BAD CRAZINESS
DAVID HEARNE

CLASSIFICATION: X-FILES/HELLBLAZER CROSSOVER

RATING: R

SPOILERS: None for the series, but some for "Hellblazer."

ARCHIVE: Permission granted to all.

Send feedback to ottercrk@sover.net

Website is located at http://members.dencity.com/hearne

DISCLAIMER: "The X-Files" is the property of 20th Century Fox. "Hellblazer"
belongs to Vertigo Comics. No filthy lucre is being made by my usage of
them.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: John Constantine was originally created by Alan Moore for
the "Swamp Thing" series. Since then, he has passed through the talented
hands of Jamie Delano, Garth Ennis and Neil Gaiman. Now I'm using him and I
hope to display half as much talent those gentlemen have.

Once again, I come bearing song suggestions. Here is your "Bad Craziness"
soundtrack --

1. "Viva Las Vegas" by The Dead Kennedys
2. "Supersex" by Morphine
3. "Sweet Memories" by Dean Martin
4. "Everybody Knows" by Leonard Cohen
5. "Abyss" by DJ Logic
6. "Turkish Song of the Damned" by The Pogues
7. "The Void" by The Raincoats
8.  "Sister Rosetta" by A3
9. "In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning" by Frank Sinatra
10. "Viva Las Vegas" by Shawn Colvin

Put it on. You might like it.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"From the atomic bomb to Las Vegas, with guns and nuclear weapons and movies
and pop music in between, history will record that at its zenith, in its
greatest hour, the American Empire's two most important contributions to the
human race were annihilation and *fun*."

                                                        -- Steve Erickson

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

PART ONE
IN THE BEGINNING, THERE WERE SIGNS

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Las Vegas was dying. Everybody in the city knew it. The street traffic was
becoming sluggish. The speeches from the town hall officials stank of
desperation. The looks in the eyes of the dealers were too blank.  Desert
winds passed through the neon-lined tunnels and reminded people of the harsh
land surrounding the city. They could imagine coyotes at the borders,
growling and waiting to chew on the city's guts.

Then, again, maybe Vegas was already dead. Wasn't the city full of zombies?
You could see them wandering through a haze of cigarette smoke and eating
joylessly at the salad bars. They were mostly old people who stared at the
world through glasses as wide as coffee cups. Their flesh sagged on their
bones. When they won at the slots, they rarely cheered. Neither did the
younger, middle-aged gamblers. They viewed every fortune won with
indifference. Instead they were hypnotized by the flow of cards and the spin
of the wheel. Unlike other zombies, they weren't looking for human flesh to
eat. Their real prey was that elusive creature believed to exist in America
but no one had truly discovered yet. It was a beast called Fun. Everybody
promised that the animal lived in their specific zoo. Las Vegas claimed to
hold an entire menagerie of the species. The gamblers and tourists stalked
the hotels in the hopes of capturing the animal. Every time a successful
catch seemed to have been made, though, they learned that the beak had been
glued on and the stripes merely lines of paint.

Whether it was dead or still lingering in the world, the citizens of Las
Vegas speculated on when the situation had become officially terminal. As
expected, a lot of people blamed Steve Wynn. It had been better when the mob
had been wholly in charge, the familiar explanation went. Back then, Las
Vegas had been a town with real class instead of some aborted tourist trap
with kiddie rides and simulations of other countries. Back then, Las Vegas
had its own identity instead of being damn Disney World with crap tables.

People tried to find a spiritual symbol for the demise. If anybody had given
Vegas class, hadn't it been Sinatra? And hadn't his death meant the end of
the city's mystique? Others looked to the same point in time as a lot of
doomsday prophets had done in regards to other apocalypses -- November 22,
1963. When Kennedy had bestowed his New England charm on the city, true
respectability had followed. His murder had poisoned that good will. Ever
since 1963, suspicious eyes had inspected his connections to the
freewheeling city, wondering if he had been exposed to a poisonous rot
there.

Another symbol was found in the twin demons of Don King and Mike Tyson.
Whatever else, the release of Tyson back into the boxing ring had promised
to be a profitable spectacle. Instead, the casinos were hit not once, but
twice. First, Evander Holyfield struck them like a wrathful angel, quoting
scripture and upsetting the odds by defeating the seemingly unstoppable
Tyson. Then Tyson brought everything to a standstill by snacking on
Holyfield's ears and changing an anticipated fight into a panicked stampede
of consumers.

Then there were the moralists who insisted that the city had been born
sickly. Any community built in the middle of a desert and dependent on the
vice of gambling was doomed from the start. Las Vegas never had class, they
insisted. Sinata just gave it a facsimile of prestige. In return, the city
turned one of the most vulnerable male singers music had ever seen into an
ogre by catering to his baser appetites. Let the city die, they said. Good
riddance to it and may the coyotes enjoy the buffet tables.

However, whether Vegas had contracted a disease or had inherited a deformity
from its mobster parents, the citizens could agree on one thing -- the exact
moment of no return. They all knew the event which proved positively that
the city was a goner. It was the day on which Las Vegas literally displayed
its wounds.

It was when the fountain outside the Pyramid Hotel became full of blood.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Ever see the movie 'Eegah,' Scully?"

Agent Dana Scully looked up from the report in her lap, not sure if she
heard that question right. "Excuse me?"

"'Eegah.' The movie."

"As opposed to 'Eegah' the musical?"

Agent Fox Mulder smiled. "Actually, 'Eegah' is kind of a musical. It's also
a monster movie starring Richard Kiel and Arch Hall, Jr."

"I...see."

"The movie was filmed around Palm Springs in 1962. The story -- and I use
that term loosely -- is about this prehistoric throwback who runs into a
father and his daughter. They're sort of rescued by the daughter's boyfriend
played by Hall, Jr. In between, little Hall sings these awful rock ballads
and receives some of the most unflattering close-ups in cinematic history."

Scully nodded. "You know, you remind me of another bad movie, Mulder."

"Which one?"

"'Wild at Heart.' Specifically that line 'The way your mind works is God's
own private mystery.'"

"Well, I don't think 'Wild at Heart' was all that bad a movie. Furthermore,
I'm thinking of 'Eegah' because we're going to Las Vegas."

"I thought you said 'Eegah' was filmed in Palm Springs."

"Yeah, but back then, Palm Springs was a Las Vegas wannabe. Still is, 
I think. The movie abounds with images of what was once considered
middle-class leisure -- dune buggies, big neon signs, hotel rooms with wood
paneling, a chef carving a tremendous chunk of meat, young people dancing by
the poolside, laidback fathers with overly thick tans..."

"Just how many times have you seen this film, Mulder?"

"It's a real time capsule movie. Everything about it just screams 'New
Frontier.'"

"Well, the owners of the Pyramid Hotel are screaming something else now."

Mulder looked down at the report in Scully's lap. He was sitting next to her
in an airplane, halfway on a flight to Vegas. The report included photos of
a fountain as tall as a flagpole. Alabaster statues of fish and squids were
arranged over the fountain. Normally they would be squirting clear water.
Instead they shot out a thick red liquid into the pool at the fountain's
base. The colored lights in the water had been smothered by the new fluid.
They now shined a dim red glare onto the shocked spectators.

"They could be cheering on the inside," Mulder said. "There's nothing like a
bona fide miracle to bring in business."

"We don't know if a miracle has taken place. For all we know, somebody
rigged the fountain."

"And filled it with gallons of blood?"

"Like you said, this could bring in business for the Pyramid Hotel. Maybe
their manager conceived it as a publicity stunt."

"I don't think people in Vegas have that kind of imagination. This is
something a little more gothic than Siegfried and Roy."

"So what do you think it is?"

Mulder lifted his eyebrows. "How about doomsday?"

"You mean, next we'll see locusts and the death of first-born children?"

"And Wayne Newton losing his hair. Whatever is going to happen, keep one
thing in mind..."

Mulder leaned forward and whispered, "Watch out for snakes."

"Huh?"

"It's a line from 'Eegah.' There's this scene where you hear a character say
'Watch out for snakes' but the sound is real funny and you have no idea
where it's...coming from..."

Scully gave her partner a blank look.

"Never mind," Mulder said, then rested his head and closed his eyes.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

When using the occult for gambling purposes, you have to be careful about
where you are. I recommend using magic in impromptu card games or private
affairs where you know the players. In cities like Las Vegas or Atlantic
City, look before you bet. Sometime ago, a few of the casino owners noticed
that certain players were winning regularly. They couldn't figure out why.
None of the usual scams could be detected -- things like card counting,
signals from spies, bribed dealers.

Well, once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains -- however
outlandishly crackers -- must be the truth. The lucky gamblers had to be
using magic. This led the most observant casinos to employ a few magicians.
Some used charms to disrupt the gamblers' spells. Other used curses so that
the mystical con artists wound up with sores covering their skins or toads
filling their stomachs. (A few woke up with body parts missing. I'm not sure
but maybe that's how the whole 'drunken-guy-wakes-up-with-his-kidney-stolen'
story got started.) Occasionally there was an old-fashioned leg-breaking.

If you use magic at the Vegas tables, you have to make sure the particular
casino isn't in the wise on the occult. Or make sure you're a clever bastard
capable of hiding your tricks.

Frank Mars was a clever bastard. He said that I was a clever bastard, too.
That's why he wanted me to come to Nevada.

"There's something heavy going on down here," Mars told me through miles and
miles of transcontinental fiber optic wire. "I need help in figuring it
out."

"So why not ask Mindy in Frisco? She's got a lot more skill than I have."

"I don't get along with dykes. You know that, John."

Not just lesbians, I thought. You dislike any woman who tells you to stick
your wandering hands up your arse. "It's still a long way," I protested. 
"I don't really feel up to..."

