"So this is Hell. The walls need paint."

"Oh. Oh, excuse me, I'm sorry." The red-hued being with the horns snapped his fingers for an imp. "Baf. Please ring up Sherwin-Williams or Jones-Blair and get their quotes on something that can withstand our temperatures. Provided they have anything."

"Will do, master," said the imp, and trotted off to do it.

Mephisto made a face. "You know, you don't have to act like that every time I come over. I was just making an observation."

His host waved a manicured red hand. "Yeah, well, observe away, paisan. You don't like my place, I'm not turned on by your place. Where do we and the boys go next, Las Vegas?"

"It's a thought," admitted the other, touching a pair of ornamental mounted snake jaws on the wall. "By the way, what do you call yourself nowadays?"

"Irving."

Mephisto whirled. "Irving?"

Irving spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "Hey, what can I do? I had to admit I'm not that Biblical character. Can't even refer to myself as The-Artist-Formerly-Known-As. So I try for new names. Irving's a stopgap."

Mephisto couldn't hold back his giggles. "Irving. Oh, ha. Irving! Hee-hee! 'Daimon Hellstrom, the Son of Irving.' I can't freakin' believe it!"

The Irving got up from his chair and grabbed Mephisto by the lapels. "Hey, hey, hey. A little respect, please? My turf, remember? I'm the host, this time. And it's not like I don't have problems already to deal with. So, please? A little less of the ho-hos?"

The other red-faced creature shook his shaggy head, still smiling. "'Just as heads is tails, call me Irving'? I just can't see it."

Before Irving could make a follow-up comment, another guest arrived. Thog, done up in three-piece suit but wearing Keds on his hooves, materialized through the doorway. He doffed his top hat. "Heigh ho, kiddies. Do I see glum faces? Are seduction levels dropping in your domains?"

"Hi, Thog," said Irving. "Before you make any comment about the paint or my new name: Don't."

Irving came over and seated himself in one of the six chairs around the obsidian table. "Come on, come on, Say--"

"Irving. My name is now Irving. Please keep any smart-aleck remarks under your tail and sit on them."

Thog tried hard. He held it in for almost ten seconds. Then he collapsed over the table and cracked up, banging it hard with one hand, and Mephisto joined him, and neither one of them got up for the next half a minute or so. When Thog finally lifted his head up, he gasped and said, "I can see it now. 'Hey, kid, wanna sell your soul to Irving?'" Then both he and Meph collapsed for another thirty0 seconds.

"Very, very, very funny," said Irving. He stalked over to the wet bar and spritzed himself a seltzer and blood.

Thog finally got more or less straightened out and said, "So, ah, Irv...how's things in your realm?"

"Ah, they could be better," said Irving, after he took a pull at his drink. "But you know, elections are coming up, and things usually improve around then. I'm not talking recession till afterward."

Mephisto said, "Yeah, things aren't too rosy where I'm at, either. But with the state lotteries and everything, I figure I'll pull in a few hot ones and get back on quota by March. Thog, I wanna know something."

"Shoot."

"What's happened to our retiree? I've lost all contact with him. I tell you frankly, Thog, I'm getting worried."

"Oh, Sam?" Thog settled back. "Well, now, let's see. You know, of all of us, I thought that he might be the one. And he might have been, still might be in the future. But now?" Thog looked thoughtful. "Now, he's all letting it go to pot."

Irving brought drinks over for the other two. "So fill me in, Thoggy. I heard rumors, but no straight dope. What's the 411?"

Thog swirled the hot chocolate and brain in his drink around thoughfully before taking a swig. Then he said, "Okay. You know that, as big an operator as he's been where he is, he had to make it a partnership. You know that, right?"

"Right," said Mephisto. "With that fly-eyed one and another one. I gotta tell you, what with all those demons that have to think up rhymes and such for ranks...I had to ask myself, what is that guy thinking? He doesn't watch it, it could all go to Heaven."

Thog nodded, seriously. "Just about what happened. He finally decided, that's it, I'm going to retire while I still have a few good millenia and a pension. So he up and quits."

"No!"

"ImPOSSible!"

"Hey, it's the truth. Morpheus -- you know, the Dream guy? -- was coming over for a visit, over some broad, and Sam takes the opportunity which presents itself. He kicks everybody out of his realm, closes it down, locks up, and gives the key and title to Morphy. Then he has somebody cut off his wings."

"Ewwww," said Mephisto. "How gross."

"I wouldn't lie about something like this," said Thog. Then, reconsidering, he said, "Well, I might, if I could make a profit out of it. But nope, this is the straight skinny. So his Earth gets crowded for awhile by evicted tenants, and Mr. Sandman is chatting up a bunch of guys who want to cut a deal for the place. Reps from Asgard, Faerie, Chaos, Order, the whole nine yards. It was classic."

