We’re getting close. I’m at 55,000 words and I think we’re getting close to the final confrontations. Should be done in another 10,000 words or so. So if I can stay on pace, that would be next week sometime. But then it’ll be another week or so of uploading.
I found a parking deck just off Broadway, because I figured if a street preacher was worth his salt, he’d hang out at one of the dens of iniquities that made up the redneck street of dreams. There were enough sins committed against the memories of mamas, pickup trucks, dogs and trains in a three-block stretch of downtown Nashville to make Lucky blush, so I figured it was just a matter of time before we found our guy.
Sometimes I take being right to a whole new level. We’d walked a couple of blocks when a body came flying out of a bar almost directly on top of us. A kid landed flat on his ass up against a newspaper box while a couple of neckless bouncers glared at us like they needed a little more ass to kick while another guy came out from inside the club and threw a Bible at the kid’s head. Michael leaned down and caught The Book before it could hit the ground, and handed it to the kid.
“Thanks. This was my dad’s. I’d hate for anything to happen to it. I guess they don’t really mean it when they call it an open mike night.” He just lay there on the sidewalk, leaning his head on the newspaper box like it was something that happened every night. Hell, for all I knew, it did happen every night.
“Why? What happened?” Emily looked all kinds of concerned for the kid, which immediately set of the Daddy warning bells in my head. The kid looked like ten miles of bad road, with a pierced lip and eyebrow, more hardware in his ears than Emily, Eve and Myra combined, a couple of armfuls of tattoos, and a T-shirt that said, in big jagged letters “Jesus Rocks” on the front. He wore jeans that looked like they’d been torn more from getting thrown out of bars than from work, and pair of scuffed Chuck Taylors on his feet. I hated his guts a little, I thought.
“I signed up for a slot on the open mike list, and when my time came, I took the chance to speak the word of the Lord to those gathered. The proprietors took some exception to my version of the open mike performance, and I was asked to leave. When I objected, well, you saw the results.” He sounded a little like Michael. I definitely hated his guts a little. Then I looked over at Emily again, and I saw a little glassy look in her eyes. Shit. She was smitten. Things only got worse when I looked at Michael, who was grinning like a cat with a mouthful of feathers. Shit.
“You gotta be kidding me.” I said to the angel.
“No, Adam. This is who we’re looking for. This young man is the Chosen. I can feel it.” Michael looked like he was about to wet himself. Emily looked like she was head over heels in puppy love, and I’m sure I looked like I’d just swallowed something rotten. I was gonna need a drink or ten to deal with this one.
“Alright, Junior. Get up, come with me and keep your mouth shut.” I reached down for the kid and hauled him to his feet. I put an arm around his shoulders and steered him halfway down the block into another bar. The bouncer gave me a look that said “If I hear one syllable of proselytizing, I’m gonna toss you out on your ass.” Ok, the bouncer probably didn’t actually think the word proselytizing; I might be giving him a little too much credit. Either way, I led Junior to a booth in the back and ordered four PBRs. We sat there in silence until our beers arrived, along with our cohorts.
“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t allow alcohol to enter the sanctuary of my body.”
“Jesus turned water into wine. Now sit there and drink.” I was not in the mood for this, but it looked like I was going to have a conversation on faith and fact with a true believer. True believers give me gas.
Michael and Emily joined us in the booth, with Emily sitting next to me to better observe the tattooed and pierced messiah-in-training, and grabbed their drinks. Michael made a face at the beer, but after a look from me he wisely refrained from comment. I drained the first PBR in a long pull and motioned for the waitress to bring another round.
“Sir, I must insist. The body is a temple and I must honor my almighty Father by keeping it pure.” Junior was starting to wind me up a little, so I leaned forward and made sure I had his undivided attention.
“Look, kid. I’m gonna drink my next beer like I’m on a mission, which I am. Then I’m gonna nurse my third one while Michael and I tell you a little story. And I can pretty much guaran-damn-tee you that you’ll accept what we’ve got to tell you a little better if you’ve had a little booze to grease the mental wheels.” About then my second beer showed up, and I did indeed swallow it down with a certain intensity. I dropped the empty on the waitress’ tray before she had finished unloading the other three, and motioned for her to bring me another. “This time I promise to take my time, hon.” She gave me a little flounce of her cutoff shorts and headed back to the bar.
Junior looked from Michael to me and back again, studiously avoiding meeting Emily’s gaze. I was fine with that. I wasn’t interested in any budding puppy love, especially if he really was important to the “mission” we were on. When my third beer got there, I started talking.