"John...do I have remind you what happened in L.A.?"

No. So you should have the bloody decency not to bring it up. "Of course 
I remember."

"Acknowledge your debts, Johnny."

I rolled my eyes but said, "All right, all right. I'll come. You cover the
expenses, though."

"Absolutely. You haven't been to Vegas, have you?"

"I missed the pleasure."

"Tell you what. You get out here and I'll show how much fun this town can
be. We can play some cards, catch a show, meet some girls..."

"Yeah. Great."

"...and along the way, you and I can figure out why the water is turning
into blood."

The forecast suddenly turned cloudy with a fifty-percent chance of heavy
shitstorms. I should have hung up right then and pretended that Frank never
called. However, I had already made a promise and I did owe the man a favor.

Fucking stupid English code of honor.

The following night, I was in Las Vegas. The first thing I noticed was how
dry everything felt. Back in the mother country, it would be a rare day if
the sunlight got around the clouds or if we received less than ten inches of
rain. Las Vegas, however, always reminded you of the desert. You could sense
the wasteland lurking behind the shiny buildings. It was harsh and merciless
to life, especially humans. Riding along the black highways were the ghosts
of a thousand settlers who had been eaten alive by a beast they now called
Nevada.

And they had built a city right in the middle of it; a city made entirely
for the purpose of gambling.

Only in America.

Frank met me at the airport. As noted before, it was a remarkable thing that
Frank had made it this far without harm. Not only was he unscarred but he
looked good. He still kept a trim body even though he was in his forties and
he ate like a pig. Age hadn't put much of a dent in his looks, either. In
fact, with the touch of gray in his hair and the added wrinkles across his
forehead, his face had actually gotten more attractive with age. He was a
clever *and* lucky bastard.

Then there was me in my weathered trenchcoat and looking five years older
than I really was. I shook the hand which extended from Frank's sleek dress
suit. He pointed out the obvious by saying --

"Christ, John, you've looked better."

"Yeah, well, you know, it's la vie de fucking boheme."

Frank frowned. "La what?"

"The bohemian life."

"Oh." Then he laughed. "Well, none of that shit for me."

Indeed. After I picked up my luggage, Frank led me to his car. It was a
expensive thing with only a tiny amount of miles on the odometer. I didn't
know whether to feel comfortable in it. When Frank drove me to the Las Vegas
strip and the reflection of the tall neon sculptures skated across the car's
flawless surface, I felt a moment of intense privilege. Then I remembered --
this wasn't my life. This was Frank's.

I lit up a fag and said, "You seem to be thriving in the desert here."

Frank grinned. His teeth were clean and bright, of course. "I've graduated
from dolphin to whale."

"Okay, now you lost *me*."

"'Dolphins' are what Vegas calls those quick little operators who pop in and
out of the casinos, grabbing what they can and then splitting before they
can be noticed."

"You mean, those quick little magicians."

"Well, yeah. A whale, on the other hand...he gets attention because he wants
it. He spends big, wins big..."

"Loses big."

"Sure. But not enough to hurt him."

"You've really moved up in the world, haven't you? I knew you were doing
well, but this..." I shook my head. "It's strange I haven't heard anything
about your success."

"You've been way out in England." Frank paused. "Of course, I've heard
things about you."

"Like what?"

"I know what happened to Lester."

I made no reply. I made no movement. I might have been breathing.

"Papa Midnite told me about it," Frank explained.

He still didn't get a response from me.

"You did the right thing. What else were you going to do? Let a goddamn
demon fuck over New York City?"

I finally spoke. "Is that what's happening out here?"

Now it was Frank's turn to be quiet.

"Is it?"

"I don't know what's going on. I'm hoping you can help me."

I blew out smoke past a lowered window. "So what happened?"

He told me about the fountain and the water turning to blood. "You and 
I should check it out," he said. "See what vibes we can pick up."

"As your attorney, I agree with you."

"Huh?"

"Sorry. Vague literary allusion."

Frank nodded. He didn't ask what book I had been referencing. ("Fear and
Loathing in Las Vegas" for those of you playing at home.) He would never
read it. The idea of reading for pleasure was incomprehensible to him. His
brain was the servant of his stomach and his dick. Its job was to figure 
out ways to pleasure the other two. He obviously wasn't a dumb man but I
wouldn't call him a smart one, either. He was cunning -- cunning enough to
amass a considerable fortune here in Sin City. The scent of illegality from
him was overpowering. What paid your daily bread, Frank? Prostitution?
Drugs? Maybe you were even working for the casinos and helping them to catch
dolphins in their nets.

The more time I spent with Frank, the less I liked working with him.
However, I still had a debt to pay. Furthermore, if a demon was trying to
fuck over another city, then I had a -- whatchercallit -- moral obligation
here. What had happened in New York City had been a bad situation. I wasn't
going to let the same thing occur again.

Besides, Frank was offering free food and drinks. I was planning to run like
a football team through his credit.

Frank and I weren't the only ones to visit the Pyramid Hotel fountain that
night. There's nothing like a miracle to haul in the tourists. It looked
like a hundred people had gathered on the large square in front of the
Pyramid Hotel. Some were flashing their cameras but keeping their distance.
Others would brave a touch in the fountain's water. For those who couldn't
muster the courage, a man had set up a table to sell bottled water "Drawn
Straight From the Fountain of Blood!" I'm sure he could have sold a lot more
if the water had stayed bloody. As of now, the fountain was full of nothing
but clear H2O.

The crowd was also sprinkled with the hardcore nuts. These were the blokes
who were kneeling on carpets before the fountain, clutching rosaries,
mumbling Biblical scripture. Some were carrying signs which proclaimed the
impeding end of the world. These people weren't going to leave until they
saw blood and not necessarily bubbling out of a fountain.

One of them was yelling through a bullhorn. He wore the standard get-up 
of a religious nutter -- white short-sleeved dress shirt, black tie,
well-polished shoes. His neat appearance contradicted the chaos promised
by his words.

"BLOOD! BLOOD IN THE WATER! JUST AS GOD PUNISHED EGYPT,
SODOM AND JERICHO, SO IS HE PUNISHING THIS CORRUPTED
CITY! THIS WILL BE THE FIRST OF MANY SIGNS! WE WILL SEE
LOCUSTS AND DEAD ANIMALS AND DARKNESS AT HIGH NOON!
ARE YOUR HEARTS SO PROUD AND STUBBORN TO BLIND YOU?
CAN YOU NOT SEE THE COMING OF THE LORD? IF YOU CHERISH
YOUR SOULS, GET DOWN ON YOU KNEES AND -- "

"Fuck this," I said. "I'm going to get a smoke."

Frank nodded. I walked away from the fountain to the edges of the crowd. 
I wanted to put distance between me and the nutter, but not just because 
he was full of shit.

The man could have been right. I had been standing by the fountain for
several minutes. Gradually I had become aware of...something. Call it bad
vibes, the heebies-jeebies or the dark at the top of the stairs. I had
already suggested to Frank that this might have been a publicity stunt by
the hotel.

"No way," he said.

After being in the fountain's presence for awhile, I had to agree. It didn't
look like much. Or, rather, it looked like too much. Like every other piece
of architecture on the Vegas strip, it was in a tackiness contest. I wanted
to laugh at its colored lights and cartoonish statues.

I couldn't, though. A mark had been left on it. Who or what left the mark, 
I couldn't say. Yet I wasn't inclined to go messing wth it. Not just yet.

So there I was at the edge of the crowd, hoping smoke in the lungs would
calm me down. I looked around me for no particular reason -- just to keep
track of my surroundings.

That's when I saw the man looking at me.

If you've worked with the occult for as long as I have, then you develop a
sense for who is in the know and who isn't. Most people go through life
without a single inkling of the supernatural world. Then there are the
poseurs --- the Aleister Crowley wannabes in their black clothing and dyed
hair.

However, some people have truly peeked around the corner of reality and seen
what's on the other side. You can know it by the look in their eyes. They're
not crazy exactly. They've just seen crazy things.

I was looking in the eyes of such a bloke right now. Like me, he was
standing on the edge of the crowd. He had been watching them, studying the
scene, trying to pick up a clue. He was a very presentable guy with a
handsome face.

Also looking very presentable was the woman standing next to him. She had
classic movie-star features. If you had roughed up her red hair and put her
in a studded leather jacket, she would have been the kind of woman I would
have fallen terribly in love with during my younger days.

She also had the same quality of experience as the man. Not as strong, mind
you. She stood at the corner of reality but wasn't sure if she was ready to
turn it.

She had been looking at the fountain but now she turned to the man at her
side. She had sensed that his attention had shifted.

The man walked towards me. I stood my ground with my cigarette stuck between
my lips and my hands clenched in my pockets. I readied myself for anything.

Well, almost anything. Anything except for the three words that left the
man's mouth.

"Mucous Membrane, right?"


XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

PART TWO
A SWINGING TIME

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The interview with the manager of the Pyramid Hotel didn't go quite as
planned. When Mulder and Scully met Mr. Quentin Schoenfeld in his office,
they found a man who didn't look like he got much sleep. His head was full
of the details and difficulties of the Pyrmaid Hotel -- cleaning,
entertainment, dissatisfed customers, unionized workers and all the rest. 
He didn't need the water turning into blood ontop of that. Having two FBI
agents in his office didn't do much for his peace of mind, either.

"If this is about the Underwood brothers, let me state that I had no
idea..."

"Uh, we're not here about the Underwood brothers," Mulder said. "Whoever
they are."

"Oh. Well. Why are you here?"

"It's about your fountain."

Schoenfeld closed his eyes for a moment. "Lord. That thing has been...what
do you know about it?"

"Only that the event remains unexplained. However, I would like to suggest
an explanation."

