Wild laughter interrupted Agonostis' work—he'd been refining and adding to his battle plans. He walked out to the main office to discover that the imps had found a television set and VCR, and had gotten them to work.
"Did it tape? Did it tape?" one shrieked.
Its twin howled, "Rewind! Rewind!"
"It's rewound! Play it! Play it!"
He was going to tell them to turn the TV off when the imps' tape started to run, and he realized the reporter onscreen was interviewing Dayne. She had a great television Q, he noticed—even though she was obviously tired, and obviously angry, she still looked terrific on the idiot box. He leaned against the wall with his hands tucked into the front pockets of his jeans and watched—he would learn something useful about her from the interview.
Moments later, she went from being angry but polite to being furious and dangerous. He saw her reach into her pocket and pull out something, though he couldn't make out what she had. But when the reporter turned and she sprayed in the face with whatever it was, then gave him a couple of well-placed kicks and a punch, Agonostis felt an itch growing between his shoulderblades. She aimed the same weapon at the cameraman, and the last of the picture was of the ground in front of her home bouncing and jostling, and a blurry picture of two sets of stumbling, running feet.
The imps howled and rewound the tape again, and Agonostis walked thoughtfully back into his office.
She'd had that little lump in her pocket when he'd been there.
It had been a weapon.
She wasn't such a trusting soul after all. And he wondered if, in his human form, Dayne could have hurt him badly had he tried something she didn't like. He was from Hell—he was used to pain. Except he hadn't hurt at all since he'd arrived, and not hurting quickly became a pleasant habit. He thought he would be careful to mind his manners in Dayne's presence.
The reporter had been an idiot to present his questions the way he had, but he'd had a nice angle. The Whore of Babylon bit would certainly work well against Dayne, if it were used by someone who knew what the hell he was doing. Agonostis gave some thought to rumors and innuendo he could spread via his coalescing network; he ought to be able to see that she was completely humiliated and discredited within a couple of days. That would break her spirit. From that point on, it would be simple to effect her downfall.
Meanwhile, he had a war to run.
Agonostis picked up his copy of The Sensitive Male and flipped through the last several pages. He snorted, disgusted. "Yeah, sure. I could have written this shit. I know dodges this guy never even thought of."
"We're ready, Lord Agonostis."
He put down the book and rested his feet on his desk. "Let's have a look."
The leccubi were ready to get to work. They'd outfitted themselves in bodies as well as clothes—the bodies were spectacular, the clothing good—if expensive—Earth-made stuff.
Moret paraded in first. It was in succubus form, and had designed itself as a pneumatic platinum blonde with black lashes and silvery blue eyes. It wore a see-through blouse, fishnet hose, and a micro-micro miniskirt.
Agonostis nodded. "With that look, Moret, you want more tits. And more of a wiggle. And remember, cash only tonight. We aren't set up for credit cards yet."
Moret nodded and obligingly added about two cup sizes to its breasts.
"Better," Agonostis said, "You want to be sure the buttons are almost ready to pop. Next."
Federet had made itself into a boy, not more than twelve or thirteen. It primped at Agonostis seductively and the fallen angel smiled coldly. "Very good. Very, very good. No doubt at all that you're under age. Take advantage of that."
They paraded past him as males and females, as males dressed as females, as children—wearing leather, lace, neoprene rubber, elegant business suits and evening wear. They were aiming for every segment of the flesh-buying market, and Agonostis thought they were going to be quite a hit.
He didn't have to worry about Jezerael getting credit for the sinners his leccubi dragged in; Hell would credit him with every sin won by the onsite team, no matter the method. And in fact, Agonostis thought of a very clever dodge that might permit him to trash Jezerael's numbers and leave her dangling by her talons from the lip of the Pit.
His "whores" would be—as demanded by Heaven's regulations—disease-free. They could not cause physical harm; while he would have preferred the freedom to destroy humans in any manner he saw fit, he could see where in this one instance, that odd little barrier to what he would have preferred might work in his favor.
If he could advertise Heaven-warrantied disease-free whores, he could grab an enormous share of the market.
He stood and paced. It would take clever advertising, and a way to tell his whores from the human variety. . . .
Marketing was definitely the key. The marketing of damnable vice as good, clean, safe fun—that was the ticket. Using all the modern means of advertising at his disposal . . . coming up with an attractive package . . . emphasizing the entertainment value, the novelty value . . . finding a locale where he could control ingress and egress, and make sure no diseased human hookers could contaminate his product. . . .
What he needed, he thought, was sort of an amusement park of a whorehouse.
He stopped stock-still as that thought took hold of him. Why not? Why not! What a marketing concept!
He sat down and began listing the things that could tempt people in, basing the concept on the amusement park idea.
The whores, naturally . . . but the whores were small-time. Screwing wasn't much of a vice unless there was evil in the heart, too. So he needed to inject an element of evil into that aspect of the temptation—something that would subvert his marks. He'd come back to that. But the idea was bigger than whores. The amusement park concept was greatly expandable. He would have to start with rides, of course. He could do something terrific with multiple dimensions, and special effects. There was no real way that he could think of to make the rides into part of the temptation—but they could certainly be part of the draw. Good, clean fun. In North Carolina, water parks went well—summers were hot. Water parks meant girls in bikinis, lots of lust. What was his angle for that? He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Girls . . . endless vistas of screwable girls. He smiled slowly. A water park with real mermaids. And mermen. Teasing, taunting, endlessly horny mermaids, always just out of reach. His leccubi could fill those roles.
What else? There were humans who wouldn't ever bother with a water park. How about the scariest haunted house this side of Hell? Monster rides. Riding monsters. But funny . . . play down the horror of Hell. Make it . . . cute.
Instead of a petting zoo—a prehistoric petting zoo. The success of Jurassic Park and its ilk were not lost on him. But with guaranteed safety . . . Oh, yes. That would draw them in. If he were very careful to keep his epochs separate, and to use only the real beasts, he could get the soul of every paleontologist breathing. And when was the last time a paleontologist went to Hell? Not even he could remember.
For the upscale crowd, the best of Broadway and opera, reviving long-dead stars to reprise their most famous roles . . .
Ballerinas (or rather, their perfect simulacrums) brought back from the dead to dance the ballets the viewers most wanted to see, and to meet backstage afterwards with their adoring fans . . .
The return of the best of the jazz musicians, of the rock-and-roll superstars, of the comedians now lost and gone to dust . . .
A historical district, with living historical figures . . .
For the arcade and gaming crowd, a castle full of live-action, alternate-reality gaming—the real thing, with special effects provided by Hell . . .
A body shop, to give people the bodies they'd always wanted . . .
A sports world, that let armchair heroes become the real thing for just a little while . . .
A library of lost books, featuring every book that had been written since the dawn of time. . . .
The ultimate mall, for power-shoppers . . .
A midway . . .
A carnival . . .
A lover's point . . .
Devil's Point. The Amusement Park from Hell. He caught his breath. It was incredible. Who could resist it?
And then he thought of the perfect final draw. The cover price would be a bit less than for any other theme park, and he would do extensive advertising that the cover price was the only price. No selling of souls for anything in Devil's Point. The mark would find almost exactly what he wanted in Devil's Point, whatever it was, and he would get it for the cover price, plus the item cost. The things the mark would find would never be quite perfect, but they would be very, very good. Good enough for a while—good enough until the mark wanted more than good enough, and until he wanted it badly enough.
When the mark knew exactly what he wanted, and when he wanted it enough that he was willing to do anything to get it . . . he would find a door. The door into Desire Point—the secret part of the amusement park. And behind that door, he would find his heart's desire.
For a slightly higher price.