Chapter 4
			 Marlael's New Friend

        By the time I got back to Blondie's the place was swarming with
cops, and paramedics were trying to see what they could do for what was
left of Eli.  I showed my license to the uniform on duty and went
inside, then caught my breath as I realized that my day was just
-starting- to get complicated. 
        Standing next to the table Eli and I had been talking at,
watching the paramedics zip the dead vessel into a body bag, was a
tall woman in jeans and a bomber jacket, a badge hanging on her belt.
She had red hair that was just starting to grey a bit, and she carried
her thirty-eight years well, her figure still trim and athletic.
        She turned as I came into her peripheral vision, her green eyes
narrowing, and sighed.  "Mason.  I should have figured you'd be
involved in this mess somehow."
        "Hello, Karen," I replied.  For a few years, not that long ago,
Detective Lieutenant Karen Kennealy of the Berkeley Police Department had
been Detective Karen Mason.  Like so much else in my life lately, it
hadn't worked out.  Nowadays we tolerate each other, work together
sometimes, and have dinner together every Christmas Eve.  Other than
that we avoid each other.  It's safer for everybody involved that way.
        She had a partner with her, a young, fresh-faced guy in a
nicely pressed suit.  For some masochistic reason, Karen always
insisted on breaking in the new guys in her squad herself.  He was
busily jotting copious notes in a new black leather notepad, and
transferred his attention from the paramedics to us as I approached.
        "The counter help tells me the shooter chased you out of here,"
said Karen.
        "He had a bigger gun," I replied.  "I needed to find myself a
territorial advantage."
        "You don't have him with you," she said dryly, "so I'm assuming
he got away."
        "Knocked me down and took off," I said, nodding.  "I'm pretty
sure I'll be seeing him again, though."
        "Did you know the deceased?" inquired the kid in an officious
tone that would normally have gotten him ignored.  "Counter guy says you
were eating with him, looked like you were discussing something pretty
intense."
        "He was my godfather," I replied without batting an eye.  "We
were talking about some family business."
        That went right over the head of the fresh-faced kid in the
nicely pressed suit, who, brow furrowed, referred to his notes, which
I'm sure mentioned something about the deceased appearing to be about
the same age as the rumpled private eye telling him all this.
        Karen understood, though.  Other than my late partner, she was
the only human who knew who and what I really am.  She found out after
the breakup - oddly enough, it had nothing to do with our split, and
hadn't affected the uneasy truce we had afterward very much.  Working
in a town like Berkeley, I guess Karen's seen stranger things than an
angel working as a detective.
        She gave me a quizzical look, but I was out of code and there
was no way I was going to discuss it openly in front of all these
people - especially Notepad Boy - so she let it go for now.  "Recognize
the shooter?" she asked me.
        "Can't put a name to him, but I've seen him before," I replied.
"I'm pretty sure I know who he works for."
        "We'll need you to come downtown and look at some photos," said
the fresh-faced kid in the suit.
        "You won't have this guy on file," I told him.  "He's from way
out of town."
        The kid looked like he was about to say something, but Karen
cut him off.  "Grohl, why don't you go outside and interview the wits
to the chase?  Maybe somebody noticed something."
        Grohl gave Karen a skeptical look, but closed his notebook and
went outside anyway.  I watched him go, then turned to Karen and
grinned.
        "How long ago did -that- one hatch?" I asked.
        Karen smiled a tired smile.  "Two months ago.  He makes me
tired just watching him... I can't remember ever having that much
righteous zeal."  She led me to the far corner of the restaurant, where
we could talk without being overheard, then got right to the chase.
        "What do you mean he was your godfather?"
        "He was Eli's vessel," I replied.
        She blinked.  "Eli?  The Archangel Eli?  You saw him?"
        "Yeah, and it's left me with a lot more questions than
answers," I replied.  I ached for a cigarette, but smoking is
prohibited inside restaurants in California, and the place was full of
cops.
        "Who was the shooter?"