"I'm listening."

"Have you considered the possbility of sorcery, divination or some other
kind of occult force?"

The interview finished thirty seconds later.

"Can't say that I didn't see that coming," Scully commented.

"I'm just trying to bring the light of truth to the heathen," Mulder
replied.

"Well, are we going to bring ourselves back to Washington?"

"No."

Mulder proposed that they go to the libraries and research the Pyramid
Hotel. After that, they would stop by the fountain during the night.

"Why at night?" Scully asked.

Mulder smiled. "Because that's when all the crazies come out."

A lot of them were. Scully watched the crowd around the fountain with
unease. She didn't know who discomforted her more -- the curiosity seekers
or the religious fanatics. The fanatics were scary with their love of
damnation, but they respected a miracle. The tourists were just looking for
a nice snapshot. For these middle-aged and elderly people, water turning
into blood was just another Las Vegas amusement.

She studied them and the fountain, not sure what Mulder was looking for.
(Was she ever sure?) Then she realized that he wasn't looking at the
fountain. He was focused on one particular person.

This person was a man dressed in a trenchcoat. He was a good-looking man 
but he had been better looking once. Whatever had happened in his past,
experience had given him jaded eyes and a weariness to his unshaved face.
His contempt for the crowd was evident but he also seemed worried. He held
onto the cigarette in his fingers like it was his best friend.

He didn't look any less uneasy when Mulder walked up to him. When Scully's
partner said the words "Mucous Membrane," his expression turned to surprise.

Then he smiled -- a tight, embarrassed smile but a smile in any case.
"Bloody hell," the man said. "A fan."

"Well, I wouldn't go that far," Mulder said.

The man laughed. Like his smile, it wasn't as happy as it could be. Still,
the man's mood seem to be improving.

Scully decided to find out what the hell was going on. She walked up to the
two men and said, "Mulder?"

"Oh, sorry, Scully. You probably don't know we're talking to a piece of
British rock history."

"A very small piece," the man amended.

"This is...John Constantine, right?"

The man nodded.

"Mr. Constantine, this is...Dana Scully."

Not Agent Scully, she thought. All right. I can play along with whatever
game this was, but Mulder better explain the rules soon.

"Call me John," Constantine said, holding out a hand.

Scully shook it, then said, "So what part of British rock history are you?"

Before the Englishman could answer, she heard a voice say, "Well, hello
there."

Another man was walking towards them. He had the smile of a hyena and eyes
which advertised every dirty thought in his head. Those eyes were aimed at
Scully.

Oh, damn, she thought.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The Frank Mars Test is a good one to apply to women. If they see his
handsome smiling face and immediately fall for it, then they're no use to
anybody. However, if they look past it and see the hustler underneath, keep
them at your side.

Upon seeing Frank Mars and hearing his honeyed voice ask whom did he have
the pleasure of meeting, a wall went up around her face. When she shook his
hand and said "Dana Scully," she could have been greeting the ambassador
from a dictatorship. Frank's smile dropped out of sight.

Good gal.

Frank looked at me and said, "Do you know these people?"

"One of them knows me." I turned to the man and said, "Don't know your name,
though."

"Fox Mulder."

"Yeah. Turns out that...Mulder here remembers Mucous Membrane."

"Mucous what?" Frank said.

"My band, for Christ's sake. Don't you remember? 'Venus on the Hardshell?'"

"'Love, adventure, death and glory,'" Mulder said. "'The short goodbye/ the
whispered story.'"

"Exactly. Remember, Frank?"

Frank thought about it, then said, "Oh, yeah. Lester helped write that song,
didn't he?"

That's right, Frank. Give that knife one more twist. Just when I was feeling
a little better. "Yeah," I said. "He did." I decided to concentrate on
Mulder...if that was his real name.

"So how did you come across a piece of rubbish like Mucous Membrane?" 
I asked him.

"I studied at Oxford. Your old band is one of the fashionable obscurities
for music buffs."

That got another good laugh out of me. "'Fashionable obscurity!' Yeah,
that's it in a nutshell."

"So what are you doing in Las Vegas? Business or pleasure?"

I glanced at Frank, blew out a cloud of smoke and said, "A bit of both,
actually. What about you two?"

"Oh, us?" Mulder stretched a smile across his face and placed an arm over
Scully's shoulder. "Just a couple of crazy kids on the town."

Uh-huh. I didn't need to look at Scully's uncomfortable expression. Mulder
was obviously hiding something.

I discovered that I didn't care. While he may have been hiding something,
Mulder hadn't been faking his surprise at finding me here. This was no
set-up.

Besides, he was an American who knew about Mucous Membrane. How could I
resist a bloke like that?

"Well, why don't you come join me and Frank here?" I suggested. "We're right
now in the middle of the pleasure bit."

Frank said, "Uh, John, could I speak to you alone?"

The two of us walked ten feet away from Mulder and Scully. "Have you lost
your fucking mind?" he whispered. "You don't know these people!"

"They're okay, Frank."

"They're hiding something."

"And doing a balled-up job of it. Which makes me believe they're harmless."

"John, in this business..."

"And just what is your business, Frank? Tell me that."

Frank squeezed his lips together, then threw his hands up in the air. "Fine.
Go ahead."

"Sure you don't want to come along?"

"I've got better things to do. Besides, that Scully is probably a lesbian."

"Gotta be if she can resist your charms."

"Damn right."

Frank and I parted ways. I walked back to Mulder and Scully, spread my arms
and declared, "Let's set our souls on fire."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

They ended up having a pretty good time. Their fun was both at the expense
of Las Vegas and Frank's credit accounts. They mocked the faux-grandeur of
the electric signs and the fixed grins of the casino emcees. They played
"Who Can Spot the Strangest Tourist?" (Scully won with a drunken Muslim
wearing an Indian headdress and alligator-skin shoes.) About three hundred
dollars of Frank's money was lost at the card tables.

Not everybody got to do what they wanted to do. Scully steered the group
away from a strip club. Mulder begged to see the Elvis impersonators but to
no avail.

Still it was a fun night. At the end, they wound up in a perfect spot. It
was a hotel bar with only the three of them as customers. The lights were
low and the jukebox only played Sinatra.

Constantine selected "In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning," then walked to
a table on unsteady legs. Mulder and Scully were waiting there. They sat
behind glasses of seltzer water. Constantine had a bottle of whiskey waiting
for him.

"You sure you don't want any?" he asked as he filled his glass. "I'm way
ahead of you in the booze race here."

"We're not drinkers," Mulder said.

"Especially when you're trying to pump information out of somebody, right?"

Mulder and Scully looked at the Englishman. They looked at each other.

"Well? Aren't you?"

Mulder's eyes turned to his glass of water. He held it up to the light. The
bubbles were levitating to the surface and popping out of existence.

He said, "Did you know that at the current rate of depletion the water
reservoirs of Las Vegas will be emptied by 2007?"

Constantine squinted at Mulder. "Uh, no."

"One reason for this is the Vegas suburbs trying to keep lawns green in the
middle of a desert. Then there are the hotels and casinos, of course. Not
only do they have customers to keep bathed and quenched, they use water for
purely entertainment purposes -- for aesthetics. Think of the 'Canals of
Venice' ride. Or the aquatic dancer shows."

"Or the fountains," Constantine muttered.

"Or the fountains," Mulder echoed. "That's got me thinking about the Pyramid
Hotel. If somebody is directly responsible for that little...what would you
call it?"

"Curse," Constantine said before taking a big gulp of whiskey.

"Mm. If it's an intended curse, then at whom is it being directed? Somebody
staying at the hotel? The hotel itself?"

Mulder leaned forward with his elbows on the table. "Or maybe it's a warning
to all of Vegas. Maybe it's saying...'your time has come.'"

Constantine looked at Mulder. So did Scully who remained quiet and poised in
her chair.

Mulder shrugged. "I'm not implying an end in the Biblical sense. But maybe
it's a sign that this city should take stock. And that water...like life
itself...should not be taken for granted."

He leaned back in his chair and sipped from his glass. Holding his own glass
loosely in one hand, Constantine said, "You know, Mulder...you're an all
right guy..."

"Thank you."

"But what the bloody hell do you want from me?"

Mulder looked into Constantine's hazy eyes. Then he reached into his pocket,
pulled out a wallet and flashed the letters "FBI" at Constantine.

The Englishman broke out into laughter.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

FBI agents who specialize in investigating the supernatural. How about that?

Actually it was Mulder who was the real specialist. Scully was less sure
about this stuff. I don't blame her. I've been a pseudo-magician for years
now and I still have problems accepting some of the shit I've seen.

Mulder had a large knowledge of occult trivia stored in his head.
(Depressingly large.) Among the collected trivia was a rumor about me.

"It says that you were a participant in an exorcism."

Another knife in my back twisted. Here was something I didn't want to
remember, especially when trying to absorb ten glasses of whiskey.

"Actually all I did was perform the Heimlich manuever on a Welshman choking
on a leek," I said. "Somehow the leek became a demon in the public
imagination."

"You have also been called 'the Aleister Crowley of our age, only more
insidious.'"

"That's just my press agent. He exaggerates."

Mulder pushed aside his glass of bubbly water. "Look, I was straight with
you."

"Took your time to do so."

"If something important is happening here, then..."

I slammed my glass onto the table. "Then what, Mulder? Then what?"

He said nothing as I shook my finger at him. "I can tell you've been around
the block a few times, mate. You probably even have a few battle scars to
show me. But I bet you have never been in the thick of it. Have you? Have
you been in it so deep that you couldn't breathe and you didn't know where
to go or who to trust or..."

I felt a hand touch my own. It was soft yet strong. It belonged to Agent
Scully.

