Free Blimpo: The Third Circle of Heck by Dale E. Basye

Slurpee of silence.
    Marlo turned to Farzana.
    “First off, the dry cleaner was a
she …
just barely,” Marlo said. “Second, there was no way she would have called, and lastly, even if she did, she is physically incapable of uttering the word ‘sorry.’”
    Farzana chewed her lower lip and reviewed a blank page on her Vilofax.
    “So that leaves me with …
why
?” Marlo inquired suspiciously.
    Farzana’s hands thrashed about like freshly caught flounder on the deck of a fishing trawl.
    “Well, the m-more I help you out, the sooner I g-get …” Farzana faltered, not meeting Marlo’s eyes. “Get a new friend.”
    Marlo wasn’t quite buying it; however—as someone whose hobby was stealing—she didn’t tend to buy much.
    “Hello, young ladies,” a stooped, ancient demon interrupted as he pushed a cart of mail and beverages into the Deception Area. “I’m here to deliver the goods … or the bads. Mostly the bads.”
    The hairless creature, his spine like a croquet hoop, trundled over to Farzana’s desk. His cart was spilling over with bills, catalogues, hate mail, and pitchers of Beauty Cream. He handed Farzana a glass full of the luminous milk.
    “Milk?” he offered, holding a glass out to Marlo.
    “Not unless you want me getting sick all over you.” Marlo grimaced.
    The demon grinned, his face crinkling like a dead leaf in autumn.
    “Who’s the new girl?” the ancient creature asked Farzana in a leathery croak.
    “The name is Nunivyer,” Marlo replied. “Nunivyer Bizness.”
    The demon shrugged.
    “Not much use rememberin’ their names,” he saidas he deposited a small stack of mail onto Farzana’s desk. “She goes through them so fast. Still, if this one works out, then you’ll be able to—”
    Farzana set down her glass of Beauty Cream suddenly and picked up her phone.
    “Hello, Madame Pompadour’s office,” she said loudly, wiping her mouth. “How may I deflect your call?”
    Marlo hadn’t even heard the phone ring.
Something smells fishy
, she thought.
    The old demon farted, munching on a sardine he had fished out of his pocket as he wheeled his cart away from Marlo’s desk.
    “I’ll stop givin’ you gals the business and leave you to yours,” the demon said over his shoulder. “Always a pleasure meetin’ Madame Pompadour’s new toys … before she breaks them.”
    “Whatever,” Marlo muttered. “Go postal somewhere else.”
    The decrepit demon lurched his squeaky cart away down the long, winding hall. The plush hallway was carpeted with a wool and brimstone blend that sparked and smoked if you scuffed it just right. It, apparently, led toward the offices of the Powers That Be Evil.
    Marlo eyed the mail on Farzana’s desk. She loved mail. Especially when it wasn’t hers. It was like a mini Christmas. One bundle, in particular, caught her eye.
    “What’s this?” she asked as she walked over toFarzana. The package was a long glossy cylinder. It seemed like some kind of magazine, only with a large hollow tube for a spine.
    “It’s the new issue of
Statusphere
magazine,” Farzana explained with a smooth lilt as she sipped her Beauty Cream. “Madame Pompadour is the publisher. It started out as a hobby, a way to relieve stress from running the Infernship program. But now it’s been taking up more and more of her time.”
    “Wow,” Marlo said as she picked up the magazine. “I’d hate to see her when she’s
stressed.”
    Marlo tugged free the gleaming gold ribbon that bound the peculiar magazine together. The pages were shiny blank plastic, and the whole thing was nearly impossible to hold. It was more like a large, space-age roll of paper towels than something you could read.
    “I don’t get it,” Marlo said. “How does it work?”
    Farzana sighed as she set down her pen, leaving unfinished her doodle of a two-faced girl with wings flying above a sea of flames.
    “First, you put your arm into the spine. The cylinder.”
    Marlo, her face scrunched up in