Rydell left the empty office of Paragon Advertising only to find himself in the empty parking lot of Paragon Advertising. Almost empty, anyway. Rydell’s car, a red ’97 Fortuna, was the only car. As Rydell walked toward it, whistling a random tune and spinning his key ring around his finger, that triple-voice came from behind him.
“You didn’t forget did you?” Rydell jumped and spun around, flinging his keys across the parking lot. The purple man stepped out of the shadows and chuckled. He spoke again, this time with only one voice. “Sorry. Couldn’t help myself.”
Rydell collected himself and started with the obvious questions. “Who are you? What are you?”
The purple man smiled. “Call me Mr. Coffee.”
Rydell nodded. “An appropriate name. So what are you, and why don’t people pay any attention to you?”
“I’ll tell you later.”
“Later? Like, when later?”
“Later, like, in a few minutes while I try to think of an easy way to explain it so you won’t freak out.”
“Why the hell would I freak out? I didn’t freak out when I looked up and saw a purple guy making coffee.”
“You also don’t know what the purple guy is.”
“That’s why I asked!”
“Alright! Fine! You want to know?”
“Yes!”
“You really want to know?”
“Yes!”
The purple man paused. Rydell gave him the “hurry up” look.
“Are you sure you want to know?”
“Just tell me.”
“I’m a demon.”
“And that explains everything. The nice suit, the coffee, and the purple skin.”
“Don’t be a smart-ass. Just believe what you see, because that’s what you do.”
“I see?”
“You see everything.”
“I don’t get it.”
“But you see it.”
“See what?”
“See me!”
Rydell started flailing about with his arms, as he always did when he got worked up about something. “Of course I see you! You’re standing right in front of me! So why doesn’t anyone else see you?”
Mr. Coffee mimicked Rydell’s arm motions mockingly. “Because I’m a demon!”
Rydell stopped and sat down on the curb. He didn’t say anything for a couple of minutes, and when he did, he could only think of one thing to say: “So you’re the one who makes the coffee.”
Mr. Coffee blinked, then burst into laughter. He laughed louder than most people, and at some points his laugh seemed to come from all directions at once. Then, he stopped and became dead serious. “And you’re the one who doesn’t drink it.”
“And that lets me see demons?”
Mr. Coffee shook his head. “No, no. You could drink every drop of coffee in the state if you wanted to. Your heart would probably explode from all the caffeine, but you’d still see us celestial beings.”
“So are you from Hell or what?”
“Yeah. All of us are.”
“All humans are from Hell?”
“No, all demons.”
“There’s more than one of you?”
“That’s why I said I’m a demon, not the demon.”
“So how many are there?”
“Seven here in Domingo, about five hundred across the world.”
“So is there a Heaven and a God and all that, too?”
“Yup. All of it.”
“And God doesn’t like you guys?”
“Not a bit.”
“So why doesn’t He wipe you all out in some Etch-a-Sketch-end-of-the-world?”
“What?”
“You know, pick up it up and shake all the bad things off.”
“Oh. You think of that yourself?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s pretty good. Anyway, it’s all just a game to Him.”
“He doesn’t care either way?”
“I never said that. He’s like an all-powerful, all-seeing Mike Ditka.”
“Oh. So there’s angels too?”
“You’re catching on.”
“Are there any in Domingo?”
“Not anymore, but they’ll be back soon. I’d give it a week at most. Hey, you want to go get a cup of coffee?”
Rydell glared. “Stupid question.”