"Maybe we ought to call it a night," she suggested.

Christ, I've needed a hand like that before. And Mulder had it with him all
the time. Lucky, lucky bastard.

"Sorry," I muttered. "I ruined everybody's evening..."

"You didn't. You're just tired."

"And drunk."

"Yeah, and drunk."

"Maybe we should take you back to your hotel room. Where are you staying?"

I smiled a little. "The Pyramid, of course."

"Well, we're staying there, too. We can take you there."

I nodded, then allowed Scully to help me to my feet. Then there was this
long blur of light making up the trip to my hotel suite.

"Good night, Mr. Constantine," Scully said after I fell onto my bed. Just as
she and Mulder turned to leave, I said, "Hey."

They looked back.

"If things do get tight...back off. You're nice people. And I've seen too
many nice people get hurt."

Ain't it the truth?

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

After taking care of Constantine, Mulder and Scully headed back to their own
hotel rooms. "So what was the purpose of all that?" she asked him.

"Don't you find it interesting that a reported mystic should show up at a
site of a reported supernatural phenomenon?"

Scully paused, then said, "No."

"Scully, I'm serious. There are a lot of stories floating around John
Constantine..."

"And I suspect they're just that. Stories. All I saw tonight was a drunken
Englishman."

"Who was also implying that we had stumbled into something big."

"Again, I have to say...drunken Englishman."

Mulder shoved his hands in his pockets and looked pensive.

"Look, Mulder, I'm not saying that this case is without interest. However,
no crime has been committed. That makes it hard to justify our presence
here. If you want to convince Skinner that we're needed here, you're going
to have to do better than the alcoholic ramblings of John Constantine."

Mulder considered her reasoning, then nodded. "Tell you what...let's wait
until morning. If nothing new has happened, we'll leave."

Something did happen. Mulder got shot.


XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

PART THREE
A FUNNY KIND OF TOURIST

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I woke up in a hell of a good-looking suite. It didn't improve my mood
anymore than the soft bed under my back. The sixty-ninth hangover is no
easier to take than the first. In fact, it's a little worse because you've
established by now that you're going to repeat this experience despite the
foreknowledge.

On top of that, I had just dreamed about Gary Lester. The dream had me and
him on top of a tall building. We weren't the only ones there. I could see
Sister Anne-Marie, Ray, Emma, Frank, Benjamin, Ritchie...

Guess what these people have in common with Lester?

Papa Midnite was there. I could hear pounding drums and smell the blood of a
dead chicken. That's when I recognized the scene. I was reliving the
ceremony Papa and I had used to capture the demon attacking New York City.

Only this was different. This time, it wasn't Gary Lester who was the bait.
It wasn't that miserable junkie whose body was used to contain Mnemoth.

It was me. I was the one who was strapped to a chair. I was the one being
overcome by a demon who came as a swarm of flies.

I was the sacrifice this time.

So you could see why I was not feeling particularly chipper that morning. 
I could still see the faces of dead friends, lovers and allies. They didn't
say anything but the message was clear in their expressions. "This is your
time," the ghosts were saying. "This time, you pay the price."

I stumbled into the bathroom and looked in the mirror. For a guy who took
pride in being a survivor, I seemed barely alive.

I needed a long shower. I needed lots of warm water and solitude.

Instead, I got a loud knocking at the door. I wanted to ignore it but it
sounded too insistent. Besides, I wouldn't have minded someone at which to
yell.

I opened the door without looking through the peephole. The urge to yell
vanished when I saw the face of Dana Scully.

There are certain people who can freeze you with a look. Dana Scully was
such a person. When she was angry,  you feared for your head.

She didn't have to speak. I could guess what happened. "Something happened
to Mulder, didn't it?"

She slowly nodded.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Had Dana Scully woken up a little later and been a little less hungry,
things might have gone even worse. When the man with the service tray
arrived at Mulder's hotel room, she had just taken a shower. She was
standing before a mirror and running a comb through her hair. Her hotel room
was right next to Mulder's so she could overhear a conversation.

"I didn't order anything."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Mulder, but my order slip says your room."

"Well, your order slip is wrong."

The other man sighed. "Sir, could you look at this just to make sure?"

"Oh...all right."

Scully heard the hallway door open to Mulder's room, then the squeaking of
wheels. "Here's the order slip, sir," the man said.

That's when Scully went up to the connecting door between their rooms. She
heard Mulder say, "No. I don't recognize this order at all. Your people must
have..."

Mulder suddenly stopped talking -- an odd moment of silence but nothing
remarkable.  She knocked on the connecting door and said, "Mulder, if you
don't want it, I'll have..."

"SCULLY, DOWN!"

She acted without thinking. As she dropped to the floor, two holes
appeared -- one in the door and one in the opposite wall. Their birth was
accompanied by a high-pitched whistle.

More noises followed -- grunting, the clatter of metal. Scully ran on all
fours to the table next to her bed. She snatched the gun resting there. Then
she jumped to her feet and ran for the hallway door.

That's when she heard the second shot.

And Mulder's shout of pain.

And a collapsing body.

She cursed the gown constraining her legs. Yet she managed to unlock her
door, open it and swing around to the other room just in time to see a man
standing over Mulder. He was aiming a silenced gun at her partner's head.

Naturally, she told him to stop.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"I take it he didn't," Constantine mumbled as he picked up his cigarettes.

"No. He pointed the gun at me. I shot him."

"So he's dead."

"Yes. But not because I shot him."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The assassin fell to the rug, blood bursting from his shoulder. Scully
sidestepped a wheeled tray lying on its side and ran up to the assassin. "I
said, freeze!" she reminded him with her gun as an extra reminder.

The assassin rolled on his back and lifted his gun. Seeing the desperation
in his eyes, Scully knew the assassin was not planning to be taken alive.
She aimed to kill.

Then Mulder lunged forward, yanked the gun from the assassin and clubbed him
on the chin with it. The blow hurt but not as much as Mulder's foot. A dark
hole in his sock was leaking all over the rug. Scully saw the wound as he
shoved the assassin onto his stomach.

"Mulder, you're..."

"My handcuffs are on the dresser," he said through grinding teeth. He heaved
himself on top of the assassin and crossed the man's wrists together. Knowing
that he wasn't going to accept help until they had the would-be killer fully
neutralized, she got the handcuffs.

It turned out to be a good idea. Despite getting shot and pistol-whipped,
the assassin was still struggling. "NO, NO!" he screamed."YOU HAVE TO LET ME
GO!"

"Why don't you remain silent, okay?" Mulder snarled at the assassin. He and
Scully held the assassin's arms still. Curved metal was locked around his
wrists.

Then Scully ran to the bathroom. The assassin kept on screaming.

"For Christ's sake, settle down!" Mulder yelled.

"THEY'LL KILL ME!"

"I'm gonna kill you if you don't shut up!"

Scully returned with a towel. After making a bandage for Mulder's foot, she
said, "I'm going to call...what's that smell?"

Mulder could smell it, too. Then he saw the smoke -- little wisps coming
from the man's ears.

The face of the man had turned a bright red. Tremors had taken control of
his body. His screaming gave the agents a close idea of his pain.

Mulder jumped off the man and stood on one foot. He watched with his partner
as the assassin trembled and hollered.

Then the assassin's head exploded. White bone, red flesh and gray brain
matter was now spread over the carpet like a drunkard's vomit.

Mulder was tempted to say "The maid's gonna be pissed," but he didn't.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Constantine lit up a cigarette and blew out smoke. He wasn't looking at
Scully's angry face. "Is Mulder okay?" he asked.

"He'll be limping for awhile but the bullet didn't do any permanent damage.
In fact, I would say that he's secretly happy."

Constantine turned to Scully in bewilderment. "Whatcher mean by that?"

"He has a reason now to stay in Vegas. He has an excuse to investigate you."

"What the hell makes you think that I had something to do with this?"

"You were the one who warned us of danger."

"Yeah, but I didn't mean..."

Scully marched up to the Englishman. "What did you mean, Mr. Constantine?"

With his head hunched against his shoulders, Constantine turned from Scully
and walked to a long window. It provided him with a good view of the Vegas
strip.

As he puffed out more smoke, he said, "I wasn't anticipating a hit on
Mulder. But I have been anticipating...something. Something that's going to
hit this city hard."

Scully hesitated many seconds before she said, "Will this be some kind of
supernatural occurrence?"

Constantine smiled a little. "You mean, are demons going to burst out of the
ground and start slaughtering the innocents? Will the ghosts of dead
gangsters haunt the casinos? Will day become night?"

"Ah..."

"I really don't know, Agent Scully. I really don't. I'm not eager to find
out, either." Constantine raised an eyebrow. "Mulder would like to know,
wouldn't he?"

Scully made no reply.

"That's why you're angry. Because he'll stay here until he gets to the very
cause of whatever is happening. He'll risk his life for that kind of
knowledge."

"You think you know him so well?"

"It's the truth, ennit? I've met people like Mulder before -- blokes who
will jump into the abyss, just to find out what's on the bottom."

"No. That's not Mulder."

"Well...not completely, I guess. As long as you're around, he'll think a
little before jumping."

Scully sighed. "Mr. Constantine...I came here to find information, not to
get psychoanalyzed."

"And I've just told you -- I don't have any information. At least, not yet."
Constantine reached over and put out his cigarette in an ashtray. "Time to
go out and get some."

He turned to Scully. "Mind if I have a quick shower first?"

She looked him over, then nodded. Constantine headed for the bathroom. He
stopped before he got there.

"By the way, just so you know..." He pointed his thumb at the window. "There
are a hundred vultures out there."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

They were, indeed. They had flown in out of the desert. As a single black
flock, they descended onto the casinos and hotels. Police officers,
card-dealers and millionaires were all treated to the same sight.

