by Borne Wilder
With the gun now in full view, the boys stepped to one side, to allow the paranoid white boy to pass.
Charlie waited until he had reached the car, before stuffing the gun back into the waist of his jeans. Across the service road, a homeless man in rags argued with a black kid. Déjà vu hit Charlie between the eyes. He had seen the same two arguing in Colorado. Suddenly, the kid turned and smiled at him, before trotting across the road in his direction.
“Hand me that body spray.”
“They don’t have coffee, but they carry this shit.” Ron handed the can through the window.
Charlie sprayed the length of his body in two long swipes. The hood rats behind him roared in laughter. “White Boy is taking his self a ghetto shower. Opie got his self a date!” He tossed the can into the back seat and opened the car door. Ron began to choke as the car filled with Axe fumes.
“Good thinking with the Axe, Jethro. Are you sure that half a can was enough?”
Charlie plopped down in the seat and the toxicity level of the Axe increased to lethal levels in Ron’s nostrils. “You do know, that shit is like bear mace to women, don’t you?”
“I like to smell fresh.”
“You smell like a fresh chemical spill.” Ron reached for the ignition and started the car. The kid from across the street walked up and stuck his hand in his jacket pocket. Charlie fumbled desperately, to get the pistol out of his pants.
“Easy officer, you gonna shoot yo’ dick off, I just wanted to give you these. The kid poked a small fist into the car and dropped two bullets into Charlie’s lap. That’s for the po-lice.” The kid smiled; all of his upper teeth had been filed to points. “Hey, White Boy, Mama says you about to run the fuck outta time. She wants her fucking coin.”
“You know Mama, do you?” Ron asked.
“Tell her Cleotha be takin’ care of bidness.”
“How in the fuck do you know who we are?”
The kid spun on his heel and walked back to the homeless man, without answering.
Charlie held one of the cartridges up. “How in the fuck did he know what caliber of gun I have?”
“How in the fuck did he know about the coin? We’re still thirty minutes away from where the hag is.” Ron asked. “Did you tell him something?”
“Nah man, I just went over there to get robbed and take a piss, he was clear across the street.”
“What the fuck?” Ron pulled out of the Fast Mart. “How is that bitch watching us?”
“I’d like to have that little fucker’s teeth.”
15
“I will show the holiness of my great name, which has been profaned among the nations, the name you have profaned among them. Then the nations will know that I am the LORD, declares the Sovereign LORD, when I show myself holy through you before their eyes.
"For I will take you out of the nations; I will gather you from all the countries and bring you back into your own land."
“You think anybody can hear you, Mauffaucker?” Cleotha had been watching the old man mumbling about God all morning. “Ain’t nobody give a fuck what you got to say.”
The worn and ragged preacher looked up and raised his hands toward the bottom of the I-10 overpass; tracks marred every accessible vein, from his hands to his elbows. “Oh God, keep not thou silence, hold not thy peace, and be not still, oh God.” He then gestured to Cleotha. “Cast away from me this nigger demon.”
Cleotha doubled in laughter. “Fuck you, preacher.” He flashed the old man his grin of spikes. Every tooth in his mouth came to a point, not fangs, but more like the teeth of a reef shark. “You better watch your mouth, preacher, this ain’t a good part of Nawlins to be slingin’ the N-word. These niggers will fuck your shit up.” Cleotha jerked a thumb across the street, to a group of black teenagers gathered outside of a ratty convenience store. “What makes you think Ezekiel and Asaph are talking about the same thing, Old Man?”
“Boy, I know who you are. You clear the path for Gog, you caused this war.”
“You got me confused with someone else. Tell me sumpthin,’ Mauffaucker, do you think your God gives a flying fuck about this sackcloth and ash shit, you puttin’ on”
“And the word of the Lord came unto me, saying, Son of man, set thy face against Gog, the land of Magog, the chief prince of Meshech and Tubal, and prophesy against him.”
“Mauffaucker, I told you I ain’t him.”
“You clear his path, you caused this war.”
