The Prophet of Queens

by Glenn Kleier

  And now if Scotty and Ivy were to enter their Promised Land, Scotty had to deal with that same, temperamental God. Not forgetting that Scotty, unlike Moses, wasn’t a true prophet.

  Ivy pleaded with Scotty, “What if Ariel’s a no-show again tomorrow morning? The Council meets at noon, and you’ve got to be there. That tape’s our only leverage, it’s our only hope!”

  So, defy the Lord, go to the meeting, and pray it wouldn’t cost them as dearly as Moses.

  Scotty sighed and said, “I guess it doesn’t matter if I’m going to hell anyway.”

  At that moment, a note came shooting under the door, and Ivy stopped it with a foot. “It’s time we took a stand,” she said. “Enough of this crap—the only Hell you’re going to is in Manhattan. And I’m not taking no for an answer!”

  Snatching up the note, she sprang to the door and left, Scotty too weary to prevent her.

  Chapter 101

  Wednesday, October 29, 8:00 am

  Endicott, Percy & Moore Communications

  The conference room was packed. A war room prepping for battle. Present were EP&M’s principles and executives, the Shackleton presidential campaign director and coordinators, and other special project directors and production advisors. And Kassandra Kraft. The stakes were enormous, air tense-if-optimistic as the long meeting wound to a close.

  Kassandra was exhausted. She’d promised EP&M a photo op of Shackleton with the Prophet, and Friday night at Webster Hall was where she intended to do it. A Halloween party wasn’t the best venue, Shackleton wasn’t thrilled about it. But it was a carrot Kassandra had trusted Butterfield would find irresistible. People sold their souls for tickets. And her instincts had proven correct.

  Yesterday afternoon, after Butterfield continued to drag his heels, and Kassandra paced her apartment, and Shonda called obsessively, Kassandra finally caught a break. Butterfield’s sister appeared at her door to announce he’d accepted the invitation. With a condition.

  “Scotty’s not exactly what you’d call a hellraiser,” the girl had informed Kassandra, unnecessarily. “You damn-well better bring him home good as you got him!”

  Scrappy little shit, that one. And by the look in her eyes, she meant business. Kassandra was so overjoyed she’d hugged the girl, who did not reciprocate.

  It was now balls-to-the-walls. EP&M and the Shackleton team were working around-the-clock juggling the candidate’s itinerary, coordinating Secret Service protection, and myriad other logistics. It helped that Webster Hall was an EP&M client. Shackleton would have private access to a secured room through a backdoor, all provisions handled in strict secrecy, knowing Butterfield wanted no part of politicians. EP&M would have to spring a trap on him in the manner of Filby’s ambush in the City of God.

  But unlike Filby’s handlers, who’d left the media to document the encounter, EP&M was leaving nothing to chance. No media allowed. Contract videographers and photographers only to record the event. That way, even if Butterfield proved less than cooperative, the public would see otherwise via the magic of computer-edited enhancement. An enormous amount of effort and expense for what would likely amount to just seconds of video.

  Invaluable video. The potential return on investment was huge. Last weekend, Filby’s brief and questionable encounter with the Prophet was enough to edge him past Shackleton in the swing-state polls. And now with Shackleton facing a Crusade in those states, she badly needed the Prophet Bump.

  Franklin Percy rapped his knuckles on the table, rousing Kassandra from her thoughts. Everyone quieted and turned to him, and he turned to Kassandra.

  “All right, my dear,” he said, eyes grave, “the rest is in your hands. Keep us posted on developments. The slightest thing, I want to know. And anything you need, at any time.”

  Kassandra mustered her most confident smile, and everyone filed out, offering well wishes.

  Shonda was last to leave, paying Kassandra a hard glare.

  Chapter 102

  Wednesday, October 29, 8:39 am, Queens

  Mrs. Steiner heard the door to the foyer screech, setting down her paper to check. She was expecting a grocery delivery, preparing for dinner guests Saturday night, worried the ice cream would melt. But peeking into the hall, she was surprised to see Joe Butterfield and a cop arguing.

  “…don’t want any trouble,” the cop was saying, “we got our hands full already.”

