Belly

by Reverend Steven Rage

“What purpose?” Jonah asked, “What part could I possibly have in this grand scheme?” He leaned forward and began furiously chopping, “What kind of bullshit scam are you trying to run on me, man?”

  Pedro moved closer and told him: “The Lord needs you,” he explained, “She needs you to labor for Her.”

  “What exactly, big scary guy, do you want from me?”

  “She needs you to speak to the Herod. She wants you to tell him that he must repent and amend his ways. He needs to stop the evil that he controls and he needs to do this immediately.” Pedro stepped calmly yet closer. “You need to tell him. You need to make him understand that if he does not, he and his shall perish. That everyone and everything he holds most dear shall be utterly destroyed.”

  That little statement made Jonah stop his chopping. He stared open-mouthed at Pedro. “Speak to Herod? What the fuck is a Herod?”

  “Herod is the king of The Harbor’s drug trade,” Pedro replied and pointed to the Plata on the coffee table. “He controls what you have before you. She wants it stopped.”

  “Let me see if I got this straight,” Jonah said, “You want me to deliver a message to the motherfucker that runs The Harbor’s Plata trade? You want me to tell him to stop?”

  “Yes.”

  “And if he doesn’t you want me to threaten him.”

  “Yes.”

  “To tell him that all his shit’s gonna crash and burn if he doesn’t stop selling all those gosh-darned drugs.”

  “Again,” Pedro said, “Yes.”

  “You are talking about The Harbor, the place I just came from, right?” Jonah asked, getting more and more agitated by the minute. All of those horrible memories, that’s why he tries to drown them out with prodigious use of Plata. “Well, fuck that shit. I cannot go back there, no way. I won’t.”

  “You won’t have to go there,” Pedro told me. “The Herod will be coming here to Big City. In fact,” he continued, “The king will very soon be a mere stone’s throw away.” Pedro pulled a small folded piece of paper from his pocket and placed it on the table before Jonah.

  He unfolded it and saw an address Jonah could practically walk to, but that didn’t mean two slippery-shits to him. “Well that’s sure convenient,” Jonah loudly retorted, “but I’m still not going.”

  “You must do what Immanuel wishes,” Pedro stared blankly.

  “I don’t think you get me,” looking up Jonah replied, “it doesn’t matter where you want me to go, man. No matter what you say it’s still The fucking Harbor, okay? You can’t ask me to do this. I won’t! Don’t you understand? I lost everything there. Everyone that I love, you get me? And now you want me to go see the king of that place just because he’s going to be up the block?”

  “You must go,” Pedro told Jonah. “The Lord commands it. Immanuel Herself commands it.”

  “Oh, Immanuel commands it? Like that means anything to me. Besides, didn’t she get her little preacher ass tortured and killed three years ago?”

  “Yes,” agreed Pedro, “But She has risen from the grave. She has triumphed over Death. She is truly the Son of God,” and Pedro leaned in closer to me, “She insists that you obey. And I advise you to be smart and hear ye Her.”

  Jonah stared hard at Pedro. He couldn’t believe what the dude was saying.

  Hear ye Her? Is he for real? Some fucking living dead girl is ordering me to go into the snake pit and just because this big fucker says so, I should do it. Oh, hell no! I ain’t that fucked up.

  Jonah started to laugh. Like a nervous reaction, he couldn’t help or stop myself. Pedro looked like he was getting pissed off and that made Jonah laugh all the harder at the absurdity of it all.

  Jonah bent to the coffee table, still laughing. He finished railing out his lines, trying to get back on track. Jonah snorted one up each side, trying to keep his laughing fit from blowing out the Plata.

  “Look at you all official and shit,” Jonah said to Pedro who didn’t seem to like this one little bit. “In that case tell your Lord that my official response is no.” He leaned back feeling the new Plata work magic on him. Jonah scratched at phantom itchy kisses at the base of his skull, laughing the more, “Hell, no!” he reiterated. “What the fuck you thinking, of course my answer is no. Shit,” Jonah continued, “in fact, you can trot your ass back to wherever it is you come from, hombre. Tell the little bitch that she can bese mi culo. Tell her she can go fuck herself,” he said, staring, “Twice.”