“Bitch, you ain’t right in the fuckin’ head. Did you git your nut yet, today?
“No, I have not yet indulged in that particular sin today, but my head and heart are clear, you have caused this war.
“Mauffaucker, your God has turned his back on you. Look at you, all shakin’ like a dog shittin’ razorblades, fuckin’ droolin’ on yourself, smellin’ like piss, you all fucked up. Your God has done give the fuck up on you.” Cleotha grinned his reef shark grin. “Tell me your name, Mauffaucker.”
“You know who I am.”
“Tell me your name.”
“God knows who I am.”
***
Nolte sat across from Michael sipping a miniature of rum; the sun had broken the horizon and was climbing the sky. Today was his funeral. It was supposed to be his big day, but the two idiots still had his nest egg. He stared at the archangel with burning hatred. The motherfucker had turned him into a dog; the taste of shit still clogged his throat. From what he knew of angels, they were supposed to be good, this one was an asshole. Nolte also had no idea what a fucking archangel was, but the faggot in front of him seemed to be pretty fucking proud to be one. ‘I stand before God.’ Big fucking deal, every TV preacher on the planet has said the same shit.
In the form of a dog, he’d been forced to listen quietly, to the condescending asshole spew his bullshit about messengers of God, yadda, yadda, yadda, but Nolte wasn’t buying it.
The twink had seen fit to return Nolte to his human form when he refused to stop licking himself. It seemed a shame to put a used diaper over clean balls, but he needed to have a place to carry his stuff.
“This eternal life you seem to think this coin will bring you, what does that mean to you?” The archangel asked. He knew that the concept of true eternity was nonexistent in the realm of time. Describing an existence, that is without boundaries between the past, present, and future would be comparable to describing colors to a man who has been blind from birth. “You seem to have gone to a lot of unnecessary trouble and expense to obtain something that has been offered to you, free of charge.”
Nolte looked over the top of his sunglasses at the tiny bottle in his hand and said nothing.
“Speak you fool.”
“I don’t want to be turned into a fucking dog again.”
“Watch how you use the name of the Lord in our presence,” Michael warned. “I’ll do far worse next time.”
“I just don’t want to go to hell. If I can’t die, then there’s no hell.” He slugged the remainder of rum and tossed the bottle on the floor of the limo. “Now that I’ve been there, I know I don’t want to go. What the fuck do you care Princess?”
“Why didn’t you just ask not to go?” Michael leaned forward in his seat. “And not to worry you or anything, but you never came close to hell. You escaped before you were even placed in the holding area. The horror you felt was just the separation from God. The screams you heard, were caused by the things you people do to each other when his presence is removed.” The angel leaned back. “I know what I’m talking about, we built the place.” Michael looked at the sun through the tinted glass. “You couldn’t fathom what we keep in hell.”
“How many assholes have been sent to hell?”
“If by assholes, you mean humans. The answer is none. You idiots have to wait for the Great White Throne Judgement. Who knows, maybe none of you will go. No one knows the extent of His mercy.” Michael once again leaned forward. “I do know; you are all lucky the decision is not mine.”
“Well if you’re not taking me to hell, what in the fuck do you nancys want from me? I have absolutely nothing to offer you.”
Michael ignored the question. “You are the only human; I’ve seen, get a second chance at redemption and piss it away.” He shook his head in disbelief. “This eternal life you think you’re getting could be good for a thousand years or a single day. Sooner or later, a change will come to this dimension and your eternity will end. You will have to stand up and be counted.”
“Well, I’m not kissing anyone’s ass while I’m waiting, you fucking shirt lifter.”
“The concept of eternity is beyond the reach of your simple minds. You will all get to live forever, but it the hard reality is location, location, location. Are you familiar with that phrase?”
“Michael,” Jeremiel called back. They could both feel the tremors in the dimensions. The shekel had stopped traveling, it was somewhere nearby and they were closing in on it. The tension connecting the coin to the dark dimension and Nolte was increasing. Nolte could feel its pull. The angels could feel it too, but knew the shekel wasn’t causing the vibration in the fabric of time, it was Azazel. She was never stripped of her power after she had fallen. Something the archangels had found puzzling, but never questioned.
