Hammered

mean, wow. That’s the name of one of your files? «
    » One of my largest, unfortunately. But I have it broken down into subfolders. Here we are. Assholes Who Think They’re Entitled to Judge and Kill People in My Name. « He closed his eyes briefly and then opened them again. » Yes, now I know who you’re talking about. The Hammers of God is an organization of mixed faiths who use Kabbalistic sorcerers as their shock troops. What about them? «
    » Well, I think you’ve already answered my question. I wondered if they enjoyed your official sanction. «
    » No. They definitely do not. «
    » Interesting. They occasionally slay a demon or two, don’t they? «
    » Yes, but even a stopped clock is right twice a day. Look, it’s difficult to find fault in them when they eliminate beings that don’t belong on this plane. But they have defined evil so broadly that they often attack those who do more good than harm. There is no charity or patience within them, and they have made no allowances for the possibility of redemption. «
    » I see. I don’t suppose you’d pay them a visit for me and tell them to lay off, would you? «
    He abruptly looked behind him at the door leading out to Mill Avenue, cocking his head as if he’d heard a noise on the street. Then he turned back to me with a grin on his face and said cryptically, » I don’t think that will be necessary, « before downing the rest of his Guinness in a few long swallows.
    Understanding dawned on my face as Rabbi Yosef Bialik entered the restaurant aggressively, followed by nine more Hasidic Jews who all had bushy beards and impressive peyos curling down from their hats. People stopped eating and stared. Hasidic Jews were an unusual sight in Tempe, and these particular fellows had black, grim expressions to match their black, grim clothing. They didn’t look like they had come in search of kosher Irish food. In fact, they ignored the host, who asked, » How many today? « and spread themselves out in the entry area to stand in three columns: four in the center column and three on either side.
    » Christ, that’s a battle formation. «
    » I know, « Jesus said. » It’s the Kabbalistic Tree of Life. This will be fun. «
    Before I could ask him how it possibly could be fun, the man at the very back, nearest the door, drew his breath to speak. His placement in the formation represented Malkhut, the branches of the tree, the sphere of earth, and he shouted, » Yahweh, higen aleinu mimar’eh ha’aretz. « My Hebrew was a little spotty, but it sounded like he was asking God to shield him from the earth. All ten Kabbalists clapped their hands together with arms held straight out in front of their chests. The sound echoed strangely, as if there had been a pressure change in the air; I felt that clap. Apparently many others did too, because suddenly everyone wanted their checks.
    I turned on my faerie specs to scout the Kabbalists’ wards and saw … nothing. They had no bindings around them whatsoever, no threads for me to see, no auras. They and the space surrounding them were a void in the world.
    » They just shut you down before saying hello, « Jesus said in low tones.
    » Yes, I can see that. «
    Rabbi Yosef pointed at me and said to his brethren in Russian, » There he is. The pale one. «
    Jesus didn’t miss a beat with the language change. He said in Russian, » Who, me? You’re calling me pale? «
    » Stay out of this, sir. We have come for him, « the rabbi growled, pointing once again at me.
    » Howdy, Rabbi. « I said this in English, because the rabbi still didn’t know I spoke Russian. I smiled and waved, trying to affect an air of unconcern. » You’ll never believe who I’m having lunch with. I’d love for you guys to talk. « Without giving him a chance to answer, I called to the bartender, an older chap with thinning hair and a properly red nose. » Flanagan, ten draughts of Guinness here for these ambassadors of peace. «
    » Coming right up! « he said.
    » Stop! « Yosef sternly held up a hand, condescending to use English for the first time. » We have not come for drinks, « he said, rolling the r richly in his Russian accent. » Nor are we here for peace. We are here to serve a judgment; we are here for retribution. For HaShem, and for all people. «
    At this point, the host spoke up. » Look, if you’re not here to eat or drink, you’re going to have to leave, « he said. The Kabbalists ignored him.
    » I don’t get to