by john | Jul 10, 2009 | Fiction, The Chosen
By far the longest section I’ve uploaded at one time, but I didn’t want to put a break in the middle of a good bar fight.
“Em, I want you and Junior to stay here. Keep the engine running and if we come out in a hurry, get us out of here pronto.” I said as I pulled into the lot and parked with the nose of the Civic pointed toward the road.
“No dice, Pop. I’m going in there with you.” She said, getting out of the car as soon as I put it in park.
“No way, kid. This could get ugly…”
“And if it does, you’re gonna need every pair of hands you can get. I’ve been in a few ugly bar fights in my day, and I know how to handle myself. I’ll make sure to get out of the way if things get too out of hand, but I’m coming with you.” I knew the look in her eye; I’d seen it in Myra’s eyes when she announced that she was coming with us on this little journey.
I figured there was no sense trying to persuade her, so I just said, “You still got your backup?”
“Yup.”
“Alright. Here’s the plan. Junior, you stay close to the door with the keys in your hand. Keep your head down and get your ass in the driver’s seat if we make a run for it. Michael, you stay on my left side and if we need that big fiery toothpick of yours, don’t waste any time making it appear.”
“Why am I to be on your left, Adam?” I had to give the angel credit, he didn’t protest, just went for the tactical questions.
“I’m right-handed, so I wanna make sure to keep that side clear if I need to do anything.” I reached into the trunk of the Civic and slid Cain’s piston into the back of my jeans, and pulled on a light jacket to hide the gun. I really hoped I didn’t have to use it, but it wouldn’t be the first time if it came to that. I looked around at my posse: a twenty-something waitress, a tattooed and pierced street preacher, and an archangel getting ready to storm a biker bar in Tennessee with the oldest man on the planet. This had to be the most fucked up rescue effort in history.
The bar was darker inside than I expected, and it took a minute for my eyes to adjust to the smoky gloom, even though it was night outside. We made our way over to a corner table where Cain, Eve and Myra sat warily watching the rest of the bar’s occupants.
“Hey kids, what’s up?” I asked as I pulled up a chair. I sat on Cain’s left elbow, with my chair turned around so I was leaning on the back of the chair. This gave me a good view of most of the bar and gave me something at hand to throw in a hurry if it came to that.
“Hey, Pop. How’s life?” Cain and I bumped fists, and after the waitress took our drink orders (tequila shots and beers all around, the only way to go into potential combat) he leaned over and said in a low voice “The big bald guy came on to Mom when she was picking songs at the jukebox. She was a little, um, enthusiastic in her rebuff.”
I put my head in my hands and asked “What did she do?”
Eve piped up with “Nothing! Well, not much, anyway. I slapped his face a little, and that was no big deal. He laughed, and his buddies laughed at him, and I laughed an it was all good.”
“Then why the panicked phone call?” I asked Myra.
“I wasn’t panicked. I was simply…concerned. But it wasn’t over that.” She said.
“What happened next?” I asked.
“He kinda didn’t take the hint. And then he kinda grabbed me. And I might have kneed him in the balls a little.” I groaned a bit, and then looked over at Cain.
“And you had to get involved at this point, right?” I asked him.
“Well, when he got to his feet he was pretty pissed. And his buddies were really giving him shit, and he looked like he was gonna take a swing at Mom, so I might have stepped in.” He at least looked chagrined about the whole mess.
“So at this point you’ve decked the behemoth, Cain has defended your virtue, and all is right with the world. So would you mind telling me why in the seven hells you’re still here?” I will admit to getting a little irritated, but I really wasn’t looking forward to getting punched. Immortal does not equate to having no pain receptors.
“My songs aren’t through yet.” I looked at her incredulously, and she calmly went on “I paid three bucks for six songs on the jukebox, and they aren’t done yet. I told Myra to give you a call and tell you to meet us here for a couple of drinks, I can’t imagine those idiots are going to cause me any more trouble tonight.” That might have been the most ludicrously contrary thing I’d heard in a couple of centuries. And it was 100% pure Eve.
“So you just wanted us to come over and have a drinky-drink while your songs played out on the jukebox, and if a bar fight happened to break out, all the better?” I’ll further admit to snide to go with my irritated, but the two so often go hand in hand.
