Scumbert hopped out of the garbage truck as it was depositing its payload onto a trash mountain inside Sun Valley’s solid waste landfill. It took him a few minutes to hop over to the large building housing the incinerator, where one of the L.A. portals to hell was located. There were other portals: in sales offices of car dealerships, politicians’ waiting rooms, and one in a law school. Scumbert bounced through the flames and emerged on the other side of the portal into a fiery cave. Sulfurous gas was everywhere. A red-orange glow from several small fires tinted the clouds of gas so that the cave looked like the stage of an Imagine Dragons concert. Scumbert spied what he was looking for: a red velvet rope restraining a crowd.

A huge, ape-like demon played the part of bouncer, letting only beautiful women past him through the red door. The men would have to wait. Scumbert hopped up to the bouncer who held up a black, leathery hand and said, “Whoa pal. Where do you think you’re going? Do you have an appointment?”

“No, but I saw something that the Prince of Darkness is going to want to know about.”

“Let me call my supervisor.”

“It’s—croak—rather urgent.”

“There are protocols in place. Wait here.”

The ape-shaped evil power guarding the entrance to hell’s hottest nightclub spoke into his headset and then went back to monitoring the crowd. About 20 minutes later he told the frog, “The god of this world will see you now.”

“It’s about—ribbit—time,” muttered the demon frog who had a powerful secret to share. He hopped in through the red door and was ushered by a demon goat through a dance floor packed with beautiful people wearing sexy Kardashian Kollection outfits designed to provoke lustful thoughts. For the most part, they were fulfilling their purpose. Scumbert attempted not to be skewered by shiny Louboutin heels as he hoppingly wove through the gyrating bodies toward another door marked “VIP.”

This room was a bit quieter. Music was playing but it wasn’t ear-meltingly loud. The walls appeared to be a blend of rock and metal, shiny swirls of reflective silver threaded through obsidian-black granite. In one corner, a backlit bar was stocked with fine liqueurs and aged scotch. Young, pouty women lounged on red leather couches and eyed each other suspiciously.

“Have you gained weight?” an ingénue in a black mini dress asked a skinny girl wearing a sequined top and spandex shorts.

“What? No! Have you gotten stupider?”

One entire wall was taken up by a bank of video screens showing live satellite feeds from various places on earth. One monitor displayed a Chinese factory worker mixing lead into a large vat of lipstick. Another showed an image of people in India dumping pots of dirty water into the Ganges. Next to that a screen showed a Belgian man driving like a maniac on a multi-lane motorway. Below that image, the frog saw an American banker in his office saying, “It’s worth the risk. We stand to gain millions, if not billions.” And next to that, a screen showed a kid screaming at his parents, “I don’t have to listen to you!” In the bottom right corner monitor, a scientist was saying to his lab-mate, “God is a construct imagined by man. So is Satan for that matter. There is no such thing as a horned man with goat-feet clutching a pitchfork.” At that, the demon bullfrog turned his bulging round eyes toward Satan and saw a cherub angel with a scowl on his face and a black silk suit tailored to fit around his four wings. His feet were mounted on wheels within wheels that let him glide along like he was perpetually riding a Segway. He was sipping a shot of 100-year-old Scotch. Lucifer looked down as the frog approached.

“Yes? What is it? I hear you have something important to tell me.”

“Well, sir—croooaaaaak—it’s just a little thing, but you always tell us that little things lead to big things.”

“Quite right. Go on.”

“I saw a person in L.A. who can see the spiritual realm.”

“Another person with geisterseherkraft? Well that’s not such a big deal. Just engage him in conversation in public a few times. The police will arrest him. Taunt him in the station and they’ll send him to the psych ward. Done! It’s standard procedure. You bothered me for this?”

“Well, it’s more complicated than that, Your Foulness. This young man is a Christian. He had two angels around him: his dominion angel and another one that outranked you. That one had six wings and a golden sash.”

“A seraph? A seraph angel was with him?”

“Ribbit!”

“Did you happen to catch this angel’s name?”

“Adorable or something—croooaaak.”

“Not Adoram?”

“Yes—craaaacket. That’s it!”

“Adoram, eh? There’s a blast from the past." Satan's eyes drifted upwards as he swirled his Scotch. "Do you know the young man's address by any chance?"

"Ribbit!"

"Good. You can leave now. Send Tricklane in on your way out. He's right outside the door.”

Scumbert hesitated a bit. “I thought this information might, croak, be worth something to you.”

“Oh, did you now?”

“Ribbit!”

Satan leaned down slowly until his face was near the frog’s. In a quiet, menacing voice, he answered, “And I thought my underlings would lay down their lives for me.”

Scumbert hopped away disappointed. He landed on the foot of a demon by the door who looked very much like a man in a dark, pin-striped suit. “He wants you,” Scumbert croaked before he hopped off.

“I’m here my liege,” the once-dominion angel announced as he entered the room.  

“I need you to pull an address up on the monitors. It’s in Los Angeles.”

“Oh, I adore Los Angeles,” Tricklane cooed as he typed the information into the EarthLink interface, “all that pollution, heavy traffic, disappointed and frustrated souls searching for answers from psychics and crystals. It’s one of my favorite cities. Anyone can be convinced to sin spectacularly there. It’s almost as good as Las Vegas.”

“Yes, well, you might be paying your favorite city a visit soon. I need you to learn all you can about a young man who lives here. We need to destroy his faith, or his life—whichever is easier.”

After a few seconds of typing, Tricklane said, “Here it is my lord.” Up on the screen came an image of Rodney at the dinner table sitting between his mother and father. They were all holding hands. Hiding behind the dining room drapes, were Barook, Mr. Simplessohn’s angel Nimrod, and Mrs. Simplessohn’s angel Sheba. Plates were piled high with stuffed pasta shells, salad, and garlic bread. In unison, the three people and three angels were singing their mealtime prayer, “Praise God from whom all blessings flow; praise Him all creatures here below. Praise Him above ye heavenly host; praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.”

“Turn it off!” screeched Satan, covering his ears with his hands. “Turn it off!”

Tricklane immediately shut down the connection and the screen went black. “I’m so sorry, your filthiness. I didn’t know they would do that. Are you alright?”

“Oh, that sound. It pierces my flesh. It burns my ears.”

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t anticipate that they might be praising God.”

“Be more careful next time!”

“Yes, your nastiness. I will.”

“Go ahead and take that trip to the city of fallen angels for your recon mission. Take that stupid frog with you. I must go to the city of disgustingly un-fallen angels to do some business of my own. It won’t be pleasant, but I don’t see a way around it. We will meet again after I return.”