Cheeseburger is Paradise

By Maurice Lane

 

(Some time in the future...)

 

A fist - a female fist; a well-scrubbed, perfectly suitable fist; but not in any way, shape, or form a fist that dripped sex appeal from every pore - slammed on the countertop.  "What the Hell is going on here, Michael?"  The voice was likewise serviceable, but precisely calibrated as to avoid a mellifluous state.

 

Michael's left eyebrow raised, in perfect Lightning-approved fashion. "N.J., I am the Archangel of War, called Saint, Taxiarch, and Who Is Like God.  I am the patron saint of Germany, police officers, paratroopers, soldiers, and the champion of Israel.  I was the teacher of Moses, the destroyer of the army of Sennacherib; I was once Commander of the Hosts of Heaven, still am one of the Archangels of the Four Corners of the Earth, and will be the Archangel of The Last Thing That Baal Will Ever See.  Lucifer still has the imprint of my boot on his anal scales, mostly because if he ever lets it fade I will personally go down there and reapply it. 

"The least that you can do is not swear."

 

N.J. frowned, twisted her head a bit in obvious confusion, visibly thought better of it and continued.  "...Fine.  What the heck is going on here, Michael?"

 

The Archangel of War smiled.  "Why, we're giving you a partner.  Isn't that nice of us?"  He extended one hand to indicate the young girl sitting beside him.  "N.J., you can call her, ah, Tiffany.  The name she was born with will set off alarm bells with too many of the Enemy.  Tiffany, this is N.J.  You should recognize the name behind the initials.  You'll be working with each other for the foreseeable future."

 

"Tiffany" extended a hand.  "It really is a pleasure to meet you.  I always enjoyed your..."

 

"STOP."  The word was no less authoritative for being hissed.  "I don't discuss that.  I never will discuss that.  The person who did those things is dead."

 

Michael frowned.  "Not True, N.J."

 

"True enough for this conversation..."

 

"Actually, no."

 

"...and it doesn't matter, anyway.  I don't need a partner.  I'm doing fine on my own.  Unless you're some sort of crack shot?"

Tiffany shook her head.  "I've never fired a gun."

 

"Kung fu master?"

"I know karate, judo, and about three or four other Japanese words."  Tiffany laughed a little.  "I heard that one somewhere.  Sorry, no."

 

"Ninja?"

"What a nice man Yves is!  Oops, right, he's an Archangel, too."

 

"Thrown weapons expert?"

"For goodness sake, I'm lucky to get a piece of paper in the wastepaper basket on the first try."

 

"Explosives?  Big rocks?"  There was a certain amount of despair in N.J.'s voice by now.  "Ducks, even?"

Tiffany blinked.  "Ducks are weapons?"

 

N.J. blinked in her turn.  "So what... do you do, exactly?"

"Oh.  I talk to people."

 

"Talk.  To people."

 

"Yes, it's really very sad how most people don't.  Nobody really talks to anybody any more; they're all too busy listening to themselves, watching television, tapping away on all those keyboards... I like to talk to people, though.  When you read the Bible, you can see how our Lord... oh.  If you don't mind me asking: are you still a Christian?"

 

"I... don't think anyone's bothered to ask me that question since I died."

"Well, if you want to talk about it later, we can.  If you don't, we won't.  Anyway, Jesus loved to talk to everybody, no matter who they were; and it's funny, but it's actually pretty easy, once you decide that you're just going to do it.  So I talk to people, and then they tell me their problems, and then maybe I can fix them."

 

The Saint blinked again.  "What kind of Saint of War are you?"

 

"Saint of War?"  Tiffany actually giggled. "No, I serve that nice Archangel Novalis."

 

This time, N.J. unambiguously shouted.  "Why in the name of the four Horsemen of the Apocalypse am I being partnered with a Saint of Flowers?!?"

 

Michael cleared his throat.  "Because I said so.  Tiffany, can you excuse us for a second?"

 

Once the new Saint was ensconced at the countertop of the diner, the Archangel of War extended his hands.  "Yeah, N.J., you're right.  You don't need a partner - for what you're doing.  Killing Servitors of the Media?  Piece of cake for you, these days.  Do I look like I'm giving you an argument on this?

 

"But do you want to keep doing just that?"

 

N.J. interrupted.  "Yes!"

 

"Oy.  Well.  I'm not going to tell you 'Tough, you're doing something else now.'  I'm going to ask you to do something else now.  You may not need a partner, but she does - and she's actually in the same boat that you were in.  Tiffany's... well, that's not her real name."

 

Michael leaned forward and quietly told N.J. Tiffany's real name.  The Saint frowned.

 

"Who's that?"

 

"Right, you haven't voluntarily watched television since 1973.  Anyway, let's just say that she got pretty much the same working-over from Nybbas that you did, only from another angle.  He's also somewhat annoyed right now to discover that she won't be joining him in Perdition either, the arrogant so-and-so.  And Tiffany wants to knock down the Media just as badly as you do, again, only from another angle.  But she just needs somebody to watch her back."

 

There was a pause.  "But... Flowers.  Why Flowers?"

 

"Why do you think that I have a choice in this?  The Commander of the Host stopped by with her in tow to give me a direct order to make sure she was well placed on Earth to give Nybbas headaches.  I'd think that this was all a joke, except that Laurence doesn't bring humans into what he calls 'comedy'.  So I'm passing the buck to you, if you'll take it."  The Archangel's voice grew musing.  "But if you don't think that you're up for it, well..."

 

NJ rolled her eyes.  "Save the 'what,-run-away?' routine for your angels.  Fine, I'll do it.  If only because otherwise you'll just come up with some sort of convoluted scheme to get me to do what you want anyway."

 

"Of course I would.  How do you think I got all those titles in the first place?  I'll leave you two to get acquainted, then."  Michael paused.  "One thing: she may be working for Flowers, but I personally made sure that Tiffany understands that you serve War.  She also understands that we're not in the demon Redemption business.  So don't worry about that, all right?"

 

"All right."  And with that, N.J. moved to join Tiffany at the counter, assuming - correctly - that Michael was perfectly capable of seeing himself out.

 

Tiffany smiled.  "All settled?"  N.J. reluctantly nodded.

 

"All settled.  You're going to need to learn how to defend yourself, though.  We're going to go to some rough places.  Starting tonight, actually."

 

Tiffany nodded. "Just as long as I get something to eat first... oh, good, here it is."  She beamed at the waitress.  "Thank you... Meena, is it?  That's a nice name.  Do I want ketchup?  Why, you better believe it!"  Turning back to N.J., Tiffany said "I know, I know, we don't really have to eat, but..." - as she took a bite of her double bacon cheeseburger with extra onions, mayo, and pickles -

"...you have no idea how long I've been waiting for this."

 

 

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