"Say your prayers, kid." Pete held the barrel of a Beretta to the boy's temple. "You've got ten seconds."
"Christ!" Stevie, still holding the twenty dollars and change they'd taken from the boy's pocket, stood back. "You really going to waste him?"
"Sure..." Pete's finger whitened as he put pressure on the trigger.
"Wait!" They twisted at the new voice but had to shield their eyes from the brilliant burst of light. The glow faded, leaving behind the speaker: a tall, middle-eastern man with dark curly hair, a close-shaven beard and a robe.
"Who the Hell are you?"
"You called for me. I am the Christ. You can call me Iesua, though I wish you hadn't called upon Sheol as well."
"Hell." The deep baritone issued from a figure in black lycra, though the membranous wings looked real enough. Stevie ran, his footsteps echoing from the alley walls.
"You really want me to believe you're Jesus? And Satan, I presume."
The demon bowed. "Nothing so grand. Just a minion."
Pete frowned at Iesua. "You've come to stop me shooting this kid,"he turned to the demon "and you want me to."
"Exactly." Iesua clicked his fingers and a bolt of lightning fried the boy. "The boy wasn't Christian," he explained. "You are. Killing him would have been a mortal sin."
The demon clapped. "Nicely reasoned," he said. "Handled with discretion."
"Thank you." Iesua grinned, winked and handed Pete a card.
Saving the world, one soul at a time