"Deal With the Devil"
_{--inspired by tyrobia}

Andy walked down the alley, his eyes darting around to make sure nobody followed him.  He hid between the rotten smells of two dumpsters, and pulled out his prize.  He scored from his friend, now he just wanted to let all his troubles slip away.
   
He just settled in for the ride when he heard footsteps coming in the alley.  He stuffed his stash away and peeked around the dumpster.  A man walked toward him.  Andy jerked back and froze.  He closed his eyes and concentrated on the footsteps, willing them to pass by him.  They stopped in front of him.

“Hello, Andy.”

Andy opened his eyes and looked at the man.  He wore expensive, black shoes, a tailored, black, silk Armani suit with a red, Italian silk tie.  His close-shaved, pencil-thin beard extended from his sideburns, along his square jaw, meeting the tuft of hair below his bottom lip.  He had the most beautiful face Andy had ever seen, if a man can be beautiful.

“What’re you lookin’ at, mister?  You got a problem?  Get the hell outta here, I’m busy.”

The man smiled.  “I know.  That’s why I’m here.  I would like to propose a deal.”  

Andy peered at the stranger, skeptical.  He wasn’t sure what kind of game the man was playing, but he didn’t have time for it.  “Look, I don’t want no trouble.  Hey, how do you know my name?  Who are you, anyway?”

“The name’s Luce.”  He extended a well-manicured hand.  

Andy stood up and took it.  He was keenly aware of his disheveled appearance.  He was handsome as well, but years of drug abuse had all but made him a shell of a man.  His body was skin and bones, his once thick head of wavy black hair now hung limp and greasy.  None of that mattered to him anymore, and it seemed Luce didn’t mind shaking hands with a filthy, homeless addict.  It wouldn’t hurt to hear him out, Andy figured.  He yearned for a taste of what was in his pocket, but if this man had a job for him to do; it could be worth a listen, Andy thought.  He smiled back.

“What’s this about a deal?”  

“I propose that if you can refrain from using until this time tomorrow, I will give you anything your heart desires.  If you can’t, I get your soul.”

Andy looked at the man then away nervously.  He could take that bet.  Hell, he didn’t need no one to help him get off.  His hand ran absentmindedly across his pocket, feeling the familiar weight.  He looked back at Luce and straightened.

"Why not, I don’t need this shit."  

"Great!  Let’s make a little wager then.  I can even help you get rid of your love for the stuff.  That is, if you want.  Is your addiction worth it?  Which will it be?  Your habit or anything you want?”

Andy cocked an eyebrow.  “How you gonna get rid of it, magic or something?”  He chuckled.

“Or something.  Do we have a deal or not, Andy?”  Luce’s smile never wavered.  

He wondered if this man took him for a fool.  It was a sure win.  Besides, no one could take his soul.  He decided to call the stranger’s bluff.

“If you can get rid of my addiction, then sure, why wouldn’t I take you up on your offer?”  He snorted.

“Great! Let’s shake on it.”  Luce said, and grabbed Andy’s wrists.

Immediately Andy’s blood began to boil.  He screamed as fiery pain shot through his entire being.  He tried to jerk his arms away, but Luce held them tight.  He almost choked as waves of bile spewed out of his mouth and nose.  His eyes became heavily bloodshot and his ears bled.  He convulsed several times before the pain stopped.  When it finally subsided, Andy fell to the ground and landed, twitching, in his own poison.  

“Now then, doesn’t that feel better?”  Luce stared at the mess on the ground in distaste.  He lifted a foot to avoid the waste oozing toward him.  “I trust you will remember our deal, Andy.  If you can refrain from using until this time tomorrow, you will have anything your pathetic brain can imagine.  If you can’t, I get your soul.” He walked away, whistling the tune to the “Andy Griffith Show.”

Andy managed to open his eyes to see Luce turn the corner of the alley.  “Wait, my soul?”  He dragged himself into a sitting position and tried not to puke at the smell permeating from the ground.  He could not imagine what was there was once in his body.  It sickened him.  

After the shock of what happened wore off, Andy began to notice he lost his urge to use.  He slowly stood up.  He felt clean, even standing in his own filth.  He hadn’t felt so coherent in a long time.  He remembered Luce’s words then.  The guy had actually cleaned him out.  Andy looked up and down the alley, half expecting the stranger to show up again.  He saw no one.

Andy went to the nearest gas station and cleaned himself up.  He reached in his pocket and pulled out his stash.  He stared at it for what seemed like forever.  He didn’t want that life anymore.  He could lead a normal life now.  Get a job.  Make something of himself.  Andy went to throw it away, but stopped.  Maybe he could sell it to make some money, he thought


*****


Luce and Michael walked up.  Andy laid there for several hours, stiff and cold.  His eyes were open, and the bullet in between them rested inside his brain.  

“Pity, seems you win, Mike.  I was sure he would use.”  He scoffed at the tears in his eyes.  “Just like you archangels, always taking these things to heart.  Cheer up!  You won!”  Luce slapped him on the back and walked off.

Michael looked at the dead man and sighed, walking off as well.

“Yeah, pity.”