The vultures attacked no one. They just found nesting spots and...watched.
Their blank eyes gave no indication of what they found so interesting. They
stood still with their wings folded up against themselves. From window
ledges and electric signs and lampposts and fake pyramids, the long-necked
birds kept a close observation of the city.

Like most of the people in Vegas, Scully gawked at the winged creatures as
she drove to the hospital in a rented car. Constantine sat next to her with
eyes less amazed but perhaps more intimidated.

Some citizens were tempted to try scaring the birds away. Maybe a few
gunshots in the air? However, no one wanted to see the actual results of
such an action. Who knew how the vultures might respond?

Then, after a hour had passed, the vultures took flight as one and flew back
to the familiar territory of the desert. The citizens of Las Vegas watched
them leave, suspecting that they'll be back.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

When I showed up at Frank's apartment with Mulder and Scully, he got a bit
cranky. He took me aside and said, "What the fuck are you doing? Do you know
who those two are?"

"Yeah, they're federal agents. What of it?"

He gave me a look as if I was a wee little tyke.

"I assume you did a little research on them," I observed.

"That's right. They're part of some stupid thing called The X-Files. They're
amateur occultists on the federal dole. Is that supposed to impress me?"

"I like them. And we can't ask them to back out now. Haven't you noticed
Mulder's foot?"

Frank looked across his wide and expensively decorated apartment at Mulder's
bandaged foot. "Yeah, what of it?"

"Well, how do you think that happened?"

"I don't know. You were fucking each other with your toes last night and you
got a little too excited?"

"He got shot, you git. They caught the guy who did it. Then the bastard's
head exploded."

"Really?"

"Really. Looks like whoever hired him used a hex to keep him from talking.
Bloody harsh kind of motivational technique, if you ask me."

"You think this has something to do with our little problem?"

"Don't know. Why don't we find out?"

Frank thought about it, then said, "Okay. But if they get to be too much of
a load, I'm dropping 'em."

"They won't be. Besides, maybe if Scully hangs around you long enough,
she'll change her orientation."

Frank smirked. We walked across a thick white rug to the two agents.

"All right then," I said. "Let's get started."

"And just how do we do that?" Mulder asked.

"We get ourselves a stick, of course."


XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

PART FOUR
RALPH STEADMAN, EAT YOUR HEART OUT

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

They made for an odd sight -- one of the city's biggest rollers, a
red-haired woman and a man walking with a cane all following a man wearing a
rumpled trenchcoat and holding a thin stick in front of him. The stick was
divided into two branches on one end. He held the stick by those branches
while slowly waving the single pointed end left and right.

The man in the trenchcoat had been leading the other three all over the
strip. They had started in a hotel room with a body outline and a wide smear
of blood on the floor. From there, they had walked in and out of other
hotels, bars and casinos. A lot of heads turned in their direction.
Occasionally security guards would walk up to them on the chance that this
eccentric behavior needed disciplining. When this first happened, Scully and
Mulder started to reach for their FBI badges. However, the guards stopped
short when they saw the smiling face of Frank Mars.

"Problem here, fellas?"

"No, sir, Mr. Mars," the guards said as all the guards would.

"You appear to have some clout here in Vegas," Scully observed to him.

Frank just shrugged.

John Constantine led the others around for hours. Eventually, it was late
afternoon.

"Hold it," Mulder said. "I got to sit down."

"Sure," Constantine said. "I'm not picking up anything right now."

"Were you ever?" Mulder replied as he took a chair by an unused slot
machine.

"Hey, Mulder, you could have stayed in the hospital if you wanted to."

"And miss the wonder of this place?" He looked around at the Deutschland
Casino. This particular casino's motif was found in the pigtails and puffy
sleeves of the waittresses, the wandering polka band, the beer served in
metal mugs and the chunks of the Berlin Wall sold in the gift shop.

"There are a few chapters of German history that this place overlooks," he
noted.

"You mean they should have the dealers goose-step and erect barbed wire
around the buffet table?"

"Hmmm. That would disrupt the old country feel, wouldn't it? So how much
longer are we going to wander around? My foot is killing me."

"My feet are starting to hurt a little too," Scully said.

"In those heels, not surprising," Constantine replied.

"What I mean is...we've been following a damn piece of wood."

"We've been following a divining rod. And how about showing a little
patience?"

"Look, John," Frank said. "they might have a point. Maybe Mulder's hotel
room was the wrong place to start."

Constantine shoved the divining rod into the pocket of his jacket and yanked
out his cigarette pack. "The hitman should have left a trail," he insisted.

"It's a possibility. But is it a trail we should follow?"

"Why not? There has to be a connection between the attempted hit and all the
other shit going on."

"That's just conjecture. Maybe somebody saw a fed around and panicked."

"Like who?" Scully asked.

Frank thought about that, then said, "The Underwood brothers, maybe."

Mulder sat up in the chair. "The manager of the Pyramid Hotel mentioned them
by accident. They made him quite nervous."

"Yeah, that's because the Underwood brothers got caught using one of his
suites to do a black magic ritual. Something involving a goat and a teenage
virgin. The hotel is trying to hush it up because the Underwood brothers are
whales."

"Huh?"

"Big spenders," Constantine translated as he lit up a cigarette.

"So you think...what?" Mulder said. "They thought that I was here for them
so they sent a hitman after me?"

"That's bollocks," Constantine said. "I don't know the Underwood brothers
from Prince William, but why would they..."

Constantine jerked as if he had been given an electric shock. He dropped his
cigarette and looked at his pocket.

The rod was pressing against the pocket's lining. Constantine pulled it out.

The rod jerked to the right. Constantine stumbled in that direction.like a
man being led by a strong dog.

Scully stared in disbelief. Mulder stood up.

Frank said, "Follow that stick."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I didn't know if I was on the trail of whatever turned the fountain water 
to blood or what attracted the vultures or the Underwood brothers or Jesus
Himself. Whatever it was, though, it had a mighty big pull. The rod was
under its control and I was doing my best to make sure nobody got poked in
the eye. I still managed to bump into a few tourists, all of whom cursed me
in their unique regional manner.

Then, suddenly, the rod came to a stop. It pointed up. I looked in that
direction.

From where I stood, I had a good vantage point on the gambling floor. I
could see the players hunched over their cards, the old ladies jerking the
slot machine arms, the coins rattling and the chips clicking.

I wasn't watching them, though. I was watching the worms.

They were all over the casino -- long and gray and thick. Their pulsing
bodies wrapped around all the people on the floor. With toothless mouths,
they suckled and fed.

They ate the greed of a twenty-one player in tinted shades. They drank the
desperation sweating from a man on his last chips. The obsession of an old
woman giving all her quarters to the slots made a fine meal. Other vices
provided sustenance by proxy to the worms. Every glass of alcohol swallowed,
every cigarette smoked and every 'complimentary snack' provided also fed
their appetites. They also took nourishment from the feeling of power known
by the pit bosses and those watching through the hidden cameras.

I saw a mother and a father lead their little boy into the casino. As the
boy's eyes widened to see all these games and to hear the merry chirping of
the electronic poker machines, the worms reached out for him.

The worms did not eat for themselves. Everything devoured would travel up
their oily bodies and stop at their source. Hanging from the ceiling was
this wrinkled ball of flesh. It was as large as a hot air balloon. The
creature's skin quivered as it fed through the worms.

In the center of its underbelly was a long black anus. Every few seconds, it
would drop a wet, brown chunk of shit. This shit would splat onto a wide
field of shit which extended through the whole casino. It was waist-deep and
smelled just like you would expect. I saw all these dwarves in gas masks
scurrying around with buckets and shovels. They were working their little
arses off but the task was impossible. No one could clean up this much shit,
not with so many people contributing to it.

The parents of the young boy laughed in amusement at their child's wonder. I
wanted to smack them. I wanted to scream at everybody, "Can't you smell it?
Can't you see what you're feeding?"

Of course they couldn't. Only I could see the worm-creature.

And now it could see me.

One of the worms extended in my direction. I kept still, too afraid and
maybe too fascinated to move. The worm's toothless mouth opened. Its breath
smelt like the devil's own tobacco. The mouth sucked in the air around me,
exhaled and with a voice that belonged to a deathbed patient said --

"Tasty."

I fainted. Silly bugger.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

They took Constantine back to Frank's apartment. He was laid across a bed.
Sweat moistened his forehead and his skin had gone pale.

"I still think we should take him to the hospital," Scully said.

"The doctors couldn't help him," Frank said. "Ol' John here got himself a
psychic shock."

He saw the skeptical look on Scully's face. "After all you've seen," he told
her. "do you think you have the luxury of doubt?"

Scully studied the bloodless face of Constantine and tried not to shudder.

"You said a 'psychic shock,'" Mulder said. "From what?"

"Only John can tell us that." Frank paused, then said, "You know...I've been
thinking. Maybe the Underwood brothers are at the root of this after all."

"If that's so, then how can we find out for sure?"

Frank gave the two agents a careful look. "Are you two into cards?" he
asked.

"I did a fair amount of it in college," Mulder answered.

"Uh...I'm more into chess," Scully said.

Mulder smiled at her. "Figures."

"Well...there's a certain game in town," Frank said. "A game that goes on
all the time. Very secretive. The Underwood brothers have played in it more
than once. It would be a good place to get information on them."

"Is that where we're headed next?"

"No," Frank replied with a smile. "It's where *you* are headed next."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I was strapped in the chair again. Only this time I was not on a building
rooftop. I was seated before a roulette table. Standing around the table
were a lot of ghosts.

"Place your bets," Gary Lester called out.

"I have no money," I said.

"Everybody has something to give."

"No. I don't have a thing."

