[Deloriel]: 392.Short Stories.Twenty-five Cent Judgement

Summary: Two angels walk into a diner. One from heaven, one from hell. When they are sent to claim the soul of the same human, they have to decide who gets the soul and who goes home empty handed.

There were seven grains of salt on the table, right next to a somewhat oblong spot of ketchup. The muscle under Adrien’s left eye twitched, seeing this catastrophe. It was impossible to clean it up without going on an internal rant first. Slobs. All of them. Ungrateful slobs. Give them intelligence, they learn how to farm, grow tomatoes, make ketchup. And what do they do with ketchup? Smear it all over restaurant tables. He finally pulled a cheap napkin from its very retro, metal container and wiped up the mess.
He was sitting in the torn up booth of a dumpy diner, simply labeled with a flickering red “Food” sign that hung askew above the screen door. The door might as well have not been there at all because the Arizona dust leaked right through it, filtering out nothing but the largest of bees and horseflies. A fan with ancient blades caked in some unidentifiable gray substance blew weakly in the corner of the diner. Sweat was dripping down Adrien’s tanned cheek despite the breeze, which seemed to be on its death bed. Why did it have to be Arizona? he thought to himself.
Bells jingled on the deteriorated screen door as it opened. There was the clunking of heavy boots on the wood floor as a person walked in. Adrien didn’t bother to look up. There was one reason why he was at that diner and he didn’t need any distractions. But when the footsteps started coming towards his isolated corner, he lifted his head and jumped in shock. His gaze was met with eyes like a cold, blue raspberry slushy from 7-11. The face broke into a familiar smirk and lowered as the man helped himself to the seat opposite from Adrien.
Adrien’s surprise wore off and hardened into mild annoyance. “No, really, sit down,” he said in a complete monotone. His eyes dulled to a frigid green, something that a lighthouse would shine down on during a storm.
“Zeph! You’re lookin’ sweaty today,” said the man, putting his elbows on the table and bringing his grin a little closer to Adrien.
“Don’t call me that, Jamien. At least not in public,” said Adrien.
“What? You like Adrien? Adrien’s a girl’s name,” said Jamien. He had a British accent. Not quite cockney, but not upper class, either.
“And Jamien isn’t.” Adrien hadn’t even blinked. His face was stone, unmoving, set in square seriousness with an undertone of hundred-year-old worry.
Jamien let out a chuckle and slouched in his seat. He shook his head. “Would it kill you to smile?” he asked. He picked up the salt shaker and turned it upside down, watching a few grains of salt pour onto the table.
“Maybe,” replied Adrien, watching the mess gush out onto the table and biting the inside of his cheek.
A middle-aged waitress in a white shirt and stained apron approached the table. “What can I get you boys?” she asked, pulling out a pad of paper and a green pen stolen from a Holiday Inn.
“A cheeseburger, no pickles, a slice of apple pie and a cherry coke,” said Jamien. “Please.”
“Alright. And for you, smiley?” the waitress asked, turning to Adrien.
“Just coffee,” Adrien said without looking at her. He waited for her to leave before saying to Jamien, “What are you doing here?”
“Eating hamburgers and apple pie,” said Jamien, lifting his elbows off the table and folding his arms across his black Jack Daniels t-shirt.
“Angels don’t come to Nowhere, Arizona for the pie,” Adrien said.
“I’m not one of you stuck up, conforming, Heaven angels anymore. I can go anywhere I want for pie,” said Jamien.
“Why are you here?” repeated Adrien, lowering his head and glaring at Jamien.
“Oh, no. It’s the death stare,” said Jamien, rolling his eyes at him. “Just taking a soul and bringing it downstairs. Standard crap.”
“Oh…me, too,” said Adrien. “Except, you know. Taking it upstairs.”
Jamien bobbed his head and looked around. “And I thought you were a hands off sort of guy. So who’re you gonna snuff this fine afternoon?” he asked.
“I won’t be snuffing anybody. That’s Death’s job. But I will be taking the soul of that guy over there,” said Adrien, nodding to a man sitting over at the bar. He looked about thirty-five and was wearing dark jeans that were muddy and frayed at the bottoms. His face was overrun with two-day-old stubble and a smear of a brown substance. He looked like someone that worked around a lot of cow dung. Adrien turned back and noticed that Jamien’s eyes had become wide and he was sitting up, straight and rigid.
“Have you started snorting crack now or did I say something to offend you?” asked Adrien, raising his eyebrows.
“That guy at the bar?” asked Jamien, looking at the man then back at Adrien.
“Yeah,” Adrien said.
“You can’t kill him,” said Jamien.
“Why not?”
“I’m supposed to kill him.”
“What?”
“He’s my kill!”
