HELL PATROL (ETHAN DRAKE BOOK 5) by Martin N.P

Author:Martin, N.P.
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-08-28T00:00:00+00:00

15

“You know what we are?” Pike said as we sat at a bar in some filthy dive bar that Haedemus had brought us to.

“What?” I said, forcing myself to drink the horrible concoction in the metal cup I held. The liquid inside was dark red and tasted so acrid it was like drinking liquid sulfur.

“Devil Dogs.”

“What?”

“Back in World War One, my grandfather was with the 4th Marine Brigade. Fighting in France, they earned the nickname of Devil Dogs because they were so damn fierce. I like to think we’ve carried on that tradition. Plus, when you think about it, we’re nothing but a couple dogs let loose by our master—”

“Your master.” Despite the correction, he wasn’t that far off the mark. Knightsbridge might as well have been my master, given the way he had pulled my strings over the years.

“Whatever. Let loose anyway, told to go chase down the Devil himself. That makes us Devil Dogs, you and I.”

I stared into Pike’s bloodshot eyes. “I think you’ve had too much of that drink.”

“Au contraire, muchacho. I don’t think I’ve had enough yet. In a place like this, you can never have enough booze.” He swilled what was left in his cup. “Is this even booze? What the fuck are we drinking anyway?”

“Probably best you don’t know, Teeth,” Haedemus said. He was standing beside us at the bar, a bowl of dark blood in front of him that he lapped from occasionally. The barman, a burly, three-headed demon with owl eyes and bat wings, stood listening to us from down the bar, one of his faces registering disgust, another suspicion. The other was turned to a customer as they had a conversation in Hellion.

“Whatever,” Pike said. “It does the job, right?”

I lit a cigarette, drawing stares from the packed pub, if you could call the place we were in a pub. Clearly, cigarettes were a rare commodity in Hell, just as they were in Earth’s prisons. More than once, some demon or damned soul moved toward me, probably with the intention of picking my pockets or just snatching the cigarettes from me. A quick flash of my blaster was usually enough to make them back off. One determined damned soul, obviously a smoker before he got cast into Hell, made a grab for the pack on the bar, and I shot him in the head with the blaster, painting the bar with his brains. Hardly anyone blinked an eye as his headless body continued to stumble around the place before being tossed outside by a demon. I was left alone after that.

“So, is Hell everything you expected it to be?” Haedemus asked us.

I let Pike answer. My head was too full of worry to humor Haedemus. “It’s more like Earth than I expected,” Pike said. “But a really messed up version of Earth. I guess that’s to be excepted, though, given all the damned human souls here. Culture trickles down, as they say, even all the way to Hell.”

“Exactly,” Haedemus said.

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