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  Shit.

  Something deep inside the ancient reptilian part of the Herod’s brain told Tacitus to say fuck it and run; running until he collapses. That’s what the warning stated. Tacitus didn’t listen to the warning bell that was peeling inside his head like mad.

  Tacitus should have.

  Shit.

  Chapter Fourteen

  This is how Mathias got himself whacked:

  Jorgie porgie had sat in a tall comfortable chair in a darkened corner of the whore’s room. She was unaware of Jorgie’s presence. She diligently worked Matthias over. She was in a reverse cowgirl humping a groaning Matthias and fumbling with a loaded syringe.

  Matthias was filling her cunny with his pharmacologically enhanced cock. The Pharisees were invisible inside the whore. The two ghosts were surprised at how difficult it was to concentrate. To be inside of a woman and to feel her being filled with pumping male was sweet solace to the pair of old crones. It was intense pleasure to the sentient ghosts inhabiting her.

  They had a hotshot loaded. They were just waiting for the plunge. The Pharisee-controlled whore discovered Matthias stealing from them after only a few short questions. It was more than enough to confirm their suspicions about their wayward managers.

  Matthias and Tacitus were embezzling from the Pharisees by culling product for their own gain. They stepped on the bulk in an attempt to hide the theft from the Pharisees.

  A random purity check unbeknownst to them showed a decrease in quality. Subsequent spot-checks then confirmed it. Matthias and Tacitus were hitting the stolen Plata with cut and selling it outside the chain of command.

  There was no choice. Those who take from Annas and Caiaphas Pharisee without sanction get dead. And now through this puppet-whore the ghosts were going to get to do it themselves. It wasn’t with their own bare hands, but close enough.

  Matthias closed in on his orgasm. He grabbed the whore’s hips and shoved his shit in deep. He was grunting from the effort. The needle-less syringe was gripped tight by her hand. She cupped and lifted his hard testes with her other hand. She pushed the dripping Plata-filled syringe into his anus. They gave Matthias a huge and lethal speed bomb.

  Matthias came a gallon into the condom. Immediately he went limp as the plunger was depressed. The capillary net encasing the rectum sucked up the Plata. It dumped into the larger veins and sent it screaming to Matthias’ heart. He seized hard.

  The whore climbed off. Come dripped down her thighs from the condom that was still stuck inside her swollen vulva. The eyes of Matthias rolled back. He died right then and there. Sadly, he died before he got high. Poor Matthias crashed before he even lifted off the runway.

  The Pharisees chuckled with merriment and delight within the soiled whore. They wanted her to shower, but stopped when they finally noticed him.

  Jorgie rose from his corner chair perch and came near. The whore turned as white as a starving vampire from shock and fear. The Mighty One stood before the Pharisees.

  “It is I,” the boy said. His shirt tail was un-tucked and his fingernails were dirty. “Give it to me,” Jorgie commanded. The Pharisee-filled whore handed over the empty syringe to Jorgie. He rummaged through the whore’s purse. He found a needle to screw onto the end of the spent syringe. “We will need to leave a mark on him,” he said, “So the authorities will think the overdose was a self-induced accident.”

  The Pharisees were too frightened to think clearly. They just stood there inside the whore. She was paling further and beginning to shake.

  “Hurry and clean yourself,” Jorgie porgie ordered. He twisted the sharp new needle into place. “I want to see my prodigy. I have plans,” said Satan-Jorgie. “Job must be made aware of his destiny. And I have designs for them all.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  A brief history of the Herod’s rising star:

  Job grew up without knowing his father. His mother refused to speak of him. Only to say that he was a bad man and they were better off without him around.

  Job’s mother tried her best to raise him in The Harbor as an indoor kid. Unlike his brothers and sisters, Job rebelled.

  He began missing school and running drugs. Job fathered children with teenage girls before turning seventeen. He was well on his way to becoming just another nigga in The Harbor. Burnt out, dead, or imprisoned before the age of twenty-one. But Lucifer pared his favor upon an unwitting Job.

