job." Sid was wishing that Justin would just forget about it, and set up home here in Limbo. It didn't look so bad, once you got used to it. Maybe he could get a job as a pedicab driver. His face didn't betray his thoughts. He'd happily go back to his little office and stay there forever.
Justin nodded. "Thanks, Sid." To Harry, he said, "I have to Harry. I'm innocent, and I need this Peter Michael to prove it. Otherwise, I go to Hell."
Harry sighed and pulled his hand back. "Can't say I didn't warn you, Justin." He looked at Sid. "You got superpowers or something? There are things down there that will freeze your soul harder than this stuff." He tapped the bowl of the now melting confection. "There're beasts that will swallow your soul and you can't fight against it."
Sid knew some of the dangers that lurked in the depths of Hell, simply from reading the papers, and Harry was right. There is a definite possibility of losing one's soul in there. He wasn't particularly worried about himself, because of the ticket he carried in his pocket. Justin, on the other hand, didn't have the same sort of pass by. That's one of the reasons he had to go. He might be the only person that could keep Justin relatively safe. And it was that thought alone that brought Sid the least comfort.
"Nope, no superpowers," Sid admitted. "Let's just say I have a 'special dispensation'. We'll do okay. We just need to know where we're going, and that's why we need to find this Virgil guy."
Harry looked Sid, hard. He stared long enough that the ice cream melted and was trying to escape the bowl. Then Harry blinked, once, slowly. "Okay, then. So be it." He reached under the bar, pulled a short pad of paper and wrote something on it.
"Here." He passed the note to Sid, not to Justin. "The guy you want is standing at the Crossroads." He said it with the capital letter. "He's been there for a couple of hundred years, so he may be a bit... off, you know?"
To Justin, he said, "I hope this guy," he tossed a thumb at Sid, "knows what he's doing. I like you, Justin. Things seem to work better when you're around." He dipped his spoon in the melted mess. "Like the ice cream. It really did taste nasty until you started showing up. All the beer was flat, and the jukebox didn't work half the time." He gave the young man a sad, serious look. "I'd hate to have you get lost and not come back... you know?"
Sid interrupted. "You have a jukebox?"
Harry gave him an evil look for being interrupted. "Yeah, in the corner, by that big guy." He pointed to where Siegfried sat. "Don't play anything Russian. It ticks him off."
"I was meaning to ask you," Sid ventured, "How do you keep your ceiling fans working? I thought it was dangerous to use electricity."
"See, that's one of the odd things about Justin here," Harry said. "Like I said, things work better. Before he showed up, we couldn't run the 'lectric. Things would blow up, or not work. Then one day he shows up and pushes a few buttons on the juke and things started working. They've been working for years, just because he did whatever he did."
Justin blushed. "Aw, I didn't do anything." He looked at Sid and Harry. "Really. I just get lucky sometimes. It was like that when I was alive."
"Except when you got hit by that truck," Sid added.
"Well... there was that," Justin admitted. "But then, everything happens for a reason, doesn't it? Maybe there was a reason I was sent here."
Harry snorted. "Let's not get all metaphysical, okay? There's enough weirdness running around here without us believing that there's some big cosmic conspiracy."
"But everything does happen for a reason!" Justin said.
"Yeah, okay, whatever." Harry took the bowl from the bar top and placed it below somewhere. "All I know is that we just do what we gotta do to get by. No big mystery, no big plan. I could have ended up in the ninth level, if I'd showed up for my dispatch. The ninth level, where the Big Bad One is. You can't get me to believe that there was a reason for that."
Sid asked, "What did you do?" When Harry gave him the evil eye again, Sid tossed up his hands and defended himself by saying, "Hey, its professional curiosity. If you were wrongly accused," and before he could stop himself, he said, "I can help you."
Not might help you, but can help you. Sid's brain was wearing big hobnail boots and was kicking his own butt. Why can't I just keep my mouth shut? Why am I all of a sudden getting involved? I don't have a conscience any more. I don't care about these people any more.
He looked over at Justin, who was smiling and nodding. It was the kids fault. If he just hadn't been so innocent looking. And there was something about him. Harry was right. There was something about the kid that just seemed to make things better. Stupid kid.
"Sid is already going to help Siegfried look for his lost family," Justin said. "I bet he could help you, for sure!"
Harry gave Sid another of his appraising stares. "You're going to help the big ape look for his family?" He thought a bit. "Do you have access to the Akashic records or something? Were you a wizard on the other side?"
"Uh...," Sid answered carefully. "No, I don't have complete access to the records, but I have connections." Yeah, like my jailer. "I might be able to find out where they were sent."
"You know that information won't do him any good, don't you?" Harry added. "Even if he knows where they are, he can't get to them. It's either here or Hell for him."
"Aw, Harry," Justin soothed. "Why be so mean? Maybe Sig just wants to know where they are, so that he doesn't have to wonder. Isn't it better to know that your mom is up in Heaven, rather than down in the pits of Hell?"