  Jonah bent to start working on another few lines. He wanted to obliterate this whole, awful ordeal.

  Pedro simply stared at the little wreck of a man, this would-be prophet.

  Darkening.

  Chapter Seven

  The Pharisees go ghost:

  Annas and Caiaphas Pharisee decided to disappear. The decision was made in the master’s chamber of their Lake Shore penthouse. The pile of diseased and discarded body parts sealed their wishes. The two aged men had been falling apart for a while now. Since the time of Immanuel the Christ pieces have been dropping like icicles melting at high noon.

  The two ancients were at the very top of the Plata food chain. They were even higher than the Herod of The Harbor. The Pharisees knew they now had the power to become formless. They could move at will. They no longer needed the inconvenience of the flawed meat puppets housing their essence, their souls. They were long past that sordid business.

  The Pharisees had been blessed by the Mighty One as a reward for organizing the capture and crucifixion of Immanuel. They had been in the very presence of Lucifer the Dark God and the diseases they were filled with were caused by this close personal contact with the Fallen Angel. However, the Devil himself blessed these two mortals with power in abundance. So much so that they never felt a moment of pain or discomfort from the plague that caused them to fall completely apart.

  Now that their eyeballs hit the pile of body parts on the floor at their see-through feet, they decided to act on their power and become sentient energy.

  “So, my love, where shall we go first?” Annas asked as he dispersed into an unseen vapor of energy. They were aching to try it out. To explore this world and the other dimensions and make some mischief.

  “I think we should go and see Matthias,” Caiaphas replied, his long robe also puddled the floor.

  Annas agreed. “I think you’re right, beautiful. He has been a busy, busy bee,” he said, “With our pollen all over his hectic little legs.”

  “Trying to steal from us,” Caiaphas said, “the nerve of him!”

  His lover was amusing. Both of them laughed as they left.

  Chapter Eight

  The House always wins:

  Matthias was fed up with making the Pharisees stupid rich. He was the only one who knew the Pharisees’ Plata distribution set-up so intimately. Matthias felt that he deserved much more than they were giving him.

  Matthias paid for and brought the dope from an underground lab. He delivered it himself to The Harbor Herod.

  Matthias had to deal for years with that cruel psycho vampire mayor. That Herod was then executed. Mathias now dealt with his killer and successor Salome. She was all greed and ambition. She had no head for this business. Salome was certainly ruthless, as evidenced by her rise, but she began as the vampire’s lover and his niece. And that’s enough to get her the Throne, but it will prove not enough to keep it.

  Matthias and Salome’s Second Tacitus had done a deal together. If he went along with his plans Tacitus assured Matthias that the quota would rise. The Pharisees would not receive all of it. The difference between those two sums would be free and clear for Matthias and Tacitus to divvy up between the two of them.

  Matthias employed an addicted braniac. He cleverly and secretly hit the stolen Plata with fine-processed ephedrine as a cut. This would trickle down in the normal fashion to the dealers to be further cut and sold using the corner shops.

  Matthias figured that as long as the quota floated up to the Pharisees all would be cool. Tacitus
and Matthias would enjoy the increase in the amount of dope sold and everyone would be happy. They were so very sure that the old men would remain both pleased and in the dark.

  Matthias hoped to accomplish all of this by holding the uncut portion that he had culled from the lab. Then give it directly to Tacitus. Salome’s Second then entrusted the pristine untouched Plata to Job. Who hit the shit hard with cut. Job doled this softened shit to some of his shorties. The little niggas were ignorant of the scam.

  This swam naturally upstream from the shorties who sling Plata on the corners, up to Job, who took his pre-arranged cut. Tacitus received the lion’s share and split this 50-50 with Mathias.

  He believed that the scam was just, that the juice squeezed from it was deserved. It was a nice little perk. It’s a self-produced bonus and completely out of the view of the Pharisees.