  “The T.O. will be here any minute,” Joe told him. “He’s got the papers.”

  “Then we’ll just wait for him. You don’t go upstairs without my say-so, understood?”

  Mrs. Steiner poked her head out. “Officer O’Malley, okay if Mr. Butterfield waits here with me?”

  Joe didn’t ask for permission, heading for her, and the cop waved a blind hand and left.

  Joe stepped inside the apartment muttering, “Protect and serve, my ass…” Mrs. Steiner closed the door, and he inhaled. “Got any more a that coffee cake?”

  “And coffee,” she replied with a wink, heading to the kitchen. “Make yourself at home.”

  Moments later, he called to her. “These photos your husband?”

  “Late husband.”

  A grunt, and, “You’re a shrink, eh?”

  He must have seen her bookcase. “No-no,” she said with a laugh. “An old interest of mine.” She returned with a tray of coffee and rolls to find him seated on the couch, joining him to ask, “So, what brings you here today?” As if she didn’t know.

  He replied with mouth full, “Ivy ran off and skipped school again.”

  She poured coffee. “That won’t help her college plans. But what can you do, she’s an adult?”

  “Not yet, she ain’t. She’s got a choice. School, or juvie.”

  Mrs. Steiner halted mid-pour. “You wouldn’t put that sweet girl in detention!”

  He grumbled, and she added, “Empty threats won’t get you

  anywhere.”

  “How the hell else do I make her listen?” He tossed a half-eaten roll onto the tray. “It’s the boy. Hoodwinked her. All that prophecy mumbo-jumbo. I ain’t gonna lose her, she’s all I got.”

  The man hadn’t the first clue about his own son. Scott was adamant that Ivy graduate, too.

  Mrs. Steiner suggested, “What if you had a heart-to-heart with Scott. He might surprise you.” Joe glared at her as if she were insane, and she reasoned, “If your goal is to keep her in school, Scott’s your best bet. Without him, she’s nowhere to go but home and school. Scott’s your key.”

  “You don’t understand, me and him don’t talk. We been at odds forever.”

  She placed a hand on his arm and smiled. “What if I run interference for you? I can feel him out, see if he won’t talk. What have you got to lose?”

  The man’s eyes narrowed, and he sat back. At length, he said, “Okay, fine. You’re friends, maybe he’ll listen to you. Make him give her back.”

  Mrs. Steiner shook her head. “It’s not my place to speak for you.” His face clouded, and she added, “I don’t know what caused your rift, but it doesn’t have to continue. Keep on this path, you risk losing Ivy forever. Believe me, Joe, you don’t want to spend your waning years without the ones you love.”

  She looked to the photos on her walls, his eyes followed, and she said, “Arty was my only family. Cancer. He put off his screening because of the co-pay, and I didn’t insist.” She teared. “The mistakes we make and spend the rest of our days looking back in pain and regret. It’s not too late for you, but the door is closing—”

  There came another screech of hinges in the foyer. The truant officer, Mrs. Steiner suspected.

  Joe stood, and Mrs. Steiner grabbed a pen and scribbled her phone number on a napkin, handing it to him. “If you’d like to talk some more…”

  He stared at her, at the number, and stuffing it in a pocket, he took his jacket and left.

  There came voices out in the hall, and Mrs. Steiner held her breath for the clash about to ensue upstairs. But moments later, t
he door screamed again, and she went to her window to see Joe and a short man in a suit disappearing into the crowd.

  Chapter 103

  Wednesday, October 29, noon

  New York Archbishop’s residency

  Scotty was without his hoody and staff today. Reverend Thornton had advised he leave them behind for their meeting with the Council. Good advice. It facilitated his madhouse scramble from apartment to cab, where he’d joined up with the reverends Thornton and Melcher. And now, forty minutes later, the three were able to cross the busy sidewalk to the Archbishop’s mansion undetected.

  A priest admitted them through the front door, leading them up a broad sweep of stairs to the third floor. As they paused at the top to catch their breaths, Scotty looked back on the opulence of the entrance hall below. Unlike anything he’d ever seen. A castle. Walls swathed in ornate wood paneling. The grand staircase alone had to cost more than his entire apartment building.