"Sure you do," Lester said and ripped my heart out. He placed it on the
square marked with two zeroes. I noted that the extraction didn't hurt at
all. In fact, I had this soft, pleasing sensation in my chest now.

"Bets are off. The wheel is in motion." Lester reached for the wheel, then
stopped.

"There's no ball," he observed, then he turned back to me. "Do you mind?"

He tore out my left eyeball. I felt no pain here, either. My head felt light
as if I had inhaled lithium.

Lester spun the wheel and dropped the eyeball. It bounced with a rubbery
noise over the twirling numbers. I noticed that all the numbers were the
same -- forty-two. When the wheel stopped, the eyeball rested against one of
those forty-twos.

Gary gave me a mock look of pity. So did Emma, Sister Anne-Marie and all the
rest. "Sorry, John," Gary said. "The house wins."

"That's okay," I said cheerfully. "I always knew it would."

"What would, John?" Frank asked.

That's when I realized the dream was over. I was back in Frank's apartment,
stretched over his bed.

"Nothing," I mumbled, then tried to get up. My weak body insisted on staying
down.

"Oh, sweet hell, Frank," I said. "You wouldn't believe what I just saw."

"What, John?"

"You've got this godawful...I don't know...creature, entity, whatever...it's
living here in Vegas and feeding off all the corruption and vice."

"Really," Frank said in a flat voice.

"I think it's the reason behind the weirdness. Don't know how, but..." My
voice faded away to nothing.

"Well...if it is the reason, we'll look into it. For now, you just rest."

I closed my eyes and sighed. "Where are Mulder and Scully?"

"They're out doing a little job for me. Don't worry about them. You just
take a break."

I nodded, making contented noises as I relaxed into the embrace of the
pillows.

"Guess that demon blood in your veins doesn't make you any more durable."

My eyelids sprang up. I managed to lift my head. "How did you know about
that?" I asked in a loud voice.

For a moment, Frank looked uncomfortable. Then he gave me another one of his
shrugs. "I've got my sources. Hope it's not too private."

I examined Frank for a moment, then dropped my head back onto the pillows.
"Nah. No biggie. I've got demon juice in my veins and that's about it." A
giggle hopped out of my throat. "Not everybody knows about it. I should tell
you about the prat of a vampire who once took a bite out of me. The look on
his face..."

"Sure, John. Later you can tell me. You just rest now."

Rest. Good idea. As I closed my eyes again, I decided that Frank Mars wasn't
such a bad sort. Shady fellow but he can treat his friends right.

Silly, silly bugger.


XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

PART FIVE
SHOWTIME

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"You look good, Scully."

She said nothing in reply.

"Scully?"

"Hm?"

"You look good."

"Oh, thanks." She turned to the neon passing outside.

"Aren't you going to tell me I look good?"

"Yes, Mulder," she sighed. "You look good enough for your own funeral."

Mulder winced. "Do I detect a bit of grouchiness?"

"You detect a bit of concern. I don't understand the situation we've gotten
ourselves in. And I don't like what I don't understand."

"That's been pretty well established."

Scully turned to Mulder who was behind the wheel of a 2000 Lexus. "Do you
understand what's going on?" she asked.

"Yeah. We've just been given some nice clothes, a nice car and a lot of
money to play poker with."

"We're being sent to do the dirty work of Frank Mars."

"It's our work, too, Scully. I'm the one who got shot, remember? If the
Underwood brothers sent that hitman..."

"That still doesn't mean Frank shouldn't be the one going to this game."

"Well...yeah, he is using us as his front. Like he said, he's not ready to
go toe-to-toe with any other 'whale' in town unless he has some concrete
evidence of their duplicity."

Scully snorted. "In this town, what counts as 'duplicity?'"

"I guess we'll find out."

Mulder glanced at Scully. Her eyes still showed doubt and worry.

"Look, we've done undercover work before," he said. "What's different about
this?"

"You ask that question? After what we've seen?"

Mulder stopped for a red light. He turned to his partner. "So you do think
we're dealing with something supernatural," he said.

"Again, I have to say...I don't understand the situation."

"Well, Scully, that's why Frank gave us protection." Mulder patted the lapel
of his black dress jacket.

Scully glanced down at her purse, then looked up at Mulder. "Even if we are
to believe these items are...genuine...can we trust Frank Mars?"

"Constantine trusts him. And I trust Constantine."

"Why? Because he once sang a tune you liked?"

Mulder grinned. "Rock 'n roll will never steer you wrong, Scully."

Scully looked at Mulder for a moment, then she turned her gaze to the road.
The little smile on her face meant that she wouldn't argue anymore. For now.

Mulder studied her. The flashing lights outside bounced off the creamy skin
exposed on her shoulders. Two thin straps held up her crimson dress. The red
cloth rolled over her curves before stopping just at her knees and leaving
her shapely calves on display.

No doubt about it. She looked good.

She noticed that he was watching her. "What is it?" he asked.

"I just realized what else is upsetting you. You have to play moll to my
sugar daddy."

She arched an eyebrow. "Bear in mind that the story always ends with the
moll shooting her sugar daddy."

Mulder kept on smiling.

The light turned green. The Lexus continue its way past the web of
electricity. It was nighttime and Vegas was holding a million candles
against the darkness.

The darkness was not afraid.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Which came first? The city or the worms?

As with all questions involving desire and appetite, it was difficult to
separate individual will from outside influences. What was more naive to
believe -- that humans needed a controlling force to create lust and greed
in their hearts or that such forces had no bearing at all? Did the creature
seen by John Constantine create the city or was Vegas its true mother?

In his younger days, Constantine would have dismissed such speculation as
philosophy for wankers. Our lives are our own, he would insist. They don't
belong to God, the Devil or Parliament. If more people accepted this, the
world would be a lot better and a lot more fun.

Then years went by. Constantine found himself being manipulated as well as
being a manipulator of others. He discovered that the world had given him
less options than he had imagined. There was still choices but those choices
were often forced upon him. Even his former lifestyle of 'free love' and
'open roads' had its traps.

Someone is always using us, he would say now in his bleaker moments. That's
why he wouldn't have been too surprised to know what was being done to him
in Frank's apartment.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The game was being played in the back room of a major casino. Getting to the
room's door meant going through a maze of hallways. Mulder and Scully would
have gotten lost if Frank hadn't gave them directions. When they found the
door, a man stood guard there. One of his hands could have completely
covered Mulder's face.

Mulder limped over to him and spoke an odd-sounding word. (It came from the
language of a tribe whose members had disappeared from the plains of Asia
millennia ago.) Without saying a word, the guard opened the door.

Mulder and Scully had expected to find a room clouded with cigarette smoke.
The players were supposed to have had loosened ties and bottles of vodka at
their elbows. Their faces should have reflected the tension of a high-stakes
game.

Instead, they found four peoples arranged symmetrically at a circular table.
Their clothes were buttoned up and neat. Even the chips on the table were
stacked in tidy rows. No smoking or drinking took place in the room. If
anything, the room was too clean. Not a speck of dust occupied the floor.
The air was stunning with its purity.

However, the room was also a little too dark. There was just enough light to
see the cards and the people. The walls couldn't be seen, though. The door
was invisible as well.

The four players said nothing to the visitors. They continued playing with
the utmost attention to their cards. They only moved to push in new chips or
to accept new cards from the dealer.

Mulder decided to get their attention. He crossed over to the table and
cleared his throat.

They didn't look up.

"Excuse me? Mind if I join in?"

They remained intent on their game. Their faces looked almost asleep but
there was something bright in each of their eyes.

They all laid their cards down at once. The winner was a heavy-set man with
droopy cheeks. He pulled the chips to his corner, arranging them in order
with his other winnings. He seemed to take no pleasure in his victory.

Then he looked up at Mulder. He smiled.

"Of course you can," he said. "Take a seat."

Mulder noticed a new chair at the table. The five chairs formed a perfect
five-point circle. Mulder didn't recall the players moving.

Nor did Scully recall who put the extra chair behind Mulder. It was located
five feet from him. The heavy-set man turned to her and said, "You may sit
there."

Mulder and Scully looked at each other.

Then they sat down in their assigned seats.

"So," the heavy-set man said. "what do you wish to play?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hot winds blew through the city. The tourists flinched at the sudden rush of
heat and the homeless sweated in the alleys. They cursed the unpleasantness,
not knowing that worse was to come.

Far away from the neon web, something billowy and wide was spreading. The
darkness gave it the appearance of a curtain just as the lights go out. It
rolled across the plains towards Vegas.

In the city, the worms were hungry. They always were.


XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

PART SIX
FEAR AND LOATHING

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Mulder was fifteen minutes into the game when he asked about the Underwood
brothers. It felt as good a moment as any. He doubted that he would feel any
less nervous. The distant yet concentrated expressions of the four players
was unsettling. He resisted the temptation to pat the triangular rune in the
inner pocket of his vest.

Frank Mars had given a similar rune to Scully. She was keeping hers in a
purse. "These will protect you from any funny business," Frank had assured
them. "It won't make your game any better, though."

Mulder was doing well at the cards in any case. He had won a hand and his
losses had been small so far. As he examined what could become a possible
flush, he said, "I thought the Underwood brothers would be here."

Except for requests for more cards and the betting, these had been the only
words spoken during the past fifteen minutes. He was expecting to get a lot
of suspicious looks.

Instead, the players kept their eyes on the cards. "They're busy with other
matters," the heavy-set man said. "Do they owe you something?"

"Actually they do. What are they busy with?"

The heavy-set man lifted his eyes. The face around them was a hard mask.
Mulder looked back, not even daring to blink.

"Do you care?" the man asked in a gentle voice.

"Not really," Mulder said before asking for one card.