        "A Malakite.  I saw him yesterday; he's part of one of Dominic's
Triads.  They came by my place to hassle me about the lighter." I was
glad I'd taken the time before now to explain to Karen as much of the
politics of Heaven as I ever cared to remember; she followed that
without trouble.  "He must have followed me here... came in, plugged
Eli with a Holy Pistol and almost sent me up after him.  I collared him
down the street, but he sucker-punched me and got away."
        "Why would one of Dominic's Malakim want to kill Eli?" Karen
wondered.  I explained my arrest theory, to which she nodded, saying
ruefully, "I wish we had a system for bringing in human perps that
worked as well.  But what's it all about?"
        "Dominic's wanted to try Eli for years.  Now he's going to get
his chance.  And they want me too, as a witness, if not perhaps a
co-heretic."
        "What will you do?" Karen asked.
        I shrugged.  "Take care of it," I replied, a lot more
nonchalantly than I felt.  I could tell she didn't believe my attitude,
but she didn't press the issue.  Instead she cautioned me to be
careful, told me to call her if I needed her help, and let me go.
        As I walked back across the residential neighborhoods toward
Shattuck and the BART station, I considered the situation and my
options for straightening it out.  By now, the Malakite had made his
report and the Inquisition had a celestial APB out on me.  I wasn't
too worried about that - Dominic's boys didn't know where my Heart was
in Heaven, and without that leveling factor, I knew a lot more about
hiding than they knew about looking.
        Eli's last words haunted me, though.  "You'll have to finish it
for me."  Finish what?  He'd told me he intended to topple the
Inquisition, but what the hell did that mean?  Could I, starting from
scratch, uncover everything it had taken an Archangel sixty years to
dig up?  Hell - -was- there anything to dig up?  It was possible Eli
was really just nuts, in which case there would be nothing to find.
I'd make a fool of myself and my Fall would be all but guaranteed.
        On the other hand, I was still alive, still kicking, and -
since Eli was my Superior, and had not handed my service to another -
only he or the Almighty could cast me out without a majority vote of
the Seraphim Council.
        If I could stay a step or two ahead of them; if I was smart
enough to dig up what Eli had uncovered; if it was material as powerful
as Eli thought it was; and if it was there at all, I just might have a
chance.
        It seemed like a pretty lengthy list of ifs as I ground out my
cigarette on the corner of Durant and Shattuck.
        Going back to my apartment was a stupid thing to do.  The Triad
knew where it was, they'd been there already, and they would certainly
be waiting for me.  On the other hand, they also knew it would be
stupid of me to go there, and - perhaps I was letting conceit get the
better of me, but - I figured they didn't think I was as stupid as
that.  Besides, there were a few things that I needed there, obvious
trap or not.  I hadn't gone into this afternoon planning to be hunted
by the forces of Heaven.
        I let myself into my apartment with my heart in my throat and
my .45 in my hand, but it seemed my reverse psychology had worked;
there was no one there.  I did a sweep of the place, then hastily
packed some clothes, my portable computer, and a few other essentials.
I checked all the things that needed checking if I was going to be away
for a while, then left and headed downtown to my office.
        The office of Mason Investigations isn't much to look at; just
a shabby little room with a battered metal desk, a battered metal
filing cabinet, and a print of Escher's "Waterfall" in a battered metal
frame on one drab wall.  The windows have a lovely view of the wall of
the building next door, and the air conditioner hasn't worked since the
Reagan administration.  I do my billing from home on my desktop
computer; all that's here are handwritten case files and notes, a habit
I hadn't been able to shake from the thirties.
        Oh, and this particular visit also featured the "hulking bald
guy lurking just inside the door" feature, a particular favorite of mine
for some time now. 
        Not for the first time, I found myself wishing that my
office door had a window in it that I could actually see through, as I
opened that door and almost walked smack into the guy.  Stupid of me;
if they could find my apartment they could certainly look me up in the
Yellow Pages under "Careless Private Investigators".  I tried to draw
my .45, but the Cherub locked one meaty hand around my wrist and
clamped the other onto my shoulder, staring straight into my eyes.
