“Hello. Why are you here?”
They hadn’t spoken since he’d left her sorry ass on the football field months ago, after she’d sulked too much and, perhaps, said a few things that crossed the line.
“I finished a project early and thought it was high time we talked.”
She sighed. “If you want to tear me a new one, I get it. But can you just tweet it at me or send me an email like everyone else? Just don’t do it in front of the dogs.”
“I’m not on Twitter,” he said flatly. “Let’s just grab another dog and get a walk in. I’m getting a little pudgy around the middle with all this office work.”
“You couldn’t be pudgy around the middle if you ate an entire human who was pudgy around the middle.” She motioned to the kennels. “Any preferences?”
He scanned the canine selection. “How do you even choose?”
“I usually just go down the line, start where I left off last time.”
“Okay, so that one?” He pointed to a short-haired tan thing with a jaw like a cinderblock, sleeping on a ratty blanket at the back of its kennel.
“No can do. It’s got a red dot. That means it could be dangerous and we’re not allowed to take it out.”
Quentin scanned slowly, scoping out their surroundings, then he turned to her. “Looks friendly enough, and who’s gonna stop us? You think God is going to let His daughter get attacked by a pit bull?”
She shrugged. “Her daughter. And, yeah, I could see that happening. But let’s give it a shot. You keep watch.”
Getting the leash on the dog was anticlimactic, and the good girl wagged her tail and came with them gladly.
They walked the perimeter, and Quentin said, “About the last time we talked …”
“You were completely right. I was being a sorry sack of crap and I crossed a line.”
“I’m not gonna argue that. But what I wanted to say is that I see you taking action. Finally. So I’m back.”
A part of her wanted to get mad at him, call him a fair-weather friend, but that wasn’t exactly what he was. He’d just gotten tired of her crap. Hell, everyone but Jesus had reached that point during those months.
“Good. I’m glad you’re back. You’re the sanest person I know, and things are getting progressively insaner by the day.”
The dog sniffed his shoes intently, then licked him on the ankle. He squatted down to get on eye level, and then, as if addressing the dog, he said, “I’m sorry I stayed away so long. I should have come sooner.”
“Nah, it’s fine.” She paused. “Have you seen that NFL commercial with Chris?”
He got to his feet in a hurry. “Okay, I didn’t want to be the first to bring it up, but what in your Father’s name was that messy shit?”
“It’s my Mother’s name now, or at least publicly, and I have no clue.”
Quentin sighed. “Chris sure does try hard, doesn’t he?”
“He does.”
“You spoken with him lately?”
“Only when he called to tell me about the commercial. The time before that was just about money. Indulgence.” It was the first time she’d spoken it aloud, how she really viewed the money Chris transferred to her each month. She remembered learning about the concept in high school history and had always thought it was a strange thing. Why would anyone fall for that? Paying money to curry favor with God?
And yet here she was, taking Chris’s monthly tribute so that he could continue his separate life without feeling guilty for having abandoned his angelic duties to her.
“Did you just say ‘penance’?” Quentin squinted skeptically at her.
“Yeah. Why not? That’s what it is, isn’t it?”
“Damn, Jess, you really are thick sometimes.”
“Isn’t that a good thing? Don’t black guys like thick women?”
He shut his eyes and groaned. “Not that kind of thick.”
They continued on until No Name 32 paused to defecate. Once the crap was bagged, Jessica decided to risk it. “You once said you weren’t thrilled that I was white, what did you mean by that?”
“Ah, yeah.” He stared off at the trees behind the facility, nodding slightly. “I remember that. I probably shouldn’t have brought it up.”
“But you did. What did you mean by it?”
“I meant what I said. Sometimes it feels like my whole life has been spent answering to and learning to navigate whiteness, and then I come to find I’m an angel and my job is to serve a white messiah? I mean, damn. I know you won’t want to hear this, but my people have been serving the white messiah for a long-ass time. Way before you and I were born.”
“I’m sorry,” was out of her mouth before she could stop it, followed closely by, “if I could change being white, I would.”
“Then you’re even dumber than I thought. Jess, you have to be white. It’s just the way it is. And if I couldn’t accept that, I wouldn’t be here. You wishing you weren’t white doesn’t help anyone. You gotta accept it before you can make use of it.”
“But I don’t want to make use of it. I mean, isn’t it bad to make use of it? If being born this way gives me a leg up, I shouldn’t go around taking advantage of it, should I?”
“Are we still talking about race, or the fact that you’re God’s daughter?”
She tossed the bagged shit in the receptacle as they passed. “I don’t know.”
“Look, I know this is complicated, and it’s not ideal from my perspective, but I have to believe there’s a bigger reason for it I just don’t see. Don’t abdicate your power, though, Jess. We already know what happens when you take one step back. Jimmy Dean takes one step forward. I don’t know what the solution to this bigger question is, but it sure as hell isn’t giving Jimmy Dean the upper hand.”
“You’re not wrong. Though, to be fair, I haven’t heard much from him since the pigfucking scandal broke. I think he might have his hands full with the cover-up.”