  But this deception was a game of chance. No matter how well this little scheme of theirs had been thought out and planned it was inevitable that they would be caught. Mathias let himself get distracted by his self-sense of justice and entitlement. Too early counting his chickens before the fuckers done hatched. Mathias forgot. In the end the dice are always loaded and the House always wins.

  The whore’s mouth stretched impossibly. Past the popping of the girl’s jaw points and the unrelenting pain that accompanied it she felt something huge plow invisibly down her throat. Then the door to her consciousness slammed shut. Her ghostly visitors took control.

  Matthias shall pay dearly for this treachery, the Pharisees thought.

  They had the whore sponge the dried spunk from her young pussy.

  He shall pay, they promised each other, and all who stand with the traitor.

  Chapter Nine

  The baby’s always hungry for mother’s milk,

  As well as fresh blood:

  Tacitus was pleased. It had been easy to get his men to accept Salome’s retirement. The men would get a healthy bonus for their cooperation, or termination for any misplaced loyalty. The soldiers, as Tacitus knew they would, fell in line faster than a whore sucks cock on rent day.

  Job had two soldiers gently carry Salome from the bedchamber to the new nursery. Tacitus was adamant she remain alive and that no one was to cause her harm. She was to be a toothless lioness, but protected and as pampered as possible.

  They brought her into the circular stone and mortar room. The climate control had been adjusted to feel comfortable with her forced continued Plata use. Tacitus planned to have Salome kept stoned around the clock. She was to be under close watch and care as her new confines took shape. The baby’s nursery will be her new permanent home. It will spring up around her.

  When it was ready she will be shown her new charge, Tacitus’ two month old son. This tiny seemingly helpless baby boy had already killed his mother and several care givers had run away. They feared for their lives. Tacitus had to find a permanent caregiver for his blood-thirsty progeny. He wasn’t about to lose any more children if he had anything to say about it.

  Salome was gently laid out on an overstuffed bed. And while she lay, they started her new cocktail injections of Plata, prenatal vitamins and a drug to force her breasts to lactate.

  Tacitus’ baby was always hungry for mother’s milk as well as for fresh blood. The baby’s ingestion of Plata filtered through Salome’s breasts should keep the little fucker calm enough to bond with his new mother and not kill her.

  What the hell. Tacitus thought it was worth a try.

  The construction workers checked their fear of the Compound. They focused instead on the fat under the table cash payments made for their quick quality craftsmanship. As well as the decent bonus, the new Herod would also offer up some permanent employment for those construction workers who wanted to stay.

  Not surprisingly, there was great hesitation on the part of the construction workers. They didn’t want to stay one moment longer that wasn’t necessary.

  Ignoring the toothless and unconscious Queen, her blood spilt slick-thick from her empty mouth, the workers bent to it.

  Chapter Ten

  Our hapless prophet opens mouth, inserts foot:

  Pedro was pissed. This would-be prophet was talking some mad shit about Immanuel, Pedro’s Lord and Savior. His Christ had suffered. She had died for all who crave forgiveness and Life everlasting. To have to listen to a wretch like Jonah talking his foul stupid shit was chewing tin foil to Pedro.

  He stared daggers at the little fucking blasphemer. It was much too much.

  Pedro was at the coffee table watching Jonah, the little bitch, as he sucked up some more of the Plata. Pedro recalled a time before Immanuel when he would have done anything. He would have killed anyone just for the small pile of dope sitting in front of Jonah. Hell, Pedro would have happily killed every man, woman, child, vampire and monster in the whole of The Harbor for the ounce of uncut Plata he brought back for Jonah.

  Pedro looked at it, gritting his teeth. He smelled the swollen humidity in his sinuses. The drip began to slip on down his throat. The responses triggered by Pedro being so close to the drug.

  I could kill Jonah’s ass, thought Pedro. And I would enjoy doing it. I really would.

  But Pedro didn’t kill him. His marching orders were very precise.

  Still…

  * * * *

  Jonah glanced up at Pedro and saw the big man staring hard at the pile of Plata. Pedro was lost in thought. Jonah recognized that look. He had seen it in himself as well as the fiends on the corner. Jonah smiled a knowing little crooked grin.

