The Devil You Know

Action guy Nick Kismet
takes on...

The Devil You Know

An 8-Chapter Turbo-Charged Takedown!

What Has Gone Before: An immortal satanist named Negron possesses the Judas Rope, a holy relic of immense power. Having kidnapped Tecla, the daughter of a mob boss, he has instructed the father to swear allegiance or his daughter will die. Kismet rescues Tecla and tries to escape on an off-rode Enduro motorbike, Negron's goons on his tail. But then the satanist himself appears!

******

Episode 8 (conclusion):
Fight the Devil!

THE remaining bodyguard – it was Sal, the man who had pulled Kismet off the tracks of the LIRR – raised his revolver and pumped three shots into the dark monk. The bullets plucked at the fabric of his cassock, then exited with scant resistance. Negron appeared unhurt, but he reacted nonetheless, raising his gnarled fingers then swiping down in a clawing motion. A wave of chilled air radiated from the Judas Rope and Sal was blasted backward. Turino stood alone before his nemesis, his pistol pointing impotently at the ground as he waited for the inevitable.

"Do something!"

He knew that Tecla was screaming in his ear, but her voice sounded distant, as if they were separated by a wall of ice. At that moment, the last of Negron's minions burst from his hiding place and ran toward the fray. He leveled a burst at the dazed Sal, killing him instantly, then turned his assault rifle toward Turino.

Kismet shook off his paralysis and twisted the throttle. He squeezed the clutch as the front wheel dropped onto the nearly vertical face of the cliff, letting gravity accelerate them faster than the engine could have in such a short distance. The Colombian sensed their approach an instant too late, swinging around to face them as the Enduro's front tire rammed into his leg. The gunmen was thrown back into the limousine, but the impact twisted the wheel and tore the handlebars from Kismet's grasp. The motorcycle went down on its side and the two riders were pitched headlong across the pavement.

Dazed, Kismet struggled to his feet. On the other side of the limousine, Turino knelt before Negron like a penitent as the dark monk proffered his lethal blessing. The Mafia boss' eyes were bulging from a face purple with trapped blood, and his mouth gasped soundlessly for breath. Kismet remembered that feeling, remembered the despair and helplessness suffered by the dark monk's victims. Negron was omnipotent; he had the power of the devil in his hands, and the only thing that could oppose him was something that Kismet did not possess.

Faith. You fight the devil with faith. But I don't believe in....

Then it hit him. He knew exactly how to defeat Negron.

He ducked inside the limousine and emerged from the opposite door directly in front the dark priest. He thrust the Glock toward the shadow beneath the cowl, where Negron's face ought to have been.

"Let him go."

Negron hissed, then astonishingly, let his captive fall. Turino dropped like a felled tree and Kismet did not dare look away from his nemesis to ascertain whether the Don was still alive. The satanic monk then turned the full might of his black gaze on Kismet. Before the latter could squeeze the trigger, Negron disdainfully backhanded the pistol, knocking it from Kismet's hand with a blow that felt like a blast of liquid nitrogen. He stumbled back almost falling, then rebounded off the limousine. Negron raised his arms, as if in supplication, and began murmuring a strange twisted language. It was Latin, spoken backward.

Kismet felt all life and light drain away, sucked into the vortex of the Judas Rope. His hand felt numb, locked it seemed in a manacle of ice. Every move was a struggle, but all he had to do was make two broad gestures.

He reached up to his forehead, then brought his hand down to the level of his waist in a vertical swipe. He then moved his hand up halfway, reached left and moved horizontally. It was the sign of the Cross.

Negron's rumbling invocation faltered.

Kismet then brought out the object he had been concealing behind his back in his left hand. It was a bottle filled with clear liquid. Before the dark monk could move, Kismet began splashing the contents onto his cassock.

"With blessed water I anoint thee," he said in halting Latin. "In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost I baptize thee, and cleanse thee. Your sins are forgiven."

A pinprick of light pierced Negron's shadowy countenance as realization dawned; realization of his sins and his defiance of the Almighty entity he had once been wholly devoted to. That tiny fracture, like a hairline crack in a dam, was all it took.
Negron's power fell away in streaks, as if the water of his baptism was literally washing him clean of the evil that had corrupted him for more than a century. His face, hollow and ancient was revealed beneath the cowl and Kismet saw only the pleading visage of a rheumy old man.

It was the curse of Judas. Just as the original betrayer had sought to redeem himself with the sacrifice of his own life, only to be thwarted by an act of chance and eternally damned, so too his modern acolyte, faced with the possibility of his own redemption, had been deserted by his dark master at the moment of his greatest need. As the dark force that sustained him fled away, the burden of his unnaturally long life settled upon his flesh.