  In order for Job to survive in this harsh environ it was necessary for the young man to leave The Harbor. Soon it became time that it should be fulfilled. It was the year that one of the high schools for The Harbor closed its doors.

  Gangs developed by the proliferation of the drug trade and by splicing geographical territory. The same time twice as many students squeezed their asses into an already overcrowded high school. Rival gangs now stomped the same hallways, classrooms and schoolyards. Staying in school was not for the faint of heart.

  Dropping out and getting deeper into drug running was still dangerous. Every single motherfucker out there was aching to hustle you or straight up rip you off. Both choices can get you dead, but niggas made money slinging dope. In school you just get punked, or worse.

  Jorgie the Diabolous manipulated The Harbor like a giant chessboard. He moved niggas hither and yon to suit his needs. Jorgie influenced a close friend of Job’s to challenge him. He questioned Job’s intelligence. Both of them had enough of high school and were firmly ensconced in the drug trade. Job decided to take the GED exam for shits and giggles. He passed it easily and without any preparation.

  Then there was Job’s run-in with the Law. One of the local hoodlums took notice of Job. He had been doing well. He got paid and was making moves. The hoodlum decided to do something about this young upstart. Niggas in The Harbor act like their world was a giant bucket of sand crabs. There need be no lid to keep them down in the waste. Each time one attempts an escape from the bucket, the rest of the crabs will grab hold of the would-be escapee. Pull it back in. Hating in The Harbor achieved art form.

  This particular hoodlum was telling a cop friend about Job. They decided to tax Job. He didn’t take kindly to extortion. Job shot both the thug and the cop. They survived Job’s flurry of angry bullets. Worse, they saw him do it. With payback coming Job knew he had to scoot.

  Armed with a GED and being eighteen years old Job joined the US Army and left The Harbor behind. He tested crazy well and thrived in the military environment.

  Job stayed in the Army for eight years before his Honorable Discharge led him back to The Harbor with a top ranking of Sergeant and two years of college under his belt. He was twenty-six years old. By then he had fathered ten children with six different women in three countries.

  When Job returned he stayed with his very proud mother for a very short while. He visited the few friends and acquaintances that were still around. Life expectancy in The Harbor for males was on par with pirates from Somalia. Job happily discovered no one left alive who was after him for past indiscretions.

  Job then jumped right back in the game. This was well thought out, not just old habit. The Army bred in him, discipline, self-control and an orderly desire to succeed. Job’s self-esteem abounded. He was no longer overly impressed or intimidated by anyone or any-thing that calls The Harbor home. Job was bound and determined to get his. He bent right to it.

  As soon as he learned the lay of the land he found himself in the Compound. Speaking first with Tacitus and then with Salome. The New Herod deferred recruitment to Tacitus. A product of first the military and then the police, Tacitus appreciated the bright young man. He knew he would not need to wipe this young man’s ass for him. The Army was the best at de-bitchifying the green recruits. And if Job can hack the Army for eight years, there’s very little he can’t handle. Young Job just needed to learn the ropes, how the Pharisees organization functioned. Job flourished back in The Harbor, just like he did in the military. And since Job had the perfect combination Tacitus needed.

  Duri
ng the time Job was in the Army and impregnating females, most all of his contemporaries had been killed. The rest dropped out of the Life and left town for good. So Job was new and eager, but at the same time almost ten years older than most that would eventually fall under his command. It was an ideal arrangement for all and Job rose quickly within the Plata hierarchy. Eventually Job became Tacitus’ de-facto go-to guy.

  Tacitus never had Job do anything overtly dangerous. He could not say why. It was just that Job seemed too smart and valuable to waste on grisly violence. The Devil made damn sure.

  Now Job is twenty-nine and deep in the Plata hierarchy. All twelve of his children were financially supported by him. It gave Job a deep lasting sense of fulfillment to do what most Harbor motherfuckers wouldn’t even consider doing. Job had even recently realized a closely guarded dream to have them all living under the same great big roof.