They put No Name 32 back into her kennel, and Quentin lingered by it while Jessica returned the leash to its hook.
“You ever think about starting a jail break?” he asked.
Jessica sighed. “All the time.”
Jessica and Quentin had just finished up a pub lunch of burgers and beer and were walking back to their cars when she paused by a corner store. “I gotta grab some food for the week.” She gestured at the small shop in the middle of town that didn’t carry any brands you’ve heard of.
It was as Jessica had her items on the counter (“No, I didn’t bring my own bag. Yes, I’ll purchase one.”) when she spotted it. Her brain was slow from the beer and burger, and for a moment, it didn’t register that the image she was looking at was her own.
She grabbed the plastic wrapped cookie off the rack of impulse buys and held it closer to her face. Miraculous Macadamia read the label. She whirled around, shouting, “Quentin!”
He jumped back, holding up the candy bar he intended to buy in self-defense. “Whoa. What? I’m right here.”
“Did you see this?” She held up the cookie.
He stared at it, said, “Huh.”
She flipped it over a few times in her hand, looking at all the packaging. “How is she doing this?”
“I imagine she custom ordered a brand to toast your image onto the front of things.”
Jessica looked through the rest of the cookies on the display and suspected he was right; they all looked exactly the same. “She’s merchandizing my stuff.”
“It’s not your stuff.”
“How much money is that evil bitch making on me?” She tossed the cookie onto the rack again. “I bet they taste like shit.”
The cashier said, “They’re not bad, actually.”
She rounded on him. “Don’t you ‘actually’ me.” She felt Quentin’s hand slide onto her shoulder and inhaled to gather herself. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I’m sure they’re heavenly.” The bitterness wasn’t gone, but she was no longer shouting, so she called it a win.
St
ill seething a few minutes later as they left with their new hemp grocery bags, Jessica and Quentin made for the parking garage again.
“Have you even talked to her yet?” he asked.
“Who, the Devil? No. No, I have not spoken to her. Because if I even so much as see her, I’m going to smite her off the face of the earth.”
“Uh, about that.” He leaned closer. “Should you be saying that kind of thing aloud? Has that case been dropped yet?”
“I told you, it was never opened. The cops didn’t believe in smiting, and neither did the judge they ran it by. My assault charges didn’t even stick. They claimed it was self-defense that made me punch that guy after all the stalking.”
“Right.” Quentin nodded somberly. “I imagine it must be frustrating to be presumed innocent no matter what you say and do.”
“It is. But at least now I know that I can smite Dolores without even getting in trouble. When I do see her again, it’ll be for the last—”
Dolores Thomas appeared around the corner a block up the street from them. Jessica grabbed Quentin by the arm and dragged him into the closest shop.
Quentin looked around the space, confused. “Did you need something leather?”
And now Jessica looked around. Everything was leather. Brown leather, not black, which was an important distinction. Wallets, bracelets, belts, even neck ties were laid out on long tables that ran the length of the narrow shop. “No. I don’t need leather. Didn’t you see her?”
“See who?”
“The Devil!”
Quentin squinted at her. “Dolores? You just saw her?”
“Yes! She just appeared out of nowhere down the street!”
He nodded slowly. “The same woman you were just talking about smiting appeared, and now we’re hiding in a bovine serial killer’s wet dream?” He nodded at the cowhide lamp.
The clerk approached. “Howdy folks. Can I—”
“No,” Jessica said, cutting him off. “We’re just hiding from someone.”
He must have heard that often, because he simply shrugged and walked back to his leather chair behind the counter, his overdone spurs clanking with each step.
“Are you sure it was her?” Quentin asked.
“Yes, Quentin. I’m sure it was her.”
Dolores Thomas walked past the storefront.
“Oh shit, you weren’t kidding.” He moved behind her and pushed her toward the door. “Well, now’s your shot.”
She wriggled away. “What the shit are you talking about?! I can’t just call her out in the middle of the street like this is the Wild West—” Her argument faltered as she looked around the store again. “I can’t do that.”
“You can. And you might even win. Smite her in the streets.”
“I can’t believe you. It’s only four in the afternoon.”
“Is there a better time of day to smite someone, or are you just pulling excuses out of your ass?”
“Look,” she lowered her voice now as the clerk was clearly trying to listen in. “I know you started talking to me again because I stopped wallowing in my own muck and took action, but I … I just don’t have it in me to take this action. If that means you want to take off again, fine, but I’m not doing it. I’m not ready to take on the Devil. She outsmarted me, fair and square, and there’s really no evidence supporting the idea that I’ve gotten any smarter since the incident.”
“I’m not going to take off. You’re right. Taking her on right now probably isn’t smart. So at least you’re smart enough to know that.” He checked out the front windows again, then returned to her side and put an arm around her shoulders. “Let’s get out of this creepy place.”
“Good idea.”
“And then you’re going to go home and think of ways to make yourself smart enough to take on the Devil, and I’m going to go adopt No Name 32.”
“They won’t let you adopt her. She’s dangerous.”
“Then I’ll steal her.” He held the door open and let her go out first. “See Jess? When you set your mind to something, you can accomplish anything.”