Negron bent double, as if an unseen hand was folding him over, then crumpled onto the pavement. He managed to raise his eyes heavenward, pleading for mercy from his original lord and master, but his orbs had already turned to dust in their sockets. Kismet caught a last glimpse of his skeletal grimace, then the cassock deflated into a shapeless mass.

Kismet sagged against the limousine for a moment, feeling as if Negron's demise had taken part of his own soul along in the process, but then pulled himself erect and hastened to Turino's side.

The old capo was still conscious. "Where the devil did you get holy water?"

"From your bar." Kismet turned the bottle to display the Evian label.

"I don't understand. If it wasn't really blessed, how did it stop him?"

"He believed it was. His faith in relics and miracles is what gave him his power, but it was also his Achilles' Heel. His absolute belief in the power of God was stronger than his desire to serve the other side."

Turino laughed again, but was overcome with a coughing fit. Blood streamed from between his lips. Though bruised and battered, Tecla hastened to his side, but he shook his head. "Too late for me. You two get out of here before the police come. No need for this to ruin your life."

"No!" Panic seized Tecla. Though her relationship with the old man had been troubled, he was her last living blood relative. "We can get you to a hospital. There's time."

The last statement seemed more a question, and her gaze jumped to Kismet, pleading for him to agree, but he knew better. Crimson had already soaked the front of Turino's shirt beneath his jacket, and a dark pool was spreading around him. A bullet had pierced him through the left lung near the heart, possible nicking a vein, and his chest cavity was filling up with fluid. It was only a question of whether he would bleed to death, or drown in his own blood. He shook his head imperceptibly, then looked Turino in the eye. "You're Prometheus, aren't you?"

"You think I made it this far in life on my good looks?" Another scarlet-tinged chuckle.

"You were the one who called Tecla and told her contact me. Why?"

"I knew you could protect her."

"What makes me so damned special?" Kismet felt his fingers tightening on the dying man's arm. "Why can't you just trust people with the truth? What is Prometheus? What do you want with me?"

"That is one oath I will not break." A wry smile crossed Turino's bloody lips. "Take care of her Nick. Promise a dying man."

There was nothing he could do to change the old man's mind about revealing his most treasured secret; no effective method of coercing someone who could measure the rest of his life in seconds. "You have my word."

"One more thing," he croaked. The spark of his life force was almost visibly guttering. "A benediction."

Kismet winced. "I'm no priest."

"Your blessing would mean more to me than any last rites." His voice was now barely audible.

Kismet gripped his shoulder. "Go to God, my friend." Strangely, even though he himself was not a believer, he found the words deeply profound, as if he had somehow tapped into the other man's faith.

"Friend," Turino echoed. "Get her out of here, Nick...."

A few more words took shape on his lips, but there was no breath to give them weight. The old man seemed to melt out of Kismet's grasp. He closed Turino's sightless eyes, then rose and tugged gently on Tecla's arm. "He's right. We have to leave."

Tecla's face was a mask of grief, but her eyes held a hint of comprehension, as if in her heart, she knew that such a destiny was inevitable for a man like her grandfather – a man of violence. Perhaps for him it was a better fate than surrendering to the ravages of old age or prolonged illness. She yielded to his efforts and permitted herself to be drawn along.

Kismet took a step and felt something under his foot. It was the Judas Rope. He looked down at the cord of black hemp, wrapped around the formless cassock. There was no trace of Negron; not even dust. He hugged Tecla close then guided her toward the motorcycle.

"Shouldn't we do something about it?" Her voice was cracked with lingering grief, but her meaning was clear. "You saw what he did. It's evil. It has to be destroyed."

Kismet shook his head. "That's what he believed, and that's why he could do what he did. But it's not really evil. Evil is in men. That's just an old piece of rope. It doesn't mean anything."

Her expression was doubtful but she offered no argument as she climbed on behind him and wrapped her arm around his waist. The Enduro started on the first try and after revving the throttle, Kismet steered toward the highway and sped off into the night.

Later, as the first rays of the rising sun crept across the gray waters of the Atlantic ocean and seeped through the curtain of pine boughs, golden light illuminated the Judas Rope and the hemp fibers began to wither like a piece of fruit fallen from the vine. When the police eventually arrived, all that remained was a twist of ash that quickly crumbled and blew away in the wind. No one even noticed.

The End.

Back to Episode 7 :Flanking Maneuver

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The Devil You Know and the character of Nick Kismet are copyright by Sean Ellis. It may not be copied without permission of the author except for purposes of reviews. (Though you can print it out to read it, natch.)