Harry didn't have to think about it very long, if at all. "Yes, it's better that I know. It would be even better if I could be up there with her, rather than stuck hiding out in this stinking bar." He whipped his head back to Sid. "Look, if you can help me... if you think you can help me..." he let his statement fade.
"Tell me what you did." Sid stopped. "No, tell me what you were accused of. It doesn't matter what you did, what matters is what the Laws of Judgment say you did. The ninth level is reserved for betrayers, so who are you accused of betraying?"
"I'm afraid to tell you." Harry went back to his polishing. "If I tell you what I was accused of, you might say no."
"I already said yes," Sid said between clenched teeth, "and to go back on my word would put ME on the eight level, for perpetrating a lie against you."
This is getting stickier. Even with the protection the job of Ombudsman gave him, there wasn't any promise made to him that he couldn't be convicted of another sin. He was just as vulnerable as anyone else in Limbo.
Harry nodded. "Yeah, that much is true." He put down the glass he was polishing and brought up a frosty bottle of something. He placed it in front of Justin. Another one appeared from below the bar and it ended up before Sid. "That's because you were going to ask for it. I heard Siggy yell that it would be on his tab, so it's okay."
Harry hunkered down on the bar, waving the other two to join him. "If I tell you, you can't tell anyone else, okay?" He looked from Justin to Sid, from Sid back to Justin. "Promise me, you won't tell anyone. And you know that promises are taken very seriously here."
Justin and Sid both promised they would never tell a soul.
"I'm here because I was accused of betraying the Big Guy." Harry let that hang in the air. Sid and Justin just stared, not saying a word. "You know... The. Big. Guy!" Harry pointed upwards.
"You're not serious." Sid was hearing something unbelievable. Harry was here for betraying God? Was that even possible? He felt his head spin and his stomach dropped somewhere far, far below him. He began to imagine himself in the eight level already, the one set for falsifiers and liars.
"Dead serious," Harry whispered. "As dead serious as I am dead." He shuddered at the thought. "I do NOT want to be trapped for eternity with Satan. The guy is a horrible poker player, and he smokes the worst cigars."
He caught at the stares of the two men. "That last bit was a joke. Sort of. But really, I'm not going. I don't even know what I did. I just woke up dead one day and found an envelope that said I was to go directly to the lowest ring of the ninth level. I asked around about what was there and everyone gave me the same answer." He paused, took a breath. "No WAY am I going there."
He looked imploringly at Sid. "Buddy, if you can help me beat this rap... I don't know what I'd do to repay you, but you'd have a friend forever."
Harry's plea hit Sid like a hammer. He couldn't turn it down. He had already said he would do it. But a betrayal against God? That meant he would be going up against the single largest Law of Judgment there was. This would not endear him to the either of the Powers That Be. He might as well just walk in to either of their offices and simply ask to be blasted to oblivion.
Sid felt Justin's hand on his shoulder. "Sid, we've got to help Harry! I mean, his accusation makes mine look like ding-dong school. And if it's wrong... We just gotta help him."
Sid nodded, miserably. "Yeah, I know, kid. I know." He lifted Justin's hand where it was crushing him. "And I will. I already said I will." He sighed. "But I have to do yours first, okay? Requests are taken in the order they're received. Says so in the manual."
It didn't actually say so in the manual, but it was the one thing that Sid could say that would postpone it for a while. Heck, the kid just might tell Sid to forget about his and concentrate on Harry's little problem. He'd been out of the office for... what? An hour? Two at most, and here he already had three cases he didn't want to take, but had to. He felt the weight of responsibility crushing in on him.
"You guys can't tell anyone about me, either," Harry reminded them. "You promised."
"Not to worry, Harry," Justin said brightly. "Your secret is safe with us. Right Sid?"
"Yeah, your secret is safe," Sid grumbled. Darn Boy Scout. "It'll make it a bit harder to find out what happened, but I won't tell anyone. It might make it darned near impossible." He looked at Harry. "Can I at least tell my... er... secretary? She'd be the one doing all the digging."
"No!" Harry tossed up his hands. "You can't tell anyone. Who knows who your secretary would talk to?" He looked around to see if any of the others in the bar were watching. Nobody was. Nobody cared.
"Okay, okay! Sheesh. I won't tell anyone." What a schlimel. He only made it a quadrillion times harder to find out anything. "Don't get your panties in a knot." He picked up his beer and walked over to Siegfried's table. "Come on, Justin. Let's go find out Siegfried's last name so I can have something to go on in finding his family."
Siegfried's last name turned out to be Romananov, which was great, because it was one of those incredibly common last names. His wife's name was Anna, two Ns, not one, Siegfried said. His daughter's name was Danalia, named after his maternal grandmother.
After exchanging a few pleasantries, like hearing the story of how Siegfried saved his entire squad single handedly, and how wonderful his babushka's borsht was, Sid and Justin found themselves back on the street.