Jeremiel slowed the limo; the only sound was the ticking of the right turn signal and the creaking of Nolte’s diaper as he reached for another miniature from the mini bar. As soon as these two retards turned their back for a second, he was going to get his nest egg and get on with his life. A sickening thought sent a shiver down his skinny spine. What if the witch really wanted him? Nolte had fucked just about anything that walked or crawled, at some point in his life, but he had no desire to become Mama’s love zombie.
Jeremiel brought the limo to a halt. A few blocks off to the right, through the hurricane-ravaged neighborhood, was the car they had been following. It was parked by a small house in the midst of empty lots and battered trees.
“There are my nest egg thieving, faggoty-assed sons. Right over there.” Nolte exclaimed, tapping the window rapidly.
Jeremiel pointed to a large pickup with oversized tires parked two blocks away, directly ahead of them. “Shorty.” The tone of his voice made the word sound more like profanity than a nickname. “I can feel him in there.”
“The gang’s all here,” Michael said.
Nolte pounded down several more, tiny bottles, he needed to pump up his beer muscles with some whiskey courage. Shit was about to get real. He figured he had fucked around long enough. No more Mr. Nice-guy, he was going to throw an as-whippin’ on those thievin’ fags.
From where they were parked, it was hard for the Michael or Jeremiel to tell if there was anyone in the car. With the rift in the chasm caused by the coin and the vibrations in the time dimension from Azazel, it was hard to sense any human presence. Even Baal had almost gone unnoticed.
Michael put on his Ray Bans. “I know who you want. Is it alright with you, if I go over and watch out for the idiots with the shekel? We can do rock, paper, scissors if you want.”
Jeremiel gave his head a nod toward Baal’s monster truck and grinned. “What if Shorty makes his move, what do I do with the stinky demon in the back?”
With the seventy-second hour drawing near and the close proximity of the coin, its pull on the stinky Nolte-demon appeared to be overwhelming the skinny man. The angels had felt him try to jump dimensions several times in the short time they had been parked. Nolte now had his face pressed to the tinted glass, causing puffs of fog on either side of his nose. Sensing the butt huggers were referring to him, with the stinky demon comment, he turned toward the front of the limo, looking over the top of his jar lid sunglasses. “I’m ready to roll; let’s go get my nest egg.”
Nolte had hitched his diaper up over his beer belly and put a crooked Pall Mall between his teeth. “Today is my big day poofs, and nothing is standing in my way.” The cigarette danced to Nolte’s ranting.
“You’re right.” Michael scoffed. “This baby-sitting is really starting to suck...I’m sure Azazel knows we’re here, by now. Zip up there and grab Baal, you can keep an eye on both of them while I check on the idiots.” Jeremiel vanished and reappeared in the back seat with Baal under one arm, his stubby legs working the air furiously. Nolte let out a piercing shriek, surprised by the sudden appearance of the dark prince. Michael laughed before, he himself vanished.
“Release Baal, you motherless ass-kisser.” Baal waved his walking stick over his shoulder, trying to strike the angel about the face. Jeremiel placed Baal on the seat opposite him as if the tiny man were a toy.
Immediately the dark prince began to daintily smooth his rumpled and tattered suit with chubby fingers. “This is a twenty thousand dollar Vegna, you ruffian.”
“I wouldn’t give you two buckets of goat piss for it.” Jeremiel chuckled. “You should remember exactly who it is that you’re calling names.”
Withdrawing his attention from his clothing, Baal suddenly realized his kidnapper was Jeremiel. He cleared his throat and looked up at the archangel. “Baal apologizes for such a vigorous protest, but he was shocked by his unexpected apprehension.” Baal respected the power of all the archangels but he actually feared Jeremiel. Any Archangel could be sent out to dispatch demons or principalities as long as they had permission, but Jeremiel was the only one he knew of, who was allowed to do so at his own discretion.
