Free Dancing on the Head of a Pin by Thomas E. Sniegoski Page B

the file folder of his latest case beneath his arm.
    “Say hello,” the dog said, wagging his tail at a man in a very expensive suit who walked by talking on a cell phone.
    “I doubt that man would like slobber on his suit. C’mon.” Remy gave the leash a slight tug and the two of them headed down Newbury. “Let’s go see what Francis is doing.”
    “Say hello, Francis?” Marlowe asked, looking up at Remy as they navigated the somewhat busy sidewalk.
    “You can say hello all you want to him. Francis likes slobber.”
    The former Guardian angel’s brownstone had been built in 1882. Francis had actually supervised its construction himself and had lived there ever since, acting as doorman and parole officer between the prison realm of Hell and Earth.
    It was his job to guard this passage, allowing only those fallen who had served their time in the pit to pass. Some really did try to live good lives, hoping that someday they would be allowed to return to Heaven, while others seemed to be permanently altered by their time in the pit, gravitating toward a life of crime as a Denizen.
    Marlowe stopped at the tree in front of the brownstone, before angel and dog started up the steps. Remy pulled open the heavy wooden door, allowing the dog into the entryway first. He was about to push the buzzer to let Francis know that he had arrived, when the door into the building opened from the inside.
    A man was backing out of the door, holding a box in both hands, a long duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He turned to leave the building and nearly fell over Marlowe, whose tail was wagging so hard it made his whole body shake.
    The man gasped, throwing himself back against the door, so frightened that he nearly dropped the large cardboard box.
    Remy reached over, grabbing hold of Marlowe’s collar and pulling him away. “Sorry about that,” he apologized, forcing the dog to stand at his side as he reached to hold open the door to the brownstone. “He thinks everyone is his friend.”
    “Say hi!” Marlowe barked happily.
    The man glared at them, eyes filled with both fear and anger. The look was one Remy had seen before, of someone who had once known the glory of Heaven but had been subjected to the tortures of Hell.
    Which way will you go? Remy thought, as the man quickly left the building without a word. Will you seek the forgiveness of God, or the company of those tainted by the netherworld?
    “Not nice,” Marlowe said.
    “No, he wasn’t,” Remy answered as the two entered the lobby.
    Francis lived in the building’s expansive basement, and that’s where Remy headed, opening another door to the left of the lobby. Marlowe excitedly passed through first, his nails clicking on the wooden stairs as he descended.
    “Careful,” Remy called after him.
    “See Francis,” the dog woofed. “Get cheese.”
    Isn’t it just like a Labrador, Remy thought, holding on to the banister as he walked down the steps. Only excited to see you if there’s a promise of food somewhere in the equation.
    Marlowe had already disappeared through a doorway at the end of the stairway, and Remy expected to hear Francis respond to the dog’s appearance, but he heard nothing.
    Remy entered the apartment. The place was simple in its furnishings, an old leather couch by the wall, a recliner not too far from the ancient furnace that squatted like a monster in the center of the living room area. Gray metal heating ducts snaked from its squat body across the ceiling, exiting up to the multiple residences above. A blocky armoire across from the recliner hid the big-screen TV. A framed movie poster from The Wild Bunch hid a door to a closet where Remy knew his friend kept a large majority of the weapons he used during his freelance work.
    The coffee table was covered with Sudoku books and sundry other puzzle magazines. Most angels loved puzzles, but Remy couldn’t stand the things. His wife had been the puzzle person in their household. He felt that sad