"Look, Justin," Sid said. "Just so we're clear. I do your case first, then I do Siegfried, then, and only then, will I do Harry." He looked up at the clean cut blue eyes. "Okay? And don't bug me about it, and don't go offering my services to anyone else without talking to me first. Got it?"
"Sure Sid!" Justin smiled and nodded. He clapped Sid on the shoulder and said, "Whatever you say." He looked up at the sky, which was always the same uniform ash grey. "It's turning out to be a great day, isn't it?"
"You know kid, I think, before this is all over; we're going to have to discuss this ever present happy attitude of yours."
"Aw, now." Justin turned his smile down just a notch. "I think someone is just a bit grumpy."
"Yeah," Sid said. "That's it. Just a bit... grumpy." He fished for the bit of paper that Harry passed them. On it were the words, "Wild eyed madman, sitting at the crossroads. Ask him to tell you about the Aeneid. If he answers you, it's Virgil"
"I wonder how we get to the crossroads," Sid muttered.
"We'll take a cab!" Justin stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled high and shrill. It wasn't three seconds when a Pedicab pulled up.
"Where to... Justin!" A pretty blond wearing a black leather suit was the driver. She had deep blue eye shadow over green eyes and a smile to die for. "Justin! How are you?"
"I'm fine, Betty," Justin said. "How're you?"
"Doing great!" She tossed her long hair out of her face. "Since you helped me with that little incident, it's just getting better and better."
Incident? "What incident?" Sid asked.
"Oh!" Justin put his hand on Sid's shoulder, again. "Betty, this is Sid. He's going to help me with my own problem."
"That's great!" Betty looked down at Sid from her seat. "You're Sid? Sid Fishbeck. The ombudsman?"
Everyone young must speak with exclamation points, Sid thought. "Yeah, that's me." he said. "And please don't tell me you need my help. I'm booked solid for the next few years, I think."
Betty laughed musically. "No, I don't need any help, Mister Fishbeck. Thanks to Justin, here."
Sid looked from her to Justin and from Justin to Betty, and back to Justin. "You want to tell me what she's talking about?"
Justin's face turned beet red. "No, really. It wasn't a big thing."
"Not a big thing!" Betty gushed prettily at Justin. "Why, he single handedly fought off a gang of Imps, and then convinced them to leave me alone." To Sid she said, "He's a hero, Mister Fishbeck. Pure and simple. Then he got me this job and it's been roses and bonbons ever since."
"Wasn't that big a thing, Betty," Justin protested. "Those imps thought you were really going to... you know. All I had to do was talk to them. They're really nice guys when you get to know them."
"Ha!" Betty tossed her hair back again. "Says you. But then you're about the nicest guy I've ever known. If only I had met you when I was... you know... still alive and all." She sighed with regret. "Oh well, maybe next life time, huh?" She straightened her suit, tied her hair back with a red scrunchy. "Where to, gentlemen?" She giggled.
"We're going to the crossroads, Betty." Sid tried to make it sound like he knew exactly where he was going.
"The crossroads, huh?" She looked up at the sky. "Well, it's as good a day as any. Climb aboard. And thank you for flying Air Betty."
The Halfway Inn wasn't a large place. It was wider than it was deep, perhaps twenty feet across and half that from the front door to the bar. The walls and floor were from some dark wood, and gave a rich and primordial feel to the place. The bar itself was a blond color, like pine, and was polished to a high shine, or as high a shine as one could get in Limbo.
The inside of Harry's Halfway Inn was well lit. Limbo was lit with the air sort of heavy and casting a cataract over everything, making the dispersed light seem to be dimmer than it ought to be and causing everything seen to appear to be viewed through waxed paper. But Harry's was WELL lit. There were candles on the tables and multi-colored paper lanterns hung from the ceiling. All were burning merrily, and casting flickery happy shadows on the walls and floors.
The air was kept clear by two constantly circulating fans. The fans were run by cables that disappeared into the ceiling and went somewhere else. They were a wonder to Sid, who wondered if maybe Harry had some trained monkeys stashed away in the ceiling, peddling their tails off just to keep the fans running. Electricity in Limbo was like gasoline. It could be created, but it was highly unreliable, and the user was likely to spend a very long time recovering from his burns.
Harry himself wasn't very big. All five feet of him, Harry stood behind the bar, washing glasses, nodding and smiling at his patrons. He wore a forest green vest over a red and white shirt, with the shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He had wide green eyes above a broad mouth. His hair was a flaming pile of red, like a burning bush. Sid thought he looked like an escapee from a midget barbershop Irish quartet.
Harry's Halfway Inn had a cheerful feel, and Sid was puzzled by this. Although he wasn't normally allowed outside of his office, the indication he got from the newspapers he read indicated that Limbo was a pretty horrible place. Not as horrible as say, Hell, but still, you weren't here to have a good time. These people were laughing and joking among themselves.
"Hey!" A deep voice from their left called out. "It is the kid!"