  They lived in an apartment building that Job had bought outright from some poor dumb shit. The owner got in over his head in drug debt. Job was ruthless enough to have had this all carefully planned out. When the owner came wringing his hands one day Job was ready. He had the legal papers already in hand.

  Job gave to each mother (two of whom were smuggled into the States illegally) and their offspring their own separate quarters. All were as lavishly furnished as Job could manage. Job, as king of his castle, kept a small private studio sized space for himself. He spent a goodly chunk of change returning the ground floor back into a huge kitchen and dining area. Job insisted they all take as many meals together as his responsibilities to Herod and Tacitus allowed. His children were home-schooled by his mother. She was deferred to and treated as the matriarch of Job’s family, which she loved. All was well in Job’s world.

  Lucifer, still unknown to Job, had paved the way for all of this. He gave to him insight and bursts of inspiration which guided him through deadly waters in uncertain times. Job cruised by with wisdom and smooth sailing.

  Those that are truly evil can still love their families. Job sure did love his. And the Devil loved him some Job.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Our hapless prophet…

  Gets off his back, Jack.

  Makes a new plan, Stan.

  Don’t need to be coy, Roy,

  Just listen to me:

  Jonah wiped free the tears from his eyes. He hefted himself up from the floor of the living room. It was time for Jonah to run.

  All Jonah needed to accomplish this was his bulk of Plata and the cash that the big scary dude left him. Jonah needed access to accounts while he was on the run. Other than that, Jonah figured he’d pack light and run quick.

  Jonah could not believe this silly shit was happening to him. He went to his bedroom and removed a dusty camping-sized backpack from the closet. Jonah would only bring the bare bone essentials.

  Shit man, I didn’t know where I’m gonna end up. All I know for sure is that I have a grip of hard drugs and plenty of cash money. I’m gonna run from a huge motherfucker who can disappear and reappear at will. He claims to speak for a little preacher girl who he insists has risen from the dead. You know, everyday shit.

  As far as Jonah knew he’s probably the only one that could even see the big apparition. With his lumpy purple neck scars and no tolerance for blasphemy.

  Jonah could confide in no one. He couldn’t go to authorities of any kind. Not even the spiritual kind. Jonah knew no one would believe him.

  Hell, I wouldn’t believe me. And what if they got the notion to detain my ass? How would I fare then?

  Jonah never used needles, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t an addict. He still very much was one. Any junkie will cold sweat in an instant if cut-off from his supply.

  Jonah considered all that while he went through the mundane chore of packing. He shoved socks and underwear, warm jeans and khakis, sweatshirts, sweaters and the like into the backpack.

  Jonah tried through his anger, malignant depression and raw fear to plan. The main issue being the safe transport on his person of $10,000 in cash and 28 grams of pure uncut Plata. The dope would bulk easily to the tune of ten times once whacked with heavy cut. Jonah would become a walking, talking, rolling felony.

  Jonah contemplated the feat of running through a terror-stricken America. He was going to attempt this neat trick with a butt-load of cash money and six figures worth of the most dangerous recreational drug ever devised. This much weight could never be passed off as ‘personal usage’. If he was caught with an ounce of pure Plata he would be robbed and killed. If he was lucky, Jonah would only be arrested. If the straight cops got him Jonah would be tossed in a deep dark hole for many fun-filled years of sleepless nights and rectal pull-up repair surgeries. If the dirty ones found him first it would be dos or tres in the skull. That’s all, niggas. But he’ll be double-damned if he would leave the Plata. It would be turning his back on sweet angel kisses. No. The shit was coming with. No doubt about it.

  Airports were out of the question, trains as well. Busses would work, but Jonah needed the first leg of the journey to get him a big pussy-fat chunk of miles away.

  Then he thought, what about water?

