UNDISCLOSED LOCATION, CALIFORNIA | 1971
The first thing Lucious Cole became aware of was a ring of soft light behind his eyelids. Was this heaven? he wondered, slowly piecing together the chaotic events of his final night on Earth. The last thing he remembered was standing on the edge of the Pacific Ocean and taking off the paint-spattered coveralls his kidnappers had made him wear… now, that’s not quite right, is it? his inner voice chastised. Cole was so sick and tired of that voice. It was a big part of why he had stepped into the breaking waves off Ocean Beach.
Breaking waves, he chuckled to himself in spite of everything. He had wanted to be broken, and yet, here he was, seemingly whole and, well, here. Where the hell is here? Cole slowly opened his eyes and found himself staring into a round fluorescent light fixture protected by a heavy wire mesh.
The loud buzzing from the light’s ballast and the attendant old electronics aroma of hot piss on tar was the only discernible sound and smell. Nope, not heaven, he surmised. A quick look around the white-painted cinder block room only confirmed that thought. Great, hell looks just like the London Traffic Area Office on Black Prince Road, Cole surrendered. I should have known.
Apparently, there was a door to this particular circle of hell, nondescript enough so that he hadn’t noticed it until it opened. An average-sized noirette in an ultra-flammable pantsuit stepped into the room carrying a tray with a God’s-honest English fry-up on it. Cole realized that he was starving.
“Good morning, Mr. Cole,” the woman he could only guess was the Devil’s waitress said.
“Is it, now, love?”
“Is it morning? I can assure you it very much is, Lucious. May I call you Lucious?” The woman put the tray down in front of him.
“If you might scare up a cup of tea, love,” Cole began to salivate,“you may call me whatever you like.”
“I believe the kettle is already on the boil. Is PG Tips, all right?”
“Is this a trick?”
“It’s not a trick, Lucious,” the woman laughed. “It’s actually your lucky day.”
It was Cole’s turn to laugh as he could not fathom how waking up in a cinder block purgatory was lucky in any capacity.
“I am in a position to give you what you want,” the woman purred.
“A cup of tea, then?”
“Right, right, I’ll be right back. Have your breakfast and then we’ll talk.”
Cole watched the pantsuit walk back across the room, appraising the woman’s ass moving beneath the melon-colored rayon before refocusing on his situation. He had made more than enough Faustian bargains in his short lifetime to know that he was on the precipice of making a really stupid decision. There aren’t a lot of cards to play here, he silently bemoaned as he crept up to the door and found it locked tight.
“Lucious!” the woman played at being startled upon finding him at the doorway as she brought in the tea. Cole was not entirely convinced, but he was glad to have the tea, regardless. “A dollop of milk, no sugar, just the way you like it.”
Cole sniffed the cup, trying to discern any nefarious adjuncts, but realized that it didn’t really matter either way. “You do seem to know a lot about me, disturbingly so, but I don’t even know what to call you, love.”
“Carol.”
“Carol?” Cole snorted. “The devil’s minion goes by, ‘Carol?’ You know what, that is almost fitting. Nice gear, by the way. I see ol’ Scratch likes you to keep fit.”
It was the woman’s turn to snort. “I was warned about your charm, Lucious Cole.”
As soon as Cole brought the first forkful of baked beans to his mouth he became ravenous. When he cut into a Lincolnshire banger, the smell of fresh sage that emanated nearly overwhelmed him. Agent Davidson watched her charge wipe the tray clean before speaking any further.
“Can I get you anything else, Lucious?”
Cole wiped his mouth with the proffered linen napkin, taking a moment to properly phrase his question. “Just what is it that you believe I want?” he finally asked, referring to the woman’s earlier gambit.
“Why, Louie… may I call you Louie?”
“No, you may not, Carol.”
“Lucious, then,” Davidson capitulated. You would like nothing more than another chance. I am in a position to grant you exactly that.”
“What does that make you, my fairy fucking godmother?” Cole questioned, taking a long draught of the tea and suddenly pining for a cigarette.
“Something like that,” Davidson admitted as she produced a pack of Player’s Navy Cut, unbidden. “I know that you are tired of everything related to being Lucious Cole. Tired enough to walk into the Pacific Ocean like an idiot. You are lucky I passed by.”
“Why do I get the idea that wasn’t exactly a coincidence?” Against his better judgement, Cole accepted a cigarette and leaned in for a light. There was something about the ritual that signaled a certain level of capitulation that the breakfast hadn’t.
“You aren’t the only one that has seen the future,” Davidson explained.
“I see,” Cole took a long pull and pondered the implications of the statement.
“I know you do, and I know what a burden it can be. If Lucious Cole is so hot to disappear, maybe I can help him step aside so you can get on with your life… or a life at any rate.
“And exactly how do you plan on doing that?”
“Oh, you know… heavy drugs, mind control, all the fun stuff. We can start right away if you want.”
For longer than he liked to admit, Cole’s fervent wish had been for the chance to just start over, and here it was being offered on a plate. He was rightfully wary of the woman’s motivations, but it was bound to be better than ending up shark food. He nodded his assent.
“This might hurt a bit,” Davidson warned, a dangerous gleam in her eye. “Or maybe quite a lot, I’m really not sure. But won’t it be fun to find out?”
Román Leão 
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