Chapter Eight
Jessica didn’t make it to her front door before Jesus intercepted her and invited her for coffee over at his and Jeremy’s place. She gladly accepted, not having anything else planned for the afternoon and wanting to get their take on her recent discovery.
Over the months since Jesus had settled in there, the decor, which had previously been so sparse and impersonal it seemed like Homeland Security ought to be informed, had received a few updates.
Now, instead of looking like the home of someone whose weekend plans included not living until Monday, it looked a little like an old-school opium den. Colorful, ornate rugs were scattered on the ground, and floor cushions had replaced the stiff, black pleather couch that she would have sworn Jeremy had pulled right out of a frat house—and not one of the wealthier frats. A low table, hardly more than a glazed cross-section of an old tree, sat in the middle of the circle of cushions, and she suspected it had cost at least a few thousand dollars, which was nothing to a low-key media mogul like Jeremy.
Speaking of him, as Jessica entered, he was relaxing on the floor, propped up on one elbow as he giggled at something on his cell phone.
Jesus whispered, “Memes. I don’t get them, but he says they’re good.”
Jeremy looked up from his phone. “Oh hey, neighbor.”
“You done with your three decisions?” she asked. His approach of only making three business decisions a day didn’t add up to how he could have the kind of money he claimed to have, but she had long since stopped trying to figure that out; very little about Jeremy Archer added up. And yet, when bills came due, he paid them.
“Yeah. I actually made four, so I’m only going to make two tomorrow. Come here, have you seen this meme?”
“I’ll pour you some coffee,” whispered Jesus. “Cream and sugar?”
“Please.” She walked over and crouched down to look at Jeremy’s screen. It was a picture of Jessica petting the slobbery Great Dane at the park with the caption, “She could even be Dog’s Gaughter” above it.
Jeremy giggled again. “You gotta admit, that’s funny.”
She didn’t gotta admit. It made so little sense. But as Cash had explained to her just the other day, memes like this one, which was clearly derivative of already derivative content, meant interest in the subject was waning. “Yeah, that’s a pretty good one.”
He put his phone into the small titanium box he kept around to protect himself from unnecessary radiation and government spying. “How’s your day going?”
Jessica located her favorite cushion and settled there across the table from Jeremy. “Good, then great, then not great.”
“I heard a funny saying today,” Jesus said, popping in from the kitchen with a triangle of steaming cups of coffee clutched between his hands. The contents of each was a slightly different shade, and he handed the lightest one to Jessica before settling on the floor with his legs crossed. “It was, ‘Turn that frown upside down.’ Ha! Isn’t that great? It rhymes. English is great for rhyming.”
“Right,” said Jessica, body slamming her desire to frown in an attempt to turn it upside down.
“Jessica was just about to tell us about her day,” Jeremy said.
“Oh! Delightful! I hope it was a good one.”
She rushed through the good part (finally getting her turn at the animal shelter) and the great part (making up with Quentin) and got to the not great part, where she planned on investing most of her storytelling energy.
“She is selling my image in local stores now!” she shouted, having worked both herself and her audience into a lather.
“That meanie!” Jesus spat. “Oooh, boy. I mean, I knew Lucifer was a meanie before, but this just takes it into new territory.”
“How does she do it?” Jeremy asks. “How does she get your image on each of them?”
“Maybe a brand? Like, she just custom ordered one and
stamps it on there.”
“Or”—Jeremy leaned closer over the table—“it’s something much more sinister.”
She knew there was no reason for him to make this assumption, but she liked it just fine. “Probably. I mean, she is the Devil.”
Jeremy rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Do you think she would remember what I look like?”
“When was the last time she saw you?”
“At your grand opening.”
Jessica thought about it. “That was a while ago. And there were a lot of people there. Probably not. Wait! Are you thinking …”
He nodded. “It’s time for corporate espionage.” He paused. “But then again, it always is.”
As it turned out, Jeremy’s condo had never been as empty as it’d seemed. It was just that all the good stuff was hidden behind a false wall, in a hidden room. And that was where Jessica and Jesus observed the monitor that displayed the livestream from Jeremy Archer’s hidden body cam.
They’d spent the evening concocting their plan, and once Jeremy had made his two business decisions the following day, they’d begun the tech setup. It was fairly straightforward, and while Jesus simply sat back and marveled at the modern miracles, Jessica did basic things like holding equipment and speaking into it to make sure everything worked correctly. Jeremy handled the rest, and before long he was all wired up and out the door.
At the moment, he was walking down the block toward It is Risen, and the wobble of the camera was making Jessica seasick, so she allowed herself a moment to look away. “You think this will work?”
Jesus frowned. “Maybe. But it seems dishonest, doesn’t it?”
“It’s complete dishonesty.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re just now figuring this out?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “It was just so exciting at first, I didn’t think it through.”
“Hey, listen.” She placed a hand on his arm. “We’re dealing with the Devil here. I think it’s okay to use a little subterfuge.”
He nodded but continued to appear concerned.
Jeremy’s voice came through the speakers: “Okay, I’m about to go in.”
The End Is Her Page 4