Jeremiel laughed at loud at Baal’s return to the third person. It didn’t seem to matter to the arrogant horse’s ass, that he was confined in the form of a three-cubit tall human, he still saw himself as the god of the Canaanites.
“Baal sees you have successfully detained the absconder for him and is most grateful for your assistance.” He said in Nolte’s direction.
“What the fuck did you call me, you sawed off fuck?” Nolte reared around and hitched his diaper even higher. “I’m having a bad day, mother fucker, and you need to check yourself before you wreck yourself.” Jeremiel laughed out loud again, wishing Michael was here to see this. A drunken skeleton of a human, clad in a diaper, squaring off against a three-cubit, prince of darkness, it was going to be the fight of the millennia.
16
A black Bentley was parked in the weeds next to the house. It was hidden from view until Ron had pulled his car up to the curb.
“Nice ride.”
“It’s a good sign that our money’s inside.” In a few minutes, Ron was about to be a seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars richer, yet, there was a 'too good to be true' feeling gnawing at his gut. “Have you asked yourself, if what we’re doing is wrong, yet?”
“What do you mean wrong.”
“Nolte spent the last part of his life working toward this one goal. This was his second chance, maybe. You don’t feel like maybe we are robbing him of it?”
“Why does he of all people get a second chance, huh?” Charlie scoffed. “He was the most miserable son of a bitch I ever knew. Every fucking play he ever made had a 'for sure thing' outcome in his favor, or he wouldn’t do it. He never did one fucking thing out of the goodness of his heart. You want to know why?” He paused and looked at Ron, although he knew his brother knew the answer. “Because, that sorry piece of shit has no goodness in his heart.”
“Don’t you think that everyone deserves a second chance?”
“He backed every play he ever made. He never needed a second chance; the deck was always stacked in his favor.”
“What if there is a Hell and we’re sending him to it? How do we justify that with our greed?”
“After all this, you still wonder if there’s a Hell. There’s a Hell, buddy, but he sent himself there. I don’t see why that mother fucker would deserve a do-over. We all get one chance to make the right choice. I’ll answer for mine, you’ll answer for yours and Nolte will answer for his. I’ll bet you my half of the cash, waiting on the other side of that door over there, if Nolte was told this very minute that all he had to do was ask f
or forgiveness, he would turn it down. You’re shining a light on something, better left unexamined.” Charlie pulled the door handle and the door popped open a crack. “Now let’s go get our fucking money. There’s a Mississippi riverboat callin’ my name.”
“You’re buying me a window and a fucking seat before you piss your half away.”
As soon as Charlie’s shoe landed on the first step, the door to the house creaked and the screen door swung open, there, in a lime green dress, had to be the oldest, most wore out hooker in New Orleans.
“Get da fuck in heeya, ta to. You gone wake-up da whole neighborhood.”
Charlie looked back over his shoulder as he stepped across the threshold. “What fucking neighborhood?”
“You da talkative one, you is, ta to. Mama hear you ass yappin’ all manner a foolishness, outter inna car.” The old woman grabbed Charlie by the shoulder and hurried him into the room. Ron received the same welcome. “You too, muffucker, git you ass in heeya.” The witch poked her head out the door and looked up and down the street. “Where you daddy? I cain’t feel dat white boy?”
“We haven’t seen him for a while. We don’t need him to make this business happen, do we?” The empty house made his voice echo.
“Nah, we don’ need da white boy, ta to. We don’ need him fer sho’.” The old witch made her way to the doorway leading to the back of the cracker box house. “Da white boys is heeya, an’ dey be lookin’ greedy, ta to.” She said, her voice had taken on a soft hush. The witch moved to one side of the door to allow the most beautiful woman Ron had ever put his eyes on, to pass into the room.
“This heeya be Miss Azazel, white boys, she da one be paying you ass for da thing you brung.”
Ron could hear Charlie’s foot scuffing the floor, a nervous tick that always popped up around beautiful women. Ron stepped toward Azazel, offering his hand. The old witch quickly intervened by stepping between them.
