Justin Gustainis - Sympathy for the Devil

SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL

A Morris and Chastain Supernatural Investigation

Justin Gustainis

SOLARIS

To Betsy Brown,

Cotton Mater's most unlikely descendant.

Because I keep my promises.

First published 2011 by Solaris, an imprint of Rebellion Publishing Ltd, Riverside House, Osney Mead, Oxford, OX2 0ES, UK

www.solarisbooks.com

ISBN(.epub): 978-1-84997-279-6

ISBN(.mobi): 978-1-84997-280-2

Copyright Justin Gustainis 2011

The right of the author to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owners.

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

Designed & typeset by Rebellion Publishing

"The best trick the Devil ever pulled

was convincing the world

that he didn't exist."

- Roger 'Verbal' Kint

in The Usual Suspects

"Easy is the descent into Hell."

- Virgil, The Aeneid

"When you dance with the Devil,

the Devil don't change.

The Devil changes you."

- Max California

in 8MM

I

INFESTATION

Prologue

Hynes Convention Center

Boston, Massachusetts

Halloween Night

His voice, booming though the state-of-the-art sound system, filled the hall and reached out to the people sitting in the cramped seats, as if he were speaking to each one of them individually.

"And so, my friends, even though our efforts have accomplished much, let us not fall victim to the comforting illusion that no battles remain to be fought. The war for the heart and soul of America will go on. Make no mistake about it, a hard and bloody fight it will be, and the victory of virtue is by no means assured."

He paused, looking out at the crowd, the grave expression on his face a testament to the concern he felt for his nation and its future. Then his face, almost but not quite handsome, broke into a reassuring smile.

"But although there is no unassailable guarantee of success in our endeavors, of this much I am certain: that with God's help, you and I, all of us who fight for right, will find within ourselves the strength we seek for the struggle!"

The audience erupted into applause and cheers, as they had done four times already.

In the press gallery, The Boston Globe looked up from its laptop and said to The New York Times , "Knows how to push their buttons, doesn't he?"

"Not hard to do with this crowd," The Times replied with a shrug. "Throw the animals a little red meat, and they'll jump through all kinds of hoops for you."

The Globe smiled slightly. "Does your editor mind you referring to the devout reactionaries of Believers United as 'animals'?"

"Not as long as I don't do it in print."

The two men resumed typing their stories as the applause from the 5,822 attendees at the Believers United annual convention rolled on like a mighty river. On stage, the man behind the podium was basking in their approval.

A few minutes later, as the speaker launched into his peroration, The Times asked, in a bored voice, "Think he's got a chance?"

"What, for the Big Enchilada?"

"Uh-huh."

"Nope," The Globe said dispassionately. "Not a chance in Hell."

At the reception following the speech, those members of Believers United who had made a minimum $10,000 tax-deductible contribution were given the opportunity to consume high-cholesterol hors d'oeuvres, wash them down with domestic champagne, and exchange a handshake and a few words with the guest of honor, Senator Howard Stark.

Since the paying guests numbered 108, the funds raised amounted to a tidy sum. By prior agreement, the money would be split down the middle: half into the coffers of Believers United, and the rest to the 'Stark for President' Campaign Committee.

Half a million dollars, give or take, for two hours of schmoozing sounds like easy money, but the Junior Senator from Ohio earned it. He did not resort to the repertory of techniques that every politico learns early on - the bright but meaningless smile, the quick, firm double-pump handshake, the artfully vague phrases that might mean anything and hence meant nothing at all. A typical politician would have used all of those tricks in a situation like this, but Stark was not a typical politician. The support of the Christian Right was going to be vital if he was ever going to use '1600 Pennsylvania Avenue' as a return address, and Stark knew he couldn't afford to go on automatic pilot. If Stark let his eyes glaze over, these people would notice, and remember. They were touchy about respect, and, as Stark was soon reminded, passionate about their concerns.

" More than a million babies every year, Senator, butchered in those abortion mills!"

" Since they've got that Brady law on the books, it's just a matter of time before the storm troopers come knocking on people's doors and confiscating our guns, you just wait and see if they don't!"

" And the man admitted he was a queer, right there in front of the School Board and everything, and they still couldn't fire him."

" Won't let a kid say the Lord's Prayer in school, but nobody minds if he smokes a marijuana joint outside on the playground. Hell, some of these hippie teachers would probably join him..."

To each guest Stark gave a handshake, a smile, and a few moments of his attention, whether he felt the speaker deserved it or not. Stark was sincere in his opposition to both abortion and increased gun control, but privately unsure about the degree of menace posed to the nation by gay marriage or the use of fetal stem cells in medical research.

It went on like that for the full two hours, and not once did Stark let his concentration wander. And so he was understandably relieved when his Chief of Staff drifted over and said softly in his ear, "We've put in our time, as agreed, and we do have that other appointment later. Do you want to get going, or are you having too much fun?"

Without changing his pleasant expression, Stark replied, in a near-whisper, "By all means, let's get out of here, before all this self-righteousness gives me hives."

His Chief of Staff gave the barest hint of a bow, and a murmured " Fiat voluntas tua, Domine ," before turning to address the room in a clear and commanding voice. "Ladies and gentlemen, it was really great of you to invite us here tonight. I know the Senator would stay to talk with you all night, if I let him. But somebody's got to be the bad guy and make sure he gets his rest, so that he can have his wits about him when he goes back to telling the President how to run the country, tomorrow."

There was good-natured laughter in response, partly at the corny humor, but mostly at the idea that the label 'bad guy' could possibly refer to Mary Margaret Doyle, the tall, charming, and beautiful woman who had just paved the way for her boss's departure. And so, after a few final words with Believers United Director Miles Miller, Senator Howard Stark made his exit. As he did so, his Chief of Staff was at his elbow - a position she had occupied since Stark's days as a freshman member of the Ohio legislature.

Mary Margaret Doyle drove with the same quiet competence that she brought to everything she did. It had been quiet in the car for a while, but as the headlights picked out a sign reading 'Welcome to Rhode Island,' Stark said, "Let's hope the media doesn't get wind of this little errand of ours. Laughingstocks don't get elected President in this country. Well, give or take Jimmy Carter."