There were maybe a half dozen people inside, standing or sitting at one of the three round tables or at the bar. One of them, a hulking monster with a uni-brow and a bullet shaped bald head rose from his table and came over to them. Old faded jeans and a sleeveless shirt was all he wore and he bent the floorboards with his stride. In one of his hands was a mug the size of a bucket.
Oh my God! Sid thought as his eyes got wide. What is this guy? Seven feet? Eight Feet? He could tear me apart with his bare hands as if I was a Kaiser roll. With butter.
"Siegfried!" Justin shoved his hand out. "Good to see you!" His hand disappeared into the big mitt of the mountain that must be Siegfried. "How're you doing?" Justin asked. "Did you find your family yet?"
Siegfried shook his head. "Not yet," he admitted, sadly. The man's brown eyes misted over. Or eye, anyway. His right eye was covered by a massive scar that ran from the top of his head to his chin. "But there is always hope, eh?"
Justin turned to Sid and made introductions. "Siegfried here has been dead for over three hundred years. He knows his family is somewhere, and he's been searching for them since he got here."
Justin turned back to Siegfried. "Sig, this is Sid. He's going to help me get out of here." Justin's eyes got rounder. "Say, maybe he could help you find your family!" To Sid, he said, "How bout it, Sid? Think you could help?"
Sid felt the weight of Siegfried's eyes on him, and he felt the power of Justin's faith. "Sure," he said, not knowing where the words were coming from. He fished around in his jacket pocket and pulled out a business card he didn't know he had. "Give me a call when I'm done with Justin. We'll talk."
It wasn't a lie. Justin couldn't lie. It was one of the rules of this place. To lie, to tell even a tiny white lie, would have been considered a sin by the PTB. Sid was wondering what the heck was happening to his head. He didn't have access to that sort of information. Well, he did, but it would require having to deal with Edra, who could find anyone at any level of Hell, Purgatory, or Heaven.
It was not something he wanted to do, but here he was, agreeing to talk to this man-mountain about finding his family, who might be Who knows where. Oh yeah. Edra knew. Probably the Big Guys, too. Maybe he could do something... wait a minute! What was he thinking? He wasn't a detective. He didn't even want to be here!
Siegfried took the card and a look of gratitude came into his eye. He read the card. "Sidney Fishbeck. Ombudsman of Hell." He looked confused. "What is an ombudsman?"
Sid shrugged. "It's a fancy word for a mouthpiece. If someone feels that they have been unjustly accused or if they have a gripe to take to the PTB, then I speak for them."
"Oh." Still looking uncertain, Siegfried pulled a massive wallet from his back pocket. The wallet had a heavy chain that ran from it to the pocket. Siegfried stuck the card in the wallet and shoved it back where it came from. "I'll look you up when you have some time, Mister Fishbeck." He nodded and stuck out his hand.
Sid looked at the big hand in front of him. He considered for a moment turning away and saying to heck with it. The kid can defend himself. All he has to do is get through six levels of Hell and find that priest he says he didn't kill. This was getting too weird. He'd been away from people too long. He wasn't sure if he could handle the strain. It was giving him a headache.
Sid extended his own hand. His traitorous hand. The thing that had been with him since birth, seemed to take on a mind of its own and reached out and gripped the massive and calloused hand of Siegfried the Giant and shook it. "Be glad to help, if I can."
Siegfried smiled and the expression turned him from a monstrous Cyclops into a less monstrous Cyclops. He was still frightening, but in a friendly "I won't eat you... yet" sort of way.
Sid looked at Justin, who was smiling like a canary that just missed the cat. "I don't know what I can do for him," he whispered.
Justin clapped Sid on the shoulder and said, "Don't worry, Mister Fishbeck, you'll do what you can, and that's all anyone can do. Let's go meet Harry and ask him about Virgil." To Siegfried, he said, "We might join you at your table, Sig, if it's all right. We just need to talk to Harry about something."
"Sure, sure!" Siegfried showed his teeth again. "Tell Harry it is on my tab, okay?" He reached down and picked Justin up in a bear hug that would probably have killed a bear.
Justin returned the hug and it was a brief contest to see whose ribs would crack first. When no damage was apparently coming, he said, "Now, now... That's enough of that. Remember what we talked about?"
Siegfried placed Justin gently back on the floor and nodded. "That I should ask before picking someone up?"
"That's right," Justin said. "Remember, not everyone is comfortable with public displays of affection. You might make a bad impression, and we don't want to do that, now do we?" He placed a hand on the big man's shoulder, reaching way up to do it. "I'm sure that Sid here is not one that would like to have a hug like that, no matter how good it might feel." He turned to Sid and nodded. "Right, Sid?"
"Uh, right." Sid nodded, strongly. "I'm one of those that gets uncomfortable, that's for sure." With everything that is happening.
"See?" Justin patted Siegfried's shoulder again. "Now go sit back down. We'll be there after we're done with Harry."
"Okay, Justin." Siegfried made his way back to his table, calling over his shoulder, "My tab, remember."