  They headed down a red-carpeted hall, and Reverend Melcher turned to ask Scotty, “This is the Lord’s final Mission for you?”

  He nodded, if not being completely honest. He wasn’t here at the Lord’s bidding, in fact, he was disobeying the Lord. This morning, Ariel was a no-show again. And unable to get her permission to be here, Scotty could either forgo this meeting as ordered, and risk losing the tape, or do everything in his power to get it.

  But from what he’d learned on the cab ride over, he feared his best efforts today might be inadequate. Reverend Thornton warned that to control the destiny of the tape, they’d have to convince at least six other Council members to embrace the Covenant. Further complicating matters, not all members could make the meeting in person, attending remotely by videoconference.

  Scotty felt he was about to face the Inquisition.

  The hall ended at an anteroom and tall wooden doors. The priest knocked, and Thornton turned to Scotty, placing a firm hand on his shoulder to say, “I know you’re anxious, but have faith. The Lord is with you.”

  Scotty sighed. If Thornton knew he was here against the Lord’s wishes…

  The priest opened on a lavish conference room, motioning them inside. The room reminded Scotty of a miniature cathedral. Seated around a large table were six dour men, and behind them, a video wall streaming the faces of four more.

  The men at the table rose, and Thornton introduced them. Scotty recognized several, especially the large, cherub-faced man at the head of the table, Cardinal Bartholomew Rand, Archbishop of New York. Rand wore a black and scarlet cassock. The others, including Thornton and Melcher, were in suits.

  Rand gestured his new arrivals to chairs opposite the video wall, offering coffee and rolls. They declined, and everyone settled in.

  “Thank you for accepting our invitation, Mr. Butterfield,” Rand said. “We’ve been following your ministry with great interest. You’ve created quite a stir.”

  Scotty faltered under the Cardinal’s gaze. Penetrating. Rand seemed to be expecting a response, and when it didn’t come, said, “I wonder if you’d tell us a bit more about yourself, the media has been rather stingy with details.”

  Scotty squared his shoulders. “There’s really nothing to tell, sir. As I’ve always said, I’m no minister or prophet, I’m simply a messenger. I just do as I’m told.”

  A man next to Rand said, “You take your orders from God, yes?”

  “Not directly. The Lord speaks to me through an angel.”

  Someone else whispered, “Like Joan of Arc.”

  A wispy-haired man asked, “The angel appears to you? In your apartment?”

  “I’m forbidden to say.” Scotty’s eyes drifted to the chandelier and its thousand sparkling crystals. “But I can tell you, if you saw her, there’d be no question in your minds. She’s divine. Beautiful beyond words. Silver eyes, golden hair, glowing skin. Angelic in every way.”

  There were whispers, and Rand asked, “Why did God choose you as His messenger?”

  “For the life of me, I’ve no idea. I’m the last person I’d pick.”

  Another man said, “But you’re a religious man. A man of God.”

  “No.”

  “A prayerful man?”

  Scotty shook his head. “I don’t even attend church. I was raised Catholic, but lost my faith long ago. To be honest, I never put any stock in religion. Till lately.”

  There was muttering, and Rand pursed his lips. “As you know, the stakes here are enormous. A great deal hangs on what we decide today. Yet you ask us to accept you and this extraordinary Covenant on your word, alone. We’d be derelict not to ask for validation. If we’re to believe you, give us a Sign. I ask you now, call your angel, work a wonder for us.”

  A man at the table seconded, as did someone on the video wall. Another said, “Where’s your shepherd’s staff? Turn it into a serpent, the way Moses did for the Pharaoh.”

  Thornton was quick to point out, “Dare we ask the Lord to perform parlor tricks?”

  Scotty explained, “Like I said, I have no powers. But you’ve all heard the Lord’s prophecies, and you’ve seen them come true. Isn’t that miracle enough?”

  Thornton placed a hand on Scotty’s shoulder, asking the group, “How else do you explain the tornado he predicted? The illnesses he’s diagnosed? He saved my secretary’s life, for heaven’s sake. Inexplicable feats, miracles, all.” He pointed to his briefcase on the table. “The fact that he knows of this tape is proof he’s Godsent.”