  “You want some, don’t ya,” Jonah said. “Look at you all big and bad,” then, like a dumb shit he added: “holier than thou motherfucking closet junkie.”

  That cooked it. Pedro snapped.

  He scooped Jonah up in an instant. A silly cry of shock emitted from him. Pedro had Jonah grasped by the belt buckle and shirt front. Plata expelled from his nose and hit Pedro full in the face, dusting his chin braids. The two of them were so close to one another that Jonah thought for an awkward moment that we were going to kiss. Instead Pedro grunted and tossed him bodily up. The ceiling of the co-op cracked from the force of the impact.

  Jonah dropped from the broken ceiling. He crashed down into the dope-topped coffee table, scattering precious shit everywhere. He lifted his dazed head from the shattered table. Pedro snatched him up by his hair.

  The pain brought him all the way to. Jonah slapped at Pedro’s iron grip, crying out in pain and embarrassment. Pedro lifted him by the hair all the way up off the floor. He was suspended in mid-air. His toes tried in vain to reach the carpet. With his feet several inches off the floor, Pedro brought Jonah’s face to face with him.

  “Immanuel charged me to protect your miserable life,” Pedro told him in a low serious voice. Jonah was wise enough to be frightened. “You have a sacred duty to Her,” Pedro continued. “You must go see Herod and tell him to repent.”

  Pedro dropped him. Jonah crumpled crying to the floor. Pedro knelt down in front of him.

  “However, please bear in mind that She said nothing to me about tolerating your foul blasphemy,” Pedro informed a cowed Jonah. “Believe me junkie I won’t.” He slapped Jonah hard in the face. “Don’t talk that garbage to me. Not ever again.” He was knocked back. Jonah sat there covering his stinging face with his hands. His body was still a mass of pain from the Harbor beating adventure. Jonah began to really cry. “I’ll leave you now,” Pedro told him. “Do your duty or I will be forced to come back and bust your shit for reals.” Pedro stood up and looked down at Jonah with disgust. “You fucking cry-baby,” he sneered.

  Pedro disappeared. He was gone before Jonah even opened his salt-wet eyes. Pedro could come and go like the breeze.

  Summer breeze, makes me feel fine…

  Jonah cried hard while hugging himself. He loathed this existence.

  What was the point to all this suffering, he wondered. God took everything that he loved and held dear and for what? So Jonah could go
and demand redemption from the Herod of the same town that was used as an instrument of God’s destruction. Are you fucking serious? The Harbor took them all. And Pedro’s precious Lord let it happen.

  Jonah wished so badly that he didn’t believe in God. It would be so much easier. He wished that a prominent minister hadn’t raised him. That he had not gone to Seminary to also be a minister of God.

  Oh, good fuck I wished I didn’t believe.

  But Jonah did believe in God all right. No matter how distraught and angry he’d become, he still believed. Not any longer with all his heart and mind, but enough.

  Pitiful sobs sound-tracked the tortuous memory of that night in The Harbor. Jonah’s world had flipped from normal to tragic in the blink of an eye.

  God’s will my ass. Jonah cried and cried. Jonah wished he knew why God had to take them all away. God damn it why did You have to take them all? You made them leave me here all alone, Jonah thought, gesturing to his stinky, filthy little house. I wish with all my being that You weren’t real. But fuck it I do believe in God. I believe just enough to hate Your fucking guts.

  Jonah lay on the floor. He turned to his side and curled up in the fetal position. From this vantage point, Jonah could see the Plata that Pedro’s violence had scattered hither and yon. With a finished cut-up version the street value for the wasted Plata was about $300.

  It had to be the most expensive carpet-fresh sprinkles in the world.

  God did that too, Jonah thought.

  Chapter Eleven

  Back in the day:

  The vampire spied the young woman. His eyes yellowed hungrily. She was unaware of his interest in her, completely so. She was pregnant. The vampire could hear both of their hearts as they beat together in tangent. The big one beat loud and slow, the tiny one soft and fast. One heart fed the other. It was sweet.