"What did you do to tame that guy?" Sid straightened his tie out of nervousness. "He looked like he could have chewed us up, but he treated you like a long lost brother."
"Oh," Justin said, "Sig's really a nice guy." He started across the short area between the door and the bar. "He ended up here because he fought in some war and killed some folks he probably shouldn't have. Seems it's one of those rules that if you fight for a righteous cause, but still commit murder, you go to Limbo."
Which, technically, was true, as long as you lived a clean life otherwise. This explained why there were far less soldiers in Limbo than might be expected. Just because a person fought in a Holy War did not mean they were immediately exempt from Hell. Even if the Pope himself expunged all the sins of the soldier, there were other sins and other times to consider.
"Harry!" Justin pulled over a stool at the bar and sat on it. Sid stood a bit behind him. "Pull up a stool, Sid. Get comfortable. Order something. Sig's buying, remember?"
"I, uh... I wouldn't feel right ordering something." Sid pulled up a chair. "I haven't had anything to eat or drink since I got here." He shrugged. "I just never thought about it, and it's not like I need to, you know?"
Justin stared at Sid, unbelievingly. "Really? You haven't had anything to eat or drink in... Forever? How long have you been here?"
Sid shrugged again. "Seems like a couple thousand years, to me. Time is subjective. I died in 1964." He didn't mention that the PTB had moved him through time so that his job of Ombudsman actually started about the time that Rome fell. That would have been confusing. Yeah... Confusing. Just like everything else since this kid showed up. Aw well, it would all work out.
"Hey, I remember 1964!" Harry nodded. "That was the year the Beatles came to America..." He sighed and closed his grass green eyes. "Those were the days."
"Sid, meet Harry. Harry, meet Sid."
"Sidney Fishbeck?" Harry was polishing a tall glass while he spoke. "The Ombudsman? I've heard of you, buddy. Nice job you did for Sybil."
Sybil? Sid ran his mind through the names he could remember, which weren't very many because he had only had... what? A couple billion cases in the last thousand and a half years?
"Sybil?" he said, out loud.
"Yeah. Sybil, the witch. Or, rather, not a witch." Harry sat the glass down and picked up another to polish. "You defended her and got her sent upstairs." He nodded. "Good job, bud."
"OH!" Sid's mind suddenly filled with the memory of a statuesque red-haired beauty, with flashing grass green eyes. "Sybil, of course. Thanks." He looked at Harry, saw the resemblance and prodded, "She was...?"
"My mother, who was, as you proved, practically a saint. The same can't be said for me, and that is why I'm here." He finished polishing the glass he was holding to his satisfaction, tossed it into the air and caught it expertly. "What'll you have? There's crummy beer, crummy water and crummy milkshakes."
"Milkshakes?" Sid let his eyes shift from Harry to Justin. "You actually have milkshakes?"
Yeah, but I don't recommend them. We can get milk all right, but it just doesn't taste like it ever got near a cow. And ice cream... well, it's just not quite right."
Harry opened a small door under the bar. Wisps of cold steam curled up. He bent down and did something unseen. He came back up with two scoops of what looked like chocolate ice cream in a glass bowl, the sort of glass bowl that was found in old time soda shops. He sat it in front of Sid.
"Is that cold?" Sid asked, curiously. "I didn't think things got cold here. I thought they just stayed... um... lukewarm."
"Normally they don't. Cold is a luxury, for sure and true." Harry agreed. "There's a little special dispensation I have going for me." He winked and tapped the side of his nose. "Maybe I'll tell you about it sometime. Try it," he urged, placing a spoon in front of Sid.
Sid picked up the spoon, looking at Harry skeptically. He looked at Justin, who just looked back, blandly smiling. "Sounds like a dare, almost," he said.
He looked down at his bowl of ice cream. It looked chocolate. He smelled it. It smelled, faintly and a bit sulphury, of chocolate. Old chocolate. Old stale chocolate.
Sid pushed the spoon into the ice cream and dug out a frozen bit of it. The steam rising from it curled around the spoon and drifted, like snow flakes, down to the bar. Hesitantly, Sid touched it gingerly with his tongue.
The cold bit back and Sid pulled his tongue away. "It's too cold to taste anything," he grumbled.
"Well, then," Harry said, smiling enigmatically, "give it a few seconds."
Sid, just enough for most of the steam to waft away, then spooned the ice cream into his mouth. It was cold cold. The cold of a shoulder turned away. The cold of a closed mind. But it was chocolate, sure enough. Chocolate maybe mixed with something else, something that gave it an aftertaste of dark chocolate that has been burned. Still, it wasn't bad. It had that chocolaty taste. It was just not quite right.
"It's okay?" Harry's smile faded. "You say its okay? It should taste like three day old crap." He grabbed for the spoon. "Let me see that." He dug out his own bit and shoved it into his mouth, not waiting for it to warm up. The steam dribbled from his lips as he exhaled, trying to warm it up.