What was strange was that he meant it.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

John Constantine dreamt of Las Vegas. He sensed the flow of cash, the
buzzing of electric filaments and the drip of tequila. He felt both the
discomfort of a dealer's feet in his shoes and of a dancer wearing a
spangled thong. The hotel rooms offered a variety of sexual pleasure,
suicidal desperation and plain boredom. He watched over those looking 
for a job and those looking for a good time.

He felt the past as well as the present. He could hear bones cracking under
a hammer blow...the snip of a ribbon being cut at the opening of a new
casino...racist jokes being directed at a one-eyed black man by his
"friends"...

And he could see the future. Or a possible future, at least.

The ruins of empty buildings were turning gray. A million bulbs waited for
the charge never to come again. Simulations of Greek statues and Egyptian
tombs now resembled the real thing with all their cracks and mold. Highways
passed the decay like barren rivers.

The only living thing left was a mass of gray flesh and that was on its
final moments. The worms stretching from the main body had shrivelled to the
width of string. The center pulsed only slightly. When it defecated, tiny
green turds squeezed from its anus.

All this information hit Constantine at once. However, he still remained
conscious of his own body. He felt it being wrapped in cloth bandages that
smelt of garlic. He also heard voices.

"You two could have blown everything, you know that?" That was Frank and he
sounded angry.

"Me and my brother just wanted to have a little fun," a whiny voice replied.
"Besides, we weren't going to kill her or anything."

"Nah, you were just going to make her have sex with a goat. Christ, if I
hadn't fixed things, this could have exposed the whole coven."

"I'm...I'm sorry," the other man mumbled.

"Save it. For now, let's get this other shit over with."

Constantine was being picked up now. The bandages kept his arms tight
against his sides. He didn't mind. He felt like a baby in a warm blanket.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Something was wrong. Mulder hadn't asked any more questions about the
Underwood brothers for ten minutes. He seemed more interested in his game.

Scully wondered if she should speak up, give Mulder a nudge, anything.
However, she didn't want to create suspicion.

Besides, she was only a consort. She was supposed to sit still and be quiet.

That's just what she did -- sit still and be quiet.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Vegas had been hit by dust storms before, but nothing ever like this. It
came upon the city instantly, blinding everyone in its path. Their world was
stripped down a yellow-brown color and their skins burned. Pedestrians
stumbled for the indoors. More than one car collided with another.

The storm swept over the whole city. Every brightly-colored sign ended up
looking like a popsicle dropped on the beach. By the Pyramid Hotel fountain,
the preacher first screamed his joy into the wind and then collapsed in a
coughing fit. No window was high enough not to be scratched by the dust.

Only one spot was untouched -- the rooftop of the apartment building where
Frank Mars lived.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Three of the players had folded. This was very unusual. Up until now nobody
had shown an inclination other than to play every hand through.

However, as tall stacks of chips formed in the table's center, three players
laid down their cards. The only two left were Mulder and the heavy-set man.

Mulder had experienced a run of good luck. His personal winnings had been
high but he had now thrown most of them in the pot. His faith in the cards
he currently held was that great.

He was waiting for the heavy-set man to answer Mulder's raise. The other
player could have covered it easily. However, he had paused to consider his
next move.

Finally, he said, "Tell you what, Mulder...what's say we make things really
interesting?"

The FBI agent should have felt afraid at that point. Instead he felt eager
to hear the heavy-set man's offer. "Lay it on me," he replied.

"I'll see your raise and...I'll throw this in."

The man reached into his jacket and pulled out a leather-bound book as large
as the average paperback.

"You know what this is?" he asked Mulder.

"It's a book. I assume it's a valuable one."

"It would be valuable to anyone. It's priceless to you."

"Why is that?"

"It's a book of secrets."

Mulder's tongue passed over his lips. "What kind of secrets?"

"The ones hidden in the crux between science and nature -- the ones that
explain how mere words can bend reality. This book provides the names of
spirits and what gifts they can offer. It details societies hiding in
cellars and dancing among the trees. You can read tales of what the land was
like before a single human set foot upon it. You can find the sheet music
for the songs of angels and hymns of demons. I throw all of this and more
into the pot..."

The heavy-set man placed the book next to the chips.

"...if you can see my raise."

Mulder held his cards so tightly that they bent. He stared at the book,
tempted to just snatch it and run.

"Well, Mulder?"

He cleared his throat and said, "I have nothing that valuable to bet."

The heavy-set man smiled and said, "Of course you do."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

>From his prone position, John Constantine looked up at Frank Mars and
forgave him.

You don't have to explain anything, Frank. Really. I understand.

That thing I saw in the casino...it just doesn't live in Las Vegas. It *is*
Las Vegas. It's this town's soul and the collective spirit of every gambler,
hustler, tourist, politician, whore and wanderer who passes through the
gaudy streets. It's appetite incarnate. Just like you.

All the stuff that has been happening...the blood in the fountain, the
vultures, this dust storm...they are warning signs. The beast is dying. The
reasons why could be many. Maybe it has consumed too much and has exceeded
its resources. Maybe it has absorbed enough conscience along with the vice
to act as a disease. Or it could be that it was just born defective.

In any case, you can't let it die. This is your city. You and the members of
your coven here are one with its hungers. It may be corrupt and soulless but
it's fun. Hey, I sympathize. I've had my share of empty thrills myself and
have no regrets about them.

That's why you brought me here. You need to offer this city nourishment. And
not just any kind of food. You need to cook something exotic, something
spicy to keep its body running.

Something like a human with demon blood pumping through his heart.

I feel no anger towards you at all, Frank. You are just doing what I did
years ago with Gary Lester on another rooftop. Hey, there he is now. He's
smiling at me. So are all the people who were destroyed because they came
into contact with John Constantine. They used to despise me. Now they are
welcoming me. I will become one of them now.

I look up at you, Frank -- you with your painted face and chants. I want to
say that I bear no grudge against you. Maybe you know this already. You seem
to know so much about me anyway. Maybe you knew about the weariness tying me
down and knew -- if I had the right encouragement -- I would allow you to
cut me free.

Thank you, Frank. For everything.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Scully had to speak. She knew it. She had to stand up, drag Mulder away from
the table and call the whole game off. Yet she could do none of these
things. Her body had been frozen into a sitting position and she could force
no words out of her throat. All she could do was move her lips.

At the table, Mulder looked at his hand and he looked at the book. He
yearned for the prize dangling before him. Whispered words in his ear
assured him of the power inherent in his cards. All he had to do was call
the other player's bet.

He was caught. A wind had blown upon the embers of his passion and ignited a
fire capable of buring his soul. He was almost convinced that he could step
through the fire unharmed and claim the object of his desires. By all
rights, he should have obeyed his own desires and the will of the spirits
manipulating his desires. Those were two combined forces which couldn't have
been resisted.

However, there is desire and there is habit. The magic acting upon him was
strong, but not so strong that it could erase years of experience spent with
a single person. One speck of doubt was still left in his soul. Small as it
was, it was enough to make him do what he had always done when confronted
with uncertainty.

He turned to Scully.

This time, he could read nothing on her. Scully's body had stiffened into an
erect posture and her eyes held neither warning or encouragement. Getting
nothing from her, he was inclined to dismiss her and turn back to the cards.

Then he saw her lips moving. He stared at them until he could hear the
unspoken words in her mouth.

Watch out for snakes.

A pain erupted in his forehead. It got worse when he looked at the
card-players and saw their smug, crafty expressions. His hands trembled as
he thought, "What the FUCK am I doing?"

Cards and chips bounced as he yanked himself to his feet. The chair
underneath him was knocked over as he turned to Scully. He was going to grab
her but she was already running, running for the door because they could
both feel it, it had a hold on them still, had to run, had to get away...

The door opened and they crashed together onto the floor outside. They
started to pick themselves up when they looked behind them.

The room was empty. And rather small-looking.

Mulder and Scully sat on the floor, gasping like they had just ran a
marathon.

"What...what was that?" Scully said.

A frown tore into Mulder's face as he pulled out the rune from the jacket.
He looked at the black triangle with the unreadable insignia.

"That was a trap," he said. He was about to throw the rune away when he
closed his hand around it. Then he held out a hand for Scully. "Help me up,"
he said.

"Where are we going?"

"Back to Frank's apartment. Unless I miss my guess, John Constantine is
swimming with alligators."


XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

PART SEVEN
TIME OF THE WORM

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Frank Mars remembered this one joke on "The Simpsons" that he really liked.
Marge has developed a gambling obsession. When Homer realizes how bad the
problem has gotten, he starts ranting about "the evil gambling god which has
enslaved" her. "I call him Gamblor!" Homer declares.

Frank just about died laughing when he heard that. For a moment, he
considered naming his own personal god "Gamblor."

He quickly decided not to.

No one had a name for the entity which was the secret heart of Vegas. It
never bothered to give one. Basically all it said was "Feed me." During
their prayers, the members of Frank's coven always referred to it as 'you.'
'You who are hunger,' 'You of the cards and wheels,' 'You neon spirit' and
so on.

To be honest, the entity annoyed Frank. Spirits, demons and the rest tended
to be a very single-minded bunch but this thing had the personality of an
amoeba. It just wanted to eat.

Still, the city only lived as long as this thing was breathing. So Frank and
his coven did the usual 'tribute-to-the-god' bit on a regular basis. They
did ceremonies, paid homage, made sacrifices.

However, as of late, the entity was becoming too needy. The occasional
vanished derelict wasn't keeping up its health. It was literally shedding
blood now. Frank could tell that the others were wondering if it was worth
the effort. Las Vegas wasn't the only place in which to gamble, right? It
wasn't the only city where a whale could get his big dick sucked.