  Jonah went to his computer and checked on any ships that were leaving today, right now. He found one. It was a big old iron bastard that plied the Grand Waters. She’d been christened the Edmund Fitzgerald and was due to set sail later that same day.

  Jonah almost booked passage but hesitated. He was loathed to use a credit card and leave a paper trail. Jonah would have to take his chances and go down to the pier in person as soon as possible.

  Jonah would pay cash for a berth. Fuck, he had plenty of green and would happily go wherever the ship was headed. It struck him as odd, but it honestly did not matter where he ended up. As long as it was far away from here it would be fine. Anywhere but here, man. Then he could hole up in some out of the way motel or hostel.

  Jonah would hide out and stay high.

  First things first, my friend, just get the fuck away.

  Jonah finished packing. He sincerely hoped he wouldn’t be forced to leave Big City behind forever. Hell, Jonah wished he didn’t have to leave the City at all. Jonah had everything there that he needed to embrace a shaky future. Forget his horrendous past. He didn’t need or want any more than that. Just get high. Blunt out the vicious memories of Jonah’s monumental cowardly failings and then, finally, to die himself.

  Not too much to ask, he thought.

  Jonah stopped and chose his favorite photograph of Rebecca. It was taken a few months after she and he met, during their first weekend away together.

  “My God,” Jonah thought aloud as he lightly touched her captured image, “She was so lovely.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  He’ll come around, once the baby is born:

  Jonah was in love with Rebecca almost immediately. She told him through tears that weekend she was pregnant with his child. They were on the beach, he remembered easily, and the clichéd sun was even setting. Rebecca sat on the sand and was still and quiet for a time. She told him in no uncertain terms that she was keeping the baby. Jonah asked Rebecca if she wanted to be married.

  Jonah’s father was less than ecstatic about the forthcoming nuptials. Even more so when Jonah announced rather too grandly and hotly that he would also be leaving Seminary short of graduating. The elder minister blamed Rebecca and her pregnancy for Jonah’s dropping out.

  Jonah did want to start working to take care of his new family. That wasn’t the only reason he was happy to quit. Jonah realized he’d only been studying for the ministry because that’s what his father had wanted. It’s what was expected of him.

  Jonah looked forward, with a good dose of young foolishness, to joining the working class and paying his own freight. It wasn’t fair to blame Rebecca an instant for this decision, but Jonah’s father wasn’t hearing it.

  Jonah tried to talk to his father. He even had all kinds of responses to the known recriminations Jonah would have to sh
oulder from Amittai. He needn’t have bothered. Amittai was so stunned and upset that he turned right around and left the co-op. He left without saying a word to either Rebecca or Jonah. He even went so far as to mumble that Rebecca was nothing but a shameless harlot, a Jezebel.

  Red-faced, Jonah lunged after his father’s retreating back. Rebecca grabbed him and shook her head. It was a good thing his father practically ran out. Jonah could have killed the televangelist for what his father called his fiancée.

  The minister stormed out of his own front door with the two of them standing frozen and embarrassed in the living room.

  Jonah sighed and turned nonplussed. Rebecca stood there with her cute little pudgy belly bun. He had a pained smile plastered on his face. Jonah shrugged his sorry to her. He was so embarrassed.

  “It was a shock to him,” she said, “He’ll come around,” Rebecca assured, “Once the baby is born.”

  Rebecca and Jonah both stayed in a nearby Big City motel for three days waiting for Amittai’s return. He returned on the fourth day but would not answer any of his son’s phone calls or notes. It was then that Jonah resigned himself. Rebecca and he would be raising the child without the guidance or even the presence of Jonah’s famous televangelist father. It was a fucking senseless shame.

  Less than seven short months later everyone I cared about was dead.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Our hapless prophet beats feet:

  Jonah finished packing his one pack and slung it over his back. He took a couple tugs of Plata from his porta-toot. Jonah stuffed it down the front pocket of his jeans within easy reach. He grabbed up keys and went to the front door. Jonah turned back once to look at his home and killed the lights. He shut and locked the door.