Chadpocalypse 2:1 - El Diablo's Coffee Bar

It's been a while since I've written Chadpocalypse, but with Downpour off to the editor, I've decided to dive back in. Here's the first part of Volume 2. If you want to catch up, here's a link to the collection. I've updated most of the chapters with new edits!

Chadpocalypse

Volume II - The Unlikely Savior

2:1 El Diablo’s Coffee

Jordan descended from the heavens at nine o’clock sharp on a sunny Saturday morning in North Midway. No one noticed his sudden appearance on the sidewalk, or the gout of rainbows heaven vomited out to get him there, but then again, no one was really looking for it. The upper-class members of Midway shuffled about their daily business, staring down at their phones, completely oblivious to the world around them.

     In the early days, Heaven and Hell’s policy of operating in plain sight had been a problem, but of late, Jordan felt he could pop in just about anywhere without being noticed. The days of conspiracy theorists in tin foil hats yelling about the man who could teleport at will were gone. In their place, the technological age had taken a rusty battle-axe to whimsy and replaced it with cold cynicism. On the odd occasion he was noticed, people assumed it was part of some viral marketing campaign and steered clear.

     Jordan beamed at the day, pleased that it was such a lovely afternoon in which to work.

A woman passed him and looked at his suit with piercing, judgmental eyes stifling a gag.

     Jordan ran a hand over the crisply-pressed white suit, checking it for wrinkles. As usual, there were none. The dry cleaning in heaven was nothing short of divine, literally. He tried to find something about his attire that would have displeased the woman but drew a blank. Agents of the devil, he thought. That was the only possible explanation. A white blazer with white slacks, cream-colored tie, and pearl shoes to match would always be in style, or so the high angels had told him. He put the woman from his thoughts and focused on the assessment he had been called down for.

     El Diablo’s Coffee Bar was an old Victorian house that had remained in its original form despite the developments around it. As such, it had the appearance that it was being squashed by the two apartment high rises that had gone up on either side. It seemed that whenever big business had come knocking to buy the property, they had left with lighter pockets and a latte. The Devil worked in mysterious ways.

     The house’s front door was propped open by a line of people that extended through the small front yard, out the white, picket gate, and down past the competing coffee shop on the corner. Despite being there for generations longer than El Diablo’s and roasting the finest exotic beans, Sal’s couldn’t keep up and was on the verge of closure. Such was the nature of modern business.

     The main problem was El Diablo’s simple appeal; the first cup of coffee was free, so long as patrons were willing to sign over their eternal soul. Given the fact that there wasn’t a church for over twenty miles and most of Northern Midway’s inhabitants fancied themselves the loud sort of atheist; it was a right of passage to make the deal. It helped that the coffee was particularly good, but above all, a chance to prove their disbelief in The Lord was prized above all else.

     Jordan pulled a clipboard out of his jacket and began taking notes as he approached the building. He ignored the line snaking past the gate and stepped right by them. In the front yard, a small sign had been painted, clearly outlining the deal. It read: Give us your soul and the first cup of coffee is us. A crude smiley face had been drawn beneath it.

     Jordan took some quick notes. The purpose of the coffee shop was clearly stated. What he couldn’t understand was why people were still flocking to it. Humans were delicate, strange, and unpredictable creatures.

     He looked at the group of people waiting to go in and wanted to shout at them. Taking a deep breath and swallowing the urge, Jordan cut the line and went inside. There were several grumbles of annoyance from behind him, but he ignored them. He was there to do a job, and they weren’t going to have a soul in a few minutes either way. Jordan didn’t bother himself with the comfort of those who were in the pocket of the devil.

     Inside was a simple coffee bar, crafted in dark wood. A chalk menu behind it had a single item, a cup of coffee. The price was either ‘Your Soul’ or five dollars. Jordan shook his head and took another note.

     The man working behind the bar was tan and wore a floral-print Hawaiian shirt with a straw hat to match. His eyes were piercing green and he looked at the line of customers with a hunger that made Jordan uncomfortable. The patrons didn’t take any notice, likely blinded by the man’s good looks and generally kind nature.

     As an angel, it was easy to spot a demon, but as a human it was much more difficult. Jordan ticked off another box on his notepad and walked up to the counter.

     “Come to check up on my business?” asked the demon, pouring a steaming pot of black coffee into a compostable cup. “Everything’s above board, I can assure you.”

     “So far so good,” admitted Jordan. He had really been hoping to shut the place down, but there was nothing inherently against ‘the deal’.

     “Want a cup of coffee while you wait?” asked the demon.

     Jordan scoffed. “Nice try.”

     The demon shrugged. “Next!” he called.

     A man stepped up to the counter. “Cup of coffee please.”

     The demon brought out a long list on rolled parchment. “Name?” he asked.

     “Darin Breem,” he replied.

     The demon licked his lips. “First time?” he asked.

     “Indeed it is.” The man smiled. “I’m ready to hand over my soul.” The group of men behind him laughed.

     “Of course you are.” The demon pulled a sheet of parchment from beneath the bar.

Jordan eyed it and spotted that it was a standard contract of eternal servitude.

“Take your time and look it over. This isn’t a decision to be taken lightly.” The demon almost yawned as he said it.

Despicable, thought Jordan, but noted that the bargain had been made out in the open.

“Who reads the terms and conditions, right?” joked the man.

The demon laughed right back and handed him a pen. “Of course.” He poured another cup of coffee as the man signed the sheet.

“There we go, soul’s all yours,” said the man and took the cup of coffee graciously.

The demon winked. “Come back soon.”

Jordan looked through his sheet to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. As usual, he hadn’t. The deal was entirely above board. “Well, it looks like you’re following protocol.” Jordan tensed. “I guess I’ll get out of your hair then.”

As he said it, there was a crack like a gunshot and a puff of smoke in the corner of the small coffee shop. Jordan peered through the haze and saw the figure of a man, kneeling, drenched in sweat, and completely naked. A couple of the patrons clapped and whooped as if it were a magic trick. The man groaned as if whatever the illusion had been caused him great pain.

“What in the Heavens?” started Jordan, but the naked man held up a finger to silence him.

“I’m pretty sure Hell’s got more to do with it,” said Chad, and vomited on the floor.

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