"This absolutely sucks," said Irving, disgustedly.

"You're tellin' me. But you haven't heard the big part. You wouldn't believe who Morphy gave it to."

"Michael Eisner?" said Mephisto.

"Rupert Murdoch?" said Irving. "No, wait, I'd know if it was him."

For answer, Thog clasped his hands in a prayerful pose, then held both hands at shoulder-level and made flapping motions with them.

"Oh, no," said Mephisto. "No. You can't mean it, Thog. I mean, really. Talk about in bad taste."

"This is the most nauseating thing I've heard this entire quarter," fumed Irving.

"It's true," said Thog. "Two guys from Above in his realm. And they're in charge of administration now. Believe it."

Mephisto slapped the table, angrily. "How do they expect to attract any kind of clientele with that kind of management? I'll bet the tenants are still on Earth. I'll bet they're on welfare."

Irving nodded, sagely. "It's been like that ever since the New Deal, Meph."

"So what should I have done, voted for Reagan?" snapped Mephisto.

"Who did you vote for?"

"Hey, I'm just like you. I give to all parties," said Mephisto. "It's safer that way."

Thog said, "Well, it was reopened and the tenants came back within days. It's a going operation now. What can I say? Evidently the organization Sam built was fine enough to work after his retirement. He's one homeuva businessman. Or at least he was."

"What's he doing now?" said Irving.

"Far as I know, he's enjoying life on some Australian beach. Gives a whole new meaning to the phrase 'Down Under,'" Thog held out his glass. "You got something over there that ain't the cheap stuff?"

Irving took Thog's glass and went back to the bar. He was still shaking his head. "If Sam was going to sell out, why didn't he try the Arabs? Or the Japs? Whatta mess."

Mephisto said, "Get me one, too, Irv, while you're up. I'm telling you, Thog, it just isn't fair on businessmen like us these days. I thought we had security, at least till You Know When. Now, I'm beginning to worry what's going to come first: the Y2K bug, or my forced retirement."

"Hey, now don't tell me you're talking quitting."

"Nah, no, not me," said Mephisto, picking a pebble out of his hoof. "They'll have to break into the boardroom and drag me out into the Outer Dark kicking and screaming, first. But it's like the guy said on that Capone TV-movie. 'It's not the guy across town you gotta worry about. It's the guy another rung down from you on the ladder.'"

"Tell me about it," said Irving, handing them their refilled drinks. "I thought I had somebody I could turn the business over to. I thought I had a son. What'd I get? I ask you, what'd I get? Somebody who fights me, that's what I get. I would've been able to forgive him, maybe, if he'd gone off and joined a rock 'n' roll band. But I've got a kid that goes over to the Competitors. He won't have a single thing to do with the firm. Save it, does he think that this is easy? Does he think I don't have problems, keeping this thing running? Do I even hear from him on Father's Day? Thog, Meph, I gotta ask you: what is happening to this young generation?"

"Everything's gone Above," said Mephisto, ruefully. "Or it seems like that, some days. Then I take a look at the latest televangelist scandal, or at how Ozzy's new album is doing on the charts, and I say to myself, 'Hey--there's still hope.'"

"That's it, Meph," said Thog, laying a reassuring hand on his friend's arm. "That's it. When things look lightest, when they're at their absolutely most discouraging, you just gotta tell yourself, 'Tomorrow will be a home of a day.' Just that. Tomorrow, the problem will be changed a little bit, but the business, our home-realms...they'll still be there."

"That's right," said Irving, proudly. "No matter how hard it gets...we've still got a purpose. Now. Who brought the cards?"

"I did," said Mephisto, pulling them out from behind his ear. "Orson Welles taught me how to do that."

"I thought it was Steranko taught you that."

"Orson, Steranko, I learned from 'em all. What's the game, fellas, the usual?"

"Yep. Six-Fingered Hand is good enough for me," said Thog.

"Me, too," said Irving, sitting down with a smile on his face.

"Me, three," said Mephisto, as he started to deal. He looked up. "Hey. You think we oughtta invite that Malebolgia guy over, one of these days?"

"Mal?" Irving wrinkled his nose. "Nah. He's too nouveau-riche. Besides, I don't like the way his boys dress. They clink, every time they move."

"Put on the Blue Oyster Cult," said Thog.

"I wanna hear The Omen soundtrack," said Mephisto, still dealing.

"We'll hear BOC first and Omen later," said Irving, going to the CD player. "And then, just for me, Robert Johnson. Okay, boys, who came to play Six-Fingered?"

"Me!" they all said, in unison.

They sweetened the pot with a few soul-chips and got down to it.