"Cold! Cold, cold, cold." Harry swallowed it and immediately regretted it. He reached up and grabbed his head. "Ow! Ow! Brain freeze!" He poured some lukewarm beer down his throat. A few seconds later, he was recovered enough to say, "Still tastes like crap to me." He took another tentative bite. "A slightly better level of crap, but still crap."
Justin cleared his throat and reached over to touch Harry's arm. "Harry, we're looking for a fellow named Virgil. I hear tell that you might know of him. Do you?"
Harry paused in mid-bite. His round face showed obvious enjoyment from the ice cream, regardless of his words. "Virgil? Which Virgil, Justin? There's been maybe... oh..." He dug another bite from the bowl. "A million Virgils come in here." He swallowed his latest bit, rolled his eyes and said. "Still crap. Good crap, mind you, but crap."
Justin tapped the bar top. "Harry! Please! This is a fellow that we need to find who knows the way through the Levels of Hell. There's a man on the sixth level that can prove my innocence and Sid and I need to get down there."
"Sixth level?" Harry's eyes got round and serious. The green of his eyes darkened to a deep sea green. "Oh, Justin." He shook his head negatively, and his put his spoon decisively on the bar top. He reached across the bar and grabbed one of Justin's hands. In a serious and concerned voice he said, "You don't want to go down there. It's dangerous as he... heck. There are all sorts of nasty things even before you get to the fifth level." His voice turned quiet, and he looked at Justin with pleading eyes. "Don't go, okay?" He turned to Sid. "Talk him out of it, okay?"
Sid shrugged his shoulders. "It's not my decision. If Justin wants to go, I have to go with him. It's a divine mandate." Still, he turned to Justin. "Harry seems to think it's too dangerous, Justin."
Justin thought for a very few seconds. He took that time to look at Harry, long and hard, weighing what the man had said. He turned to Sid and asked, "If I go, you'll be there, right?"
Sid shrugged, non-committal. "I have to, kid. It's part of the job." Sid was wishing that Justin would just forget about it, and set up home here in Limbo. It didn't look so bad, once you got used to it. Maybe he could get a job as a pedicab driver. His face didn't betray his thoughts. He'd happily go back to his little office and stay there forever.
Justin nodded. "Thanks, Sid." To Harry, he said, "I have to Harry. I'm innocent, and I need this Peter Michael to prove it. Otherwise, I go to Hell."
Harry sighed and pulled his hand back. "Can't say I didn't warn you, Justin." He looked at Sid. "You got superpowers or something? There are things down there that will freeze your soul harder than this stuff." He tapped the bowl of the now melting confection. "There're beasts that will swallow your soul and you can't fight against it."
Sid knew some of the dangers that lurked in the depths of Hell, simply from reading the papers, and Harry was right. There is a definite possibility of losing one's soul in there. He wasn't particularly worried about himself, because of the ticket he carried in his pocket. Justin, on the other hand, didn't have the same sort of pass by. That's one of the reasons he had to go. He might be the only person that could keep Justin relatively safe. And it was that thought alone that brought Sid the least comfort.
"Nope, no superpowers," Sid admitted. "Let's just say I have a 'special dispensation'. We'll do okay. We just need to know where we're going, and that's why we need to find this Virgil guy."
Harry looked Sid, hard. He stared long enough that the ice cream melted and was trying to escape the bowl. Then Harry blinked, once, slowly. "Okay, then. So be it." He reached under the bar, pulled a short pad of paper and wrote something on it.
"Here." He passed the note to Sid, not to Justin. "The guy you want is standing at the Crossroads." He said it with the capital letter. "He's been there for a couple of hundred years, so he may be a bit... off, you know?"
To Justin, he said, "I hope this guy," he tossed a thumb at Sid, "knows what he's doing. I like you, Justin. Things seem to work better when you're around." He dipped his spoon in the melted mess. "Like the ice cream. It really did taste nasty until you started showing up. All the beer was flat, and the jukebox didn't work half the time." He gave the young man a sad, serious look. "I'd hate to have you get lost and not come back... you know?"
Sid interrupted. "You have a jukebox?"
Harry gave him an evil look for being interrupted. "Yeah, in the corner, by that big guy." He pointed to where Siegfried sat. "Don't play anything Russian. It ticks him off."
"I was meaning to ask you," Sid ventured, "How do you keep your ceiling fans working? I thought it was dangerous to use electricity."
"See, that's one of the odd things about Justin here," Harry said. "Like I said, things work better. Before he showed up, we couldn't run the 'lectric. Things would blow up, or not work. Then one day he shows up and pushes a few buttons on the juke and things started working. They've been working for years, just because he did whatever he did."
Justin blushed. "Aw, I didn't do anything." He looked at Sid and Harry. "Really. I just get lucky sometimes. It was like that when I was alive."
"Except when you got hit by that truck," Sid added.
"Well... there was that," Justin admitted. "But then, everything happens for a reason, doesn't it? Maybe there was a reason I was sent here."