“No, he’s not.”
They stared at each other. Jamien’s mouth was open and his hands were clutching the edge of the table. He was half out of his seat. The waitress came over with the tray of food and a pot of coffee. She looked at Jamien.
“Lose a bet?” she asked, setting his food down in front of him.
“Just about,” said Jamien. 
The waitress poured Adrien’s coffee and walked away. Adrien picked up his cup and stared at the ring it had made on the table before he took a small sip. He set it down again. It was too hot to drink.
“Hell must have made a mistake,” said Adrien. His voice was level and smooth as a mirror.
“If anyone made the mistake it was Heaven. Bloody cesspool,” growled Jamien.
Adrien finally cracked a smile, quite satisfied with seeing Jamien upset. Although, this was going to be a problem. A soul either had to go to Heaven or Hell. Purgatory was somewhat…crowded, as of late. How could this have happened? Billions of people in the world and both Heaven and Hell want this guy? And why would they send Jamien? He got kicked out of Heaven so he obviously isn’t reliable enough to carry out a mission, thought Adrien.
Jamien raised an eyebrow. “What are you thinking about?” he asked Adrien, a tone of suspicion in his voice.
“Nothing,” said Adrien. “I just thought you were handling suicides.”
“I got promoted,” said Jamien. “Good thing, too. I was getting sick of those whiny brats.” He picked up his hamburger and took a huge bite out of it. He washed it down with a gulp of cherry coke.
The bells on the door jingled as someone opened it and a gust of dry heat made a circle around the diner. Adrien continued to stare fixedly at his coffee, the steam starting to condense in his red hair and drip back down onto the table. Jamien twisted in his seat and looked at the door. “Well look who it is!” he said.
Adrien looked up. Walking into the diner was a man that looked no older than nineteen in an oversized Led Zeppelin hoodie, despite the temperature. He looked over at Adrien and Jamien and lifted his arm, waving at them with the bottom of his sleeve, which hung below his hand by a good six inches. He was a tall, lanky kid with pale skin and light brown hair. He put his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie and walked over to the table where the angels sat.
“Afternoon, ladies,” he said with half a smile. His voice made him sound like a Californian surfer, smooth and laid back. His eyes were half closed as if he were too lazy to open them.
“How’s it going, Todd?” asked Jamien, scooting over and motioning for the man to take a seat.
“Very cool, guys, very cool,” said Todd, plopping down in the seat next to Jamien. “So which one of you am I doing business for today?”
“Me,” said Adrien, swirling his coffee around in its cup. “The guy at the bar.”
“Eh, not so fast, buddy,” said Jamien to Adrien, pulling his head back a little and furrowing his eyebrows. “You see, Todd, we’ve been sent to take the same person. So we have to decide who gets him.”
“Same person?” said Todd. “Mindblow, dude. Mindblow.”
“You don’t need him, Jamien. Hell’s got enough people,” said Adrien.
“As if Heaven really needs any more people like you,” grumbled Jamien.
Adrien narrowed his eyes. “You forget how many people like you get kicked out every day.”
“Whoah, compadres, take it easy,” said Todd, holding up his hands. “There’s ways to settle this kind of stuff.” He searched in his hoodie pocket for something and looked at the ceiling. After a minute, he pulled out a quarter and set it in the middle of the table. “Now sort out your differences like good little angels and I’ll be right back.” Todd stood up and walked out of the diner.
Both angels looked at the quarter.
“Is he serious?” asked Jamien, picking it up and staring at it.
“Nobody’s more serious than Death,” answered Adrien.
There was another jingle as Todd pushed open the door with his back. He struggled to get in and after a few seconds it became apparent why. He was dragging an enormous scythe. All three waitresses turned to stare at him but he took no notice of them. Instead, he wiped his forehead, then pulled his hood up over his head. He lifted the scythe and walked towards the man at the bar.
“Heads it’s Heaven, tails it’s Hell,” said Jamien. There was screaming in the background and the metallic odor of blood. There was a thump like a large sack of flour hitting the ground. Jamien through the coin in the air and caught it, flipping it over onto the back of his other hand.
“You guys can take it from here. Adios,” said Todd, heading towards the door with his bloody scythe over his shoulder.
“See ya, Todd,” said Jamien.
“Bye,” said Adrien.
Jamien lifted his hand and both angels looked down at the coin. Adrien sat back, shrugged, and sipped his coffee which had become lukewarm.
Tails.
Jamien set the coin back in the middle of the table. “That’ll cover the tip. You can pick up the bill,” he said and got up, walking over to the bloody mess. Adrien’s face didn’t show even a ripple of emotion as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a twenty. He threw it onto the table and slid out of the booth.
Next time, he’d flip the coin.