It’s August 1977, news has spread that Elvis Presley has died. For Amy & Zerachiel this is a problem. Niether can find them. Their department heads are furious, the records show that the King has just dissappeared and if Amy and Zerachiel can’t come up with the goods they’re fired. Might be that he’s not even human, mortal or even subject to either of their departments.
Amy = plain clothes demon
Department = Hell, collection agency
Zerachiel = plain clothes angel
Department = Heaven, new admissions
How would a covert meeting between them to exchange information over coffee at a local 7-Eleven go?
In a darkened hallway, in-between
seconds and invisible to normal mortal eyes, two figures squared off. They were an angel and a demon, and only experts can really tell the
difference. They squared off in the same way that cats squared off,
namely by staring intensely at each other, followed closely by some
intense ignoring of the opposite faction.
Minutes ticked by.
“He’s mine,” said the demon. Hir name was Amy.
“He’s mine,” said the angel, who answered to Zerachiel. “He has spread more love through the world than hatred.”
“Ah, but many believe that his music is the tool of my master,” countered Amy. “And belief is everything, no?”
“No,” said Zerachiel flatly. “And, because his soul is in the balance, we must wait the Final Adjudicator.”
More minutes ticked by. “Where is he?”
“He’s never late.”
“This is the appointed time and place…” said Zerachiel. “Isn’t it?”
“Of course it is. Our masters wouldn’t send us, otherwise.”
“Then where is Azriel?”
“I AM EVERYWHERE,” said the dark shadow of Death. The one angel for everyone, guaranteed. “DO YOU NEED SOMETHING?”
“We’re here to collect a soul,” said Amy. “Elvis Aaron Presley? So-called King of rock and roll?”
“NOT HERE,” said Death. “NOT NOW.” And then its presence vanished from perception.
Amy and Zerachiel shared a Look. It said, Oh shit…
One slid the other coffee. They both nursed their disposable cups and glared at each other like cats.
“Da capo?” suggested Zerachiel.
Amy rolled hir eyes. “I’m not in the mood to go over decades of cold trails. News, thank you.”
“The tabloids have it wrong. Of course.”
“Of course,” sighed Amy. “And I was joking about them being right at all.”
“I’ve searched this entire orb. There is no sign or trace of him.”
“As have I. The only conclusion is that he no longer lives here.”
“If he lives.”
“He was supposed to have died decades ago!”
“I DON’T CARE WHAT THEY SAY,” said the passing shadow of Death, “I NEVER LAID A FINGER ON HIM.”
 Angels and demons do not, strictly speaking, have genders.