Chapter 50: The worm turns

The next few weeks passed uneventfully. Mary met the residents of Brother Holloway/Glubwart's Home for the Homeless. Each and every one had a story to tell. Paul was a victim of the economic crash. A smart, experienced executive in a banking firm, he lost his job, his home, his wife, and finally, his courage. He wound up on the street drinking cheap wine. "Brother Holloway restored my courage," he said. "The rest is up to me." Isabella was the daughter of illegal immigrants. "You never feel right, you know?" she told Mary. "This is the only home I've known, and yet there's a piece missing; maybe a piece of me. I tried to find that piece, and wound up a plaything for a street gang. Brother Holloway saved me out of that life." Of all the residents, Mary's favorite, her closest friend, was Mrs. Emerson. "You got trouble, you know where to come, child," she told Mary. "Anybody got a problem wit chu, dey got a problem wit me."

    Brother Holloway/Glubwart was always handy, but never intrusive. He gave Mary her "space." "If you need me, my door is always open," he told Mary. "I hope you know that."

    Brother Holloway/Glubwart was in his office when the phone rang. "Glubwart!" an all-too-familiar voice rasped. "What in Hell's name are you doing? Wasting your time -- and more importantly, mine -- on one misfit girl! Get back in your office. While you're chasing after one miserable jewel, thousands are being squandered! If you want to go back to the front lines, that can be arranged. I can bust you back up to demon first class. I was mistaken to make you a middle manager." Blah blah blah. Glubwart half listened. He knew what Screwtape was up to -- try to get him off the Underworld's most important case, and take all the credit for himself.

    For once, Glubwart had the advantage on Screwtape. He wasn't about to relinquish it. He let Screwtape finish blathering, then calmly said, "You and I both know the importance of this case. I'm seeing it through."

     He hung up the phone. Glubwart knew he was taking a huge risk; Screwtape could bite off his head -- literally -- anytime he chose -- but Glubwart was betting that Screwtape was in a precarious spot himself. He couldn't risk losing this case. Glubwart was making progress. If Screwtape took him out and the case fell through, then Screwtape's own head would be on the chopping block.

    At the other end of the line, Screwtape sat in stunned silence. Never had an overling dared to talk to him like that -- much less hang up the phone on him. His jaw clamped so tight he almost bit off his own head. "Miss Caliente," he roared. "Get me Snakefoot! Now!"