Running with the Devil

I met the Devil on my way out of the tiny Midwest town. He acted as though He had been waiting for me, but I could see the surprise in His blue eyes when I rolled down the driver’s side window of my red ’65 Ford Mustang. The car was a bit cliche, I know, but it served my purposes well.

And the Devil seemed impressed.

"Where are you off to?" He asked in a deep, resonant voice. I could smell the fire and brimstone on His breath like pleasant, imported cigar smoke. I smiled at Him.

"No place special. Why do You ask?"

He heard the capitalization, and he seemed surprised again. "You know Me?"

"Who doesn’t," I asked with a shrug. I leaned further out of my car window, glancing back toward the town. "They sure have a good idea of who they think You are."

The Devil followed my gaze, but not necessarily my conversation. If He was confused, He hid it well. He offered me a smile, and I could see His sharp canines - which were as sharp as the steeples that jutted from just about every street corner of the sleepy Midwest town. I’d found more distractions here than was safe, so I was on my way out. Apparently, the Devil had the same ideas.

"Do You need a ride anywhere?" I asked Him, eyeing his boots - which while they looked sturdy enough, obviously had seen better days

The Devil smiled…well, devilishly. "I’d be much obliged."

With a smile of my own, I stretched across the custom white leather bucket seat and unlocked the passenger door. "Climb aboard."

I watched Him walk in front of the Mustang, and I wondered if His heart would taste like smoked beef.

***

Soon after passing the last of the outskirting residences, and cruising into the open Midwest highway illuminated by a fat, full Moon, the Devil laughed and said, "You shouldn’t pick up hitch hikers, lady. For all you know, I could be an axe murderer."

I laughed, too. "Nonsense. There isn’t enough room in here for You to swing an axe. Besides, I’d like to think You had a little more imagination than that."

He shrugged. "Sometimes it doesn’t hurt to reinforce the classics. The legends have to start somewhere."

"I agree," I conceded. "But You have enough copycats - poor, pathetic copycats, I admit - but enough nonetheless that You shouldn’t have to dirty Your hands."

"It’s a standard thing for Princes to dress as commoners and walk among their people, acting as they do and so forth. It keeps them-" He paused, searching for the word.

"Amused?" I supplied. "Entertained? Thankful?"

"Whetted," the Devil supplied succinctly.

"Ahh," I said, warming to the debate. "But I’ve seen such Princes brought down by their own people because they were so out of touch with the commoners that they made fatal mistakes." I slid a quick glance over to my Passenger, admiring the stern cut of His profile. His lips quirked with amusement.

"You think I’m out of touch?" He queried with all the arrogance of a deity.

"This was a theoretical debate. Wasn’t it?" I countered slyly.

The Devil laughed uproariously - He did that a lot more than I would have thought. I suppose it was disarming. The smell of wood smoke filled my car, settling in the upholstery. "I like you," He said when He recovered.

"I like you, too." I listened to the pleasant thump of His pulse in his veins, tapping my fingernails on the steering wheel in time to the beating of His heart.

My mouth began to water.

***

"Allow Me," the Devil suggested when I stopped for gas. He touched the pump, and it floated to the gas tank, which opened under his gaze.