Frank acknowledged that. He shared some of those same doubts. However, if he
disliked the city's spirit, he still loved the city. He adored its open
embrace of pleasure. The lights of the strip thrilled him as much as they
had the first time. Vegas represented the American dream to him and he would
fight to keep that dream alive. He wondered if his devotion was maintained
by a psychic hold from the entity. If it did, he didn't care. Frank never
could tell the difference between a simulated passion and the real thing.

That's why he convinced the coven to stay together. That's why he was a
respected man in Vegas. That's why he was standing on a rooftop with symbols
painted on his face and a metallic robe on his body.

That's why he was willing to sacrifice a man who had trusted him.

He stood with his arms stretched to the sky, chanting and hearing the others
repeat his chant. He could also hear the dust storm streak by his building.

"You who feed on chance and pleasure and the hardest of hope...You who keep
this oasis alive...You who are Vegas...we give you this offering."

Hanging above them in the darkness, a form took shape. It was fat and lumpy
and endowed with a hundred mouths. It sucked at the air, then dropped a glob
of brown feces.

Fucking gross, Frank thought.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Mulder and Scully were not speaking. The dust storm outside made talking
feel trite. Las Vegas had become a ghost of itself. It was reduced to
blurred outlines of electric buildings and people with hands over their
faces. The windshield wipers scraped at the dust piling on the window. Brown
winds tossed the meager glow of their headlights back at the car.

Mulder couldn't afford to lose concentration for one second as he tried to
drive the Lexus as fast as possible. Scully clenched her hands in the lap of
her crimson dress. She also stared straight ahead, not fully understanding
their situation but comprehending the danger.

The Lexus crawled through the storm.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I can see it. The entity is floating above me. It opens its mouths and
extends them.

"Not long, my love," Emma says.

"You're about to be killed by a host of worms," Ray observes, campy even in
death. "Something terribly phallic about that, wouldn't you say?"

"You and me, mate," Lester declares. "Together again. It will be just like
the old days."

Yeah. Just like old times.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

With his bum foot, Mulder needed Scully's help to knock down a front door.
After shouldering it open, they did a quick search of Frank's apartment. No
one was there.

"The roof," Mulder said.

"Why the roof?"

"A hunch," he replied and hobbled quickly to the elevator.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I'm ready to go. I've had my fill of this world. Getting eaten and then shat
by the butt-ugly god of gambling seems an appropriate way to go. Kind of
liked to have had one last drink and one last smoke first, but what the
hell.

Come on, you disgusting beastie. It's suppertime.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The worms stretched to the rooftop. Waiting for them was a circle of six
men. They were standing on the edges of a white circle. Flaming torches
bounced light off the metal fibers of their robes. Their painted faces were
all lifted to the heavens and they held up their arms in welcome.

"Eat so that we may be strong! Eat so that we may feel pleasure! Eat so that
the city should live!"

In the center of the circle was a mummy. Scented bandages had been wrapped
all over his body except for the eyes. They had the dazed, cheerful look of
a drug addict who has just gotten his fix.

The mouths of the worms were level with the worshippers' heads. They bent in
the direction of the mummy, panting and drooling.

"We give you this offering!" Frank sang out. "Take it so that the dice may
continue to roll and the quarters pour! Take it so that this garden of
delights may flourish! Take it and..."

"Yo, Frank!"

Frank and the coven all spun in the same direction. They saw Mulder leaning
on Scully and rearing back his two hands. The agents couldn't see the
worm-creature but they could plainly see the coven's intention.

Mulder's hands went forward. Two objects flew through the air, right towards
Frank Mars.

On sheer instinct, Frank caught the two objects. He looked at his hands and
saw two triangular runes.

He held them for just one moment. Then he dropped them like hot coals.

It was too late, though.

His left ear vanished. It was replaced by a crooked, bleeding stump. He
grabbed his head and screamed.

Then a chunk of bone and flesh disappeared from his right shoulder, followed
by a piece off a forearm. Red gushing holes were popping open all over his
body.

Driven by agony and panic, Frank ran. He sprayed blood in his wake as he
headed in a random direction. He didn't care where he was going. He just
wanted to get away from the mouths gnawing at his flesh.

He kept on running until he went over the roof's edge. The dust storm made a
poor cushion. Not did that matter. By the time he vanished into the brown
clouds, both of his arms had gone and his spine could be seen through the
furrows in his back. His diner continued the meal as Frank plummeted. The
only thing that landed on the street was a sprinkling of blood.

Back on the roof, Mulder and Scully aimed their guns at the coven. However,
the remaining magicians had prepared an escape plan. Before Scully could
even say 'freeze,' lights flashed in her and Mulder's eyes. The quick
restoration of their sight showed the coven's absence. Only John Constantine
remained.

They tore off the bandages. As they slapped his smiling, dopey face, the
winds started to expire.

Constantine broke free from his coma, blinking and twitching. He was helped
to a sitting position. He looked around at the torches and the drops of
blood. Then he looked at the two agents.

"I'm still here, right?" he said.

"Yes," Mulder told him.

"And Vegas...it's still here, right?"

"It is," Scully said.

Constantine breathed a long, long sigh.

"Damn on both counts," he said.

The duststorm ended as quickly as it had started. Vegas was left with newly
brown faces, gritty streets and an even-dirtier-than-usual feeling.


XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

PART EIGHT
JUST A DEVIL WITH LOVE TO SPARE

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Mulder found Constantine in the bar with a jukebox full of Sinatra. "Been
looking for you," Mulder said.

"Maybe I didn't want to be found," Constantine replied, looking at his glass
of whiskey instead of Mulder.

Mulder sat down next to the sullen Englishman. "You doing okay?"

"Well, let's see...I got betrayed, was almost devoured by a fat wormy
creature and nearly sent two people I just met to hell. If I get enough
liquor inside of me, I might work my way up to miserable."

"Look, Scully and I got fooled as well."

"You were on terra incognito. I have no such excuse."

"From what you've told me, Frank was using some kind of spell to hypnotize
you."

"Yeah. Something like that."

"Well, wasn't that what happened?"

Constantine placed his glass on the table and turned it slowly. "How did you
know to use the runes like that?" he asked.

"Uh...well...I just guessed. I took them with me because I anticipated
needing some kind of special weapon."

"Did you know what they were exactly?"

"Some kind of magnet for supernatural forces, I assumed. They helped
whatever was at the card game to get a better grip on me and Scully. When 
I saw the situation on the rooftop, I surmised that you were about to be
attacked by some other kind of supernatural force."

"You surmised right. So you passed the runes to Frank."

"And that redirected...whatever was going to attack you."

"It jolly well did. Of course, for all you knew, those runes were just some
crap out of a souvenir shop."

Mulder smiled a little. "Like you said, it was terra incognito for me. I was
just going on instinct. But why did Frank try to trap me and Scully? Why did
he send somebody to kill me?"

"You were an unexpected element -- a wild card. Frank may have thought you
were an amateur, but an amateur can still screw up a professional's work."

"Ah."

"Speaking of you amateurs, how is Scully doing?"

"She's...not sure what to put in her report. She can explain what we saw,
but we have no real proof to show how all this strangeness connects."

"And that's the way people on this side like it. Bloody secretive lot, let
me tell you."

"Do you have secrets, Mr. Constantine?"

The Englishman finally turned his sad, tired face to Mulder. "This whole
shitty mess hasn't seemed to dampen your opinion of me too much."

"You were used. I've been used before, too."

Constantine waved his hand. "Let's not get into our pasts. Whatever you've
done, Mulder, it's..." He closed his mouth and turned back to the glass.

Mulder studied Constantine for a little bit, then said, "I would have gone
for it, you know."

"Huh?"

"The book. I would have risked everything to get it, including my soul. It
wasn't just the spell I was under. My own desires were working against me."

"Yeah. I see."

"Was that what happened to you? Did Frank use you against yourself?"

Constantine lifted his eyes back in Mulder's direction. The pain in them was
so deep that Mulder didn't mind Constantine changing the subject.

"So why didn't you go for the book?"

Mulder cleared his throat and said, "Well...it was Scully. She warned me in
time."

Constantine slowly nodded. "So," he said. "I guess you're heading back to
D.C."

"We're about ready to. How about you?"

"Considering my credit source has gotten eaten up by magic worms, I've lost
the benefits of my hotel suite. I'm heading back to London on a plane
tonight."

Mulder tried to find something else to say. He couldn't. "I better be
moseying off myself."

"Sure. See you around."

The FBI agent stood up and limped on a cane for the exit. Then he heard his
name get called out. He turned and looked at Constantine.

"You hold onto Scully," Constantine said. "You hold onto her friendship for
dear life."

Mulder nodded. "I will."

"You better." Constantine grinned and lifted a glass. "Or you're looking at
your future, mate."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I had enough funds to buy a plane ticket back to England. Passenger class
this time, though.

As the plane left the runway, I thought about desire. It's like a circle
taking a person around and around with no end. Yet, at one point, the circle
was a road. You could have turned back. Why didn't you? Did you choose to go
ahead or were you misdirected? Did you really know what was at the end of
the road or did somebody fool you with a phony sign? Were you manipulated
towards this enslaving passion or was it all your fault?

Despair is like that, too.

I had no answers. I only knew that I never, ever wanted to see this
miserable city again. I wanted to feel wet weather and be in a place where
gambling was not a way of life. I looked out the window to show that rotten
town a finger before the plane entered the clouds.

Then I saw a necklace of multi-colored lights laid against the desert's
breast. When I first saw New York City, I was in a plane landing at night. 
I thought it was the most beautiful city I had ever witnessed. I still think
that. However, this sight ran a close second.

Instead of giving the finger, I smiled and waved good-bye.

Las Vegas is dead.

Viva Las Vegas.

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