Harry snorted. "Let's not get all metaphysical, okay? There's enough weirdness running around here without us believing that there's some big cosmic conspiracy."
"But everything does happen for a reason!" Justin said.
"Yeah, okay, whatever." Harry took the bowl from the bar top and placed it below somewhere. "All I know is that we just do what we gotta do to get by. No big mystery, no big plan. I could have ended up in the ninth level, if I'd showed up for my dispatch. The ninth level, where the Big Bad One is. You can't get me to believe that there was a reason for that."
Sid asked, "What did you do?" When Harry gave him the evil eye again, Sid tossed up his hands and defended himself by saying, "Hey, its professional curiosity. If you were wrongly accused," and before he could stop himself, he said, "I can help you."
Not might help you, but can help you. Sid's brain was wearing big hobnail boots and was kicking his own butt. Why can't I just keep my mouth shut? Why am I all of a sudden getting involved? I don't have a conscience any more. I don't care about these people any more.
He looked over at Justin, who was smiling and nodding. It was the kids fault. If he just hadn't been so innocent looking. And there was something about him. Harry was right. There was something about the kid that just seemed to make things better. Stupid kid.
"Sid is already going to help Siegfried look for his lost family," Justin said. "I bet he could help you, for sure!"
Harry gave Sid another of his appraising stares. "You're going to help the big ape look for his family?" He thought a bit. "Do you have access to the Akashic records or something? Were you a wizard on the other side?"
"Uh...," Sid answered carefully. "No, I don't have complete access to the records, but I have connections." Yeah, like my jailer. "I might be able to find out where they were sent."
"You know that information won't do him any good, don't you?" Harry added. "Even if he knows where they are, he can't get to them. It's either here or Hell for him."
"Aw, Harry," Justin soothed. "Why be so mean? Maybe Sig just wants to know where they are, so that he doesn't have to wonder. Isn't it better to know that your mom is up in Heaven, rather than down in the pits of Hell?"
Harry didn't have to think about it very long, if at all. "Yes, it's better that I know. It would be even better if I could be up there with her, rather than stuck hiding out in this stinking bar." He whipped his head back to Sid. "Look, if you can help me... if you think you can help me..." he let his statement fade.
"Tell me what you did." Sid stopped. "No, tell me what you were accused of. It doesn't matter what you did, what matters is what the Laws of Judgment say you did. The ninth level is reserved for betrayers, so who are you accused of betraying?"
"I'm afraid to tell you." Harry went back to his polishing. "If I tell you what I was accused of, you might say no."
"I already said yes," Sid said between clenched teeth, "and to go back on my word would put ME on the eight level, for perpetrating a lie against you."
This is getting stickier. Even with the protection the job of Ombudsman gave him, there wasn't any promise made to him that he couldn't be convicted of another sin. He was just as vulnerable as anyone else in Limbo.
Harry nodded. "Yeah, that much is true." He put down the glass he was polishing and brought up a frosty bottle of something. He placed it in front of Justin. Another one appeared from below the bar and it ended up before Sid. "That's because you were going to ask for it. I heard Siggy yell that it would be on his tab, so it's okay."
Harry hunkered down on the bar, waving the other two to join him. "If I tell you, you can't tell anyone else, okay?" He looked from Justin to Sid, from Sid back to Justin. "Promise me, you won't tell anyone. And you know that promises are taken very seriously here."
Justin and Sid both promised they would never tell a soul.
"I'm here because I was accused of betraying the Big Guy." Harry let that hang in the air. Sid and Justin just stared, not saying a word. "You know... The. Big. Guy!" Harry pointed upwards.
"You're not serious." Sid was hearing something unbelievable. Harry was here for betraying God? Was that even possible? He felt his head spin and his stomach dropped somewhere far, far below him. He began to imagine himself in the eight level already, the one set for falsifiers and liars.
"Dead serious," Harry whispered. "As dead serious as I am dead." He shuddered at the thought. "I do NOT want to be trapped for eternity with Satan. The guy is a horrible poker player, and he smokes the worst cigars."
He caught at the stares of the two men. "That last bit was a joke. Sort of. But really, I'm not going. I don't even know what I did. I just woke up dead one day and found an envelope that said I was to go directly to the lowest ring of the ninth level. I asked around about what was there and everyone gave me the same answer." He paused, took a breath. "No WAY am I going there."
He looked imploringly at Sid. "Buddy, if you can help me beat this rap... I don't know what I'd do to repay you, but you'd have a friend forever."
Harry's plea hit Sid like a hammer. He couldn't turn it down. He had already said he would do it. But a betrayal against God? That meant he would be going up against the single largest Law of Judgment there was. This would not endear him to the either of the Powers That Be. He might as well just walk in to either of their offices and simply ask to be blasted to oblivion.
Sid felt Justin's hand on his shoulder. "Sid, we've got to help Harry! I mean, his accusation makes mine look like ding-dong school. And if it's wrong... We just gotta help him."
