Read Online Blimpo: The Third Circle of Heck by Dale E. Basye - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Dale E. Basye
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red button several times with her talon. She yanked tendinner jackets from the mechanized rack, stormed back to Marlo, and threw the jackets down on the counter. The demon glared at Marlo through wicked slits.
“Okay,
little girl,”
she hissed. “Which is yours?”
The jackets—fine wool sharkskin in nightmare-black yet still strangely iridescent—were
exactly
the same.
“Can’t I just take them all and return—”
“Do you have ten tickets?” the demon spat back.
“Well … no. Not exactly.”
“Then you, well …
can’t,”
the demon mocked.
“Exactly …
unless …”
“Unless what?”
The demon leaned her waxy yellow face close to Marlo.
“Unless you’d like to play Let’s Fake a Deal!” the demon squealed, clapping her talons together with excitement. “Where I put a receipt in one of the jackets and, if you guess correctly, you win!”
Marlo’s face crinkled with skepticism.
“Win what?”
“All of the jackets!”
Marlo rubbed her chin in contemplation. “And what if I lose?” she asked dubiously.
The demon smiled, her fangs as yellow as her face. “You
still
win!”
“Win what?”
The demon laundress extended her flabby arms grandly.
“You get to run your very own dry cleaners for all eternity!” she cooed.
Marlo snorted. If she had drunk chocolate milk within the last twenty-four hours, it surely would have shot out of her nose.
“What idiot would play a game like
that
?
!”
she replied.
The demon deflated with an unfortunate, audible hiss. “It seemed like a good idea at the time,” she replied sadly.
Marlo had no idea what to do, not that that had ever stopped her before. Suddenly, she was struck by a flash of less-than-divine inspiration.
“Isn’t six-six-six the sign of the beast or something?” Marlo commented. “Like, the devil’s special number? I had an album called
Smack Your Apocalypse
by a band called Six-six-six that was always singing about that kind of creepy stuff.”
The demon sighed. Her breath smelled like a bowl full of corn nuts and ranch dressing forgotten under the seat of an old car.
“Number six-six-six is here to remove a dark red stain that I am hoping is wine.”
“And the rest?”
The demon glanced at the tags. “The same.”
Marlo blew a strand of blue hair out of her face. Normally she’d just go with her instincts. But she didn’t want to screw this up.
“I’d like to use a lifeline,” Marlo said as she fished out her new compact phone.
The demon laundress shook her head.
“No cell phones … and that’s my final answer.”
Marlo nervously chewed an already-nibbled nail as she eyed the clock on the wall.
“Fine, I’ll take this one,” she said, grabbing number six-six-six.
“Not so fast,” the demon said, snatching back the jacket.
“Oh, right,” Marlo replied, handing her the credit card.
The demon ran the card but continued to clutch the devil’s dry cleaning.
“Well?” Marlo said. “Can I take it now or what?”
The demon looked behind her at a sign by the clock that read EXCELLENT QUALITY ONE-HOUR SERVICE .
“As the sign says, we offer excellent quality one-hour service,” the demon explained, “and you’ve only been here ten minutes, so I’ll have to continue serving you for another fifty minutes.”
Marlo’s dark eyes bulged.
“You did
not
just say I had to wait another fifty minutes!”
The demon smirked a mouthful of crooked fangs.
“Oh, I most certainly did. I can’t breach Kloven Kleen policy. That wouldn’t be fair to our customers.”
Marlo let out a deep, supremely irked shriek and went to sulk in the waiting area, her arms and brows crossed with a lot of outrage and not a little anxiety.
Marlo bolted into Madame Pompadour’s Deception Area, the dinner jacket—enveloped in clear plastic with the words KLOVEN KLEEN ♥S ITS KUSTOMERS written on it—draped across her shoulder. She stopped in front of Farzana’s desk, panting.
“I know … I’m late … but
“Okay,
little girl,”
she hissed. “Which is yours?”
The jackets—fine wool sharkskin in nightmare-black yet still strangely iridescent—were
exactly
the same.
“Can’t I just take them all and return—”
“Do you have ten tickets?” the demon spat back.
“Well … no. Not exactly.”
“Then you, well …
can’t,”
the demon mocked.
“Exactly …
unless …”
“Unless what?”
The demon leaned her waxy yellow face close to Marlo.
“Unless you’d like to play Let’s Fake a Deal!” the demon squealed, clapping her talons together with excitement. “Where I put a receipt in one of the jackets and, if you guess correctly, you win!”
Marlo’s face crinkled with skepticism.
“Win what?”
“All of the jackets!”
Marlo rubbed her chin in contemplation. “And what if I lose?” she asked dubiously.
The demon smiled, her fangs as yellow as her face. “You
still
win!”
“Win what?”
The demon laundress extended her flabby arms grandly.
“You get to run your very own dry cleaners for all eternity!” she cooed.
Marlo snorted. If she had drunk chocolate milk within the last twenty-four hours, it surely would have shot out of her nose.
“What idiot would play a game like
that
?
!”
she replied.
The demon deflated with an unfortunate, audible hiss. “It seemed like a good idea at the time,” she replied sadly.
Marlo had no idea what to do, not that that had ever stopped her before. Suddenly, she was struck by a flash of less-than-divine inspiration.
“Isn’t six-six-six the sign of the beast or something?” Marlo commented. “Like, the devil’s special number? I had an album called
Smack Your Apocalypse
by a band called Six-six-six that was always singing about that kind of creepy stuff.”
The demon sighed. Her breath smelled like a bowl full of corn nuts and ranch dressing forgotten under the seat of an old car.
“Number six-six-six is here to remove a dark red stain that I am hoping is wine.”
“And the rest?”
The demon glanced at the tags. “The same.”
Marlo blew a strand of blue hair out of her face. Normally she’d just go with her instincts. But she didn’t want to screw this up.
“I’d like to use a lifeline,” Marlo said as she fished out her new compact phone.
The demon laundress shook her head.
“No cell phones … and that’s my final answer.”
Marlo nervously chewed an already-nibbled nail as she eyed the clock on the wall.
“Fine, I’ll take this one,” she said, grabbing number six-six-six.
“Not so fast,” the demon said, snatching back the jacket.
“Oh, right,” Marlo replied, handing her the credit card.
The demon ran the card but continued to clutch the devil’s dry cleaning.
“Well?” Marlo said. “Can I take it now or what?”
The demon looked behind her at a sign by the clock that read EXCELLENT QUALITY ONE-HOUR SERVICE .
“As the sign says, we offer excellent quality one-hour service,” the demon explained, “and you’ve only been here ten minutes, so I’ll have to continue serving you for another fifty minutes.”
Marlo’s dark eyes bulged.
“You did
not
just say I had to wait another fifty minutes!”
The demon smirked a mouthful of crooked fangs.
“Oh, I most certainly did. I can’t breach Kloven Kleen policy. That wouldn’t be fair to our customers.”
Marlo let out a deep, supremely irked shriek and went to sulk in the waiting area, her arms and brows crossed with a lot of outrage and not a little anxiety.
Marlo bolted into Madame Pompadour’s Deception Area, the dinner jacket—enveloped in clear plastic with the words KLOVEN KLEEN ♥S ITS KUSTOMERS written on it—draped across her shoulder. She stopped in front of Farzana’s desk, panting.
“I know … I’m late … but
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