  There were murmurs of agreement, but Rand raised a brow to say, “Of course, he couldn’t possibly have learned about the tape from one of us.”

  Thornton’s hand on Scotty’s shoulder tightened, and the reverend replied, “The truth is obvious if only you’d see. Our faith is being tested. At this moment, our Crusade is descending on the swing states. We must have faith it will succeed. We must put our faith in God.” He looked to his briefcase again. “This accursed tape is a pact with the Devil.”

  The room went deathly quiet.

  At length, Rand exhaled and said, “If there are no more questions for Mr. Butterfield, I believe we’re finished. I move we recess to reflect and pray over our decision.”

  Receiving no objections, he stood, leveling cool eyes at Scotty. “Thank you for coming, Prophet. We’ll get back to you in due course.”

  It was over so suddenly, Scotty rose in panic. “But-but, what do I tell the Lord? My orders are to bring back the tape.”

  “In God’s good time,” Rand told him, and turned to Thornton. “Perhaps the reverend would be so kind as to show you out.”

  Numb, Scotty watched Thornton grab his briefcase and head for the door, motioning him to follow. They proceeded downstairs and outside, where Thornton hailed a cab. As Scotty slid in the back, the reverend remained on the sidewalk, leaning in, gripping Scotty’s arm to say, “I’ll stay to press our case. Keep the Faith, son, this isn’t over.”

  Chapter 104

  October 31, 6:04 pm, Talawanda

  Tia and Ariel sat in the living room on the couch, Stan nearby in a chair, all on their laptops. Max was holed up in his room with the door closed, brooding, everyone passing the insufferable time in their own ways. The collider was still down for repairs, no contact with Butterfield in four days. The longest they’d been out of touch with him since they began their dodgy scheme.

  Ariel was worried about Max. He’d grown increasingly withdrawn, even for him. The man hadn’t the patience to wait for a microwave meal, and this prolonged delay made him antsier than she’d ever seen him. But in fairness, with the election three days away, they were all antsy about the Shackleton tape, time running out, team running blind.

  There’d been no new news of significance in the archives. It appeared Butterfield had been following orders to lay low. No news of Thornton meeting with his Council, but that was expected, given their secrecy. The deadline for him to deliver the tape to Butterfield was Saturday morning, tomorrow. As things stood, however, the team would have no way to know if he compli
ed.

  Suddenly Max’s door burst open, and he flew down the hall to announce, “TPC finished repairs, runs resume tomorrow at 10:00!”

  Stan and Tia cheered, and Ariel sank into the couch with relief. Back on track in the nick of time, hopefully. Now with luck, Scott would greet them tomorrow with the tape, and it would be on to the election—and into the Great Unknown that awaited them.

  But Max began pacing, hands clasped behind his back.

  Tia said, “Now what’s eating you? We just caught a Hail Mary.”

  He replied, “What if Thornton doesn’t get the tape? We have no contingency plan.”

  Stan said, “What more can we do now? It’s the eleventh hour.”

  Max halted. He always had a fallback. “We tried carrot and stick with the Covenant. If that fails, I suggest a bigger stick.” He paid Ariel a look as if anticipating an objection. “I say we hit Thornton and his Council with the ultimate threat.”

  Ariel was afraid to ask.

  “…A threat no God-fearing Christian can ignore.”

  Ariel’s stomach clenched, and she answered for him. “Eternal damnation.”

  Damnation went to the heart of Christian sensibilities, a fate no Believer could ignore.

  Shutting her laptop, she went to her room and closed the door.

  Chapter 105

  Friday, October 31, 8:12 pm, Queens

  Ivy sat on the sofa watching Hawk News, Homer purring in her lap as Scotty took a shower. On screen, a big-bosomed blonde reported live outside their apartment building, asking viewers,

  “What’s up with the Prophet of Queens? Since his triumphant trip to the City of God last weekend, there’ve been few sightings of Scott Butterfield. The world’s most famous seer is holed up in his apartment. Meanwhile, rumors fly. Is the Prophet about to drop a bombshell new prediction? The country wants to know.”