Sid nodded, miserably. "Yeah, I know, kid. I know." He lifted Justin's hand where it was crushing him. "And I will. I already said I will." He sighed. "But I have to do yours first, okay? Requests are taken in the order they're received. Says so in the manual."
It didn't actually say so in the manual, but it was the one thing that Sid could say that would postpone it for a while. Heck, the kid just might tell Sid to forget about his and concentrate on Harry's little problem. He'd been out of the office for... what? An hour? Two at most, and here he already had three cases he didn't want to take, but had to. He felt the weight of responsibility crushing in on him.
"You guys can't tell anyone about me, either," Harry reminded them. "You promised."
"Not to worry, Harry," Justin said brightly. "Your secret is safe with us. Right Sid?"
"Yeah, your secret is safe," Sid grumbled. Darn Boy Scout. "It'll make it a bit harder to find out what happened, but I won't tell anyone. It might make it darned near impossible." He looked at Harry. "Can I at least tell my... er... secretary? She'd be the one doing all the digging."
"No!" Harry tossed up his hands. "You can't tell anyone. Who knows who your secretary would talk to?" He looked around to see if any of the others in the bar were watching. Nobody was. Nobody cared.
"Okay, okay! Sheesh. I won't tell anyone." What a schlimel. He only made it a quadrillion times harder to find out anything. "Don't get your panties in a knot." He picked up his beer and walked over to Siegfried's table. "Come on, Justin. Let's go find out Siegfried's last name so I can have something to go on in finding his family."
Siegfried's last name turned out to be Romananov, which was great, because it was one of those incredibly common last names. His wife's name was Anna, two Ns, not one, Siegfried said. His daughter's name was Danalia, named after his maternal grandmother.
After exchanging a few pleasantries, like hearing the story of how Siegfried saved his entire squad single handedly, and how wonderful his babushka's borsht was, Sid and Justin found themselves back on the street.
"Look, Justin," Sid said. "Just so we're clear. I do your case first, then I do Siegfried, then, and only then, will I do Harry." He looked up at the clean cut blue eyes. "Okay? And don't bug me about it, and don't go offering my services to anyone else without talking to me first. Got it?"
"Sure Sid!" Justin smiled and nodded. He clapped Sid on the shoulder and said, "Whatever you say." He looked up at the sky, which was always the same uniform ash grey. "It's turning out to be a great day, isn't it?"
"You know kid, I think, before this is all over; we're going to have to discuss this ever present happy attitude of yours."
"Aw, now." Justin turned his smile down just a notch. "I think someone is just a bit grumpy."
"Yeah," Sid said. "That's it. Just a bit... grumpy." He fished for the bit of paper that Harry passed them. On it were the words, "Wild eyed madman, sitting at the crossroads. Ask him to tell you about the Aeneid. If he answers you, it's Virgil"
"I wonder how we get to the crossroads," Sid muttered.
"We'll take a cab!" Justin stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled high and shrill. It wasn't three seconds when a Pedicab pulled up.
"Where to... Justin!" A pretty blond wearing a black leather suit was the driver. She had deep blue eye shadow over green eyes and a smile to die for. "Justin! How are you?"
"I'm fine, Betty," Justin said. "How're you?"
"Doing great!" She tossed her long hair out of her face. "Since you helped me with that little incident, it's just getting better and better."
Incident? "What incident?" Sid asked.
"Oh!" Justin put his hand on Sid's shoulder, again. "Betty, this is Sid. He's going to help me with my own problem."
"That's great!" Betty looked down at Sid from her seat. "You're Sid? Sid Fishbeck. The ombudsman?"
Everyone young must speak with exclamation points, Sid thought. "Yeah, that's me." he said. "And please don't tell me you need my help. I'm booked solid for the next few years, I think."
Betty laughed musically. "No, I don't need any help, Mister Fishbeck. Thanks to Justin, here."
Sid looked from her to Justin and from Justin to Betty, and back to Justin. "You want to tell me what she's talking about?"
Justin's face turned beet red. "No, really. It wasn't a big thing."
"Not a big thing!" Betty gushed prettily at Justin. "Why, he single handedly fought off a gang of Imps, and then convinced them to leave me alone." To Sid she said, "He's a hero, Mister Fishbeck. Pure and simple. Then he got me this job and it's been roses and bonbons ever since."
"Wasn't that big a thing, Betty," Justin protested. "Those imps thought you were really going to... you know. All I had to do was talk to them. They're really nice guys when you get to know them."
"Ha!" Betty tossed her hair back again. "Says you. But then you're about the nicest guy I've ever known. If only I had met you when I was... you know... still alive and all." She sighed with regret. "Oh well, maybe next life time, huh?" She straightened her suit, tied her hair back with a red scrunchy. "Where to, gentlemen?" She giggled.
"We're going to the crossroads, Betty." Sid tried to make it sound like he knew exactly where he was going.
"The crossroads, huh?" She looked up at the sky. "Well, it's as good a day as any. Climb aboard. And thank you for flying Air Betty."