        "Marlael, I will protect you," he told me, and I felt a shiver
run through the Symphony as he invoked his resonance upon me. 
        I had to recover from that momentary shock before I could
realize his wording and ask, "You'll what?"
        "No time now," he replied, releasing me from his iron grip.  "Get
what you came for and let's get out of here."
        I didn't understand where he was coming from, but mine was not
to wonder why.  If he wasn't holding me or taking away my gun, I might
as well take advantage of that.  I unlocked my desk and got out my
little black address book, stuffing it into the inside pocket of my
trenchcoat.  Buried under a bunch of pens and the like in the back of
the top drawer was a wicked switchblade knife I'd taken off a drug
dealer a few years back; I took that too.  You never know.
        That was all I needed; I locked the office up and the two of us
went down to my Buick.  Without speaking, the Cherub slid into the
passenger seat and buckled up.  I suppose I could have said something,
but his grip on my arm and shoulder had told me he was strong enough to
wear me like a bracelet if he so desired, and since he had attuned
himself to me, even if I could have ditched him somehow, he'd just have
found me again.  I resigned myself to being stuck with him and hit the
I-80 freeway eastbound.
        He didn't say anything until three hours later, as we were
passing through Sacramento.
        "My name's Thomas," he said, in that surprisingly mellow voice
of his.
        "I didn't know you Judgment guys had names of your own," I
replied.
        He looked moderately offended, but didn't let it sway him.
"The Seraph's name is Valadriel.  The Malakite is Nalzich."
        "Valadriel, Nalzich and Thomas.  Of course, the famous folk
trio."
        "I know you met with Eli today."
        "That's nice.  I imagine everybody does by now."
        "No," Thomas replied.  I looked over at him.
        "No?"
        "No.  Only Nalzich and I know, and Nalzich doesn't know I
know."
        "He hasn't reported our little dance up in Berkeley to
the whole Inquisition by now?"
        "Nalzich acted without orders from Valadriel or Dominic when he
killed Eli's vessel," said Thomas.
        "Oh really?  Seems like a perfectly reasonable arrest scenario
to me."
        "When Nalzich learned that Eli was in the area, he proposed just
such a scenario.  Dominic personally forbade it.  'Eli is not to be
taken in such a brutal fashion,' he decreed," said Thomas, doing a fair
impresion of the Archangel of Judgment's pedantic tones.  "'Suspected
heretic or no, he is still an Archangel and he must be treated with
respect.'"
        "So Nalzich got a little trigger-happy.  It happens, especially
with the Malakim."
        "Perhaps, but why would he then fail to report it?" inquired
Thomas calmly.  "So far as I know, Dominic is yet unaware that Eli is
in Heaven at this very moment."
        "Are you suggesting that Nalzich... "
        "I suspect Nalzich is operating under orders given by someone
other than Dominic.  Valadriel shares my suspicions.  He has gone to
report to Dominic and has charged me to watch over you, to prevent
Nalzich from dealing with you in like fashion."
        I pondered that as I guided the Buick through the starry
California night.  Safeguarded from being dragged back to Heaven -by
the Inquisition-?  It all seemed too absurd.  But then, precious little
about the day had been anything but, and Thomas, like most of his kind,
all but radiated sincerity.  Cherubim don't generally waste their time
lying.  They don't resonate with truth like the Seraphim, but they
don't care for the taste of a lie very much.  Years as a detective have
made me a pretty good judge of when someone is lying to me, and in my
gut, I believed Thomas.  He had no better idea of what was going on
than I did.
        "I'm going to get to the bottom of this," I told him.  "No
matter what.  If you try to get in my way I'll take you out, one way or
another."
        He read the resolve in my voice and face, and smiled.  "Don't
worry," he said.  "I won't try to stop you.  I'll help you."
        "Even if it means going against your boss?"
        "Dominic only wishes to uncover the truth," said Thomas
serenely.  "There can be no judgment without its basis in fact."
        "I wish I was half as confident as you are, pal," I muttered.

			   TO BE CONTINUED