“Pretty much. You must be the Chosen. Good luck with that. I’d drink more, if I were you. And once upon a time, I was.You, that is. I’m sorry, how rude of me. I’m Eve.” Eve held out her hand to Junior, who took it wordlessly. I think the whole scene might have been a little much for him. It was a little much for me, too, and it didn’t look like it was going to get any better when four mammoth bikers lurched over to our table, including the mountain of flesh and jailhouse ink that Eve said she kicked in the balls. My night was getting better and better.
“Hey.” The biggest one said as they stood in front of our table. He was at least 6’4” and 300 lbs. if he was an ounce. He looked like a refugee from a ZZ Top video, if there was a video where some monster ate all the members of ZZ Top and wandered around with their beards. His gut was barely constrained by a Harley-Davidson t-shirt, and he wore a black leather vest. All of them wore matching vest. Great, they were sporting colors. And my mood continued to improve. I didn’t see any indications of firearms, but most of them had long hunting knives at their sides. I really hate getting stabbed. Aside from the pain and bleeding, it puts big holes in my shirts.
“Hey.” I said. I didn’t stand, just sat there and looked at him.
“She your old lady?” He pointed at Eve.
“Not so much these days, but she used to be. Why, you want a date?”
He let out a laugh, making his massive belly shake not so much like a bowl full of jelly but more like a jell-o mold full of cottage cheese. “No. I wouldn’t touch her with Tiny’s dick and Spider pushing. But she needs to learn some manners.”
Tiny? Spider? Where do they get these names, out of a book? “I’ve been telling her the same thing for longer than I can remember. If you want to try, go right ahead. But I hear one of your boys already gave that a shot and it didn’t work out so well.”
“Yeah, and Tiny wants an apology.” He jerked a thumb at the one he called Tiny, and in a stunning fit of originality and irony, Tiny was the biggest son of a bitch I think I’d ever seen outside of professional sports. He was half a head taller than ZZ, whose name I’d never gotten, and if he could walk through a door without turning sideways, it was only because it was a double door. I could only imagine the pain and suffering his engineer boots endured with his every step.
“Well, tell Tiny to get in line, because there’s a lot of people looking for apologies from that one, and they’ve all been disappointed for a long time.” I said.
“Not from her. We got no hard feelings towards her. Tiny’s been insulted by him.” And he pointed at Cain. Shit. I probably could have talked them out of a beef with Eve, but this was probably going to lead to someone getting hurt.
“What did he do?” I asked before I could even think.
“He put a knife in Tiny’s face and said some nasty things about Tiny. You don’t get to pull a knife on an Outlaw in our bar and just walk out. That just don’t happen.”
“I understand. This shouldn’t have happened. Cain, apologize.”
“I’m sorry, Tiny.”
There. We good? Cain’s apologized, Tiny feels better, and we can all just have another round, right? “ I motioned for the bartender to set everybody up with another round.
“It ain’t that simple.” Of course it wasn’t.
“Why not?” I might as well keep playing ignorant, as long as I could try and keep everybody’s blood on the inside.
“Tiny’s been insulted. His manhood has done been questioned. And that just don’t happen. Your boy here is gonna have to take a beat down for that.”
“Well, then we have a problem.” I stood up at that point, and Cain, Michael and Eve stood with me. Emily moved Junior and Myra over closer to the door, and I thought I saw her reach up her sleeve for something that might have been shiny.
“I guess we probably do, don’t we?” Mammoth replied, and I gripped the neck of the beer bottle in front of me. But before I could step forward and swing, I heard a thump beside me and looked over to see Junior on his knees, reciting a Psalm.
“ThelordismyshepherdIshallnotwant.Hemakethmetoliedowningreenpastures” he recited quickly, and in the second I gave him my attention, Mammoth stepped up and cracked a fist the size of a Honey Baked Ham across my jaw. I spun around and found my face oddly pressed up against the wall of the bar. I leaned there for half a second before I realized that was what was holding me up, and I pushed off the wall into the fray.
And in that half a second, a melee had erupted. Eve produced the fat end of a pool cue from somewhere, probably that big damn bag she carried everywhere, and laid into Tiny, obviously deciding that he was her bitch du jour. Michael was being soundly pummeled by the other one, I suppose he was Spider, because he had black spider tattoos on the backs of both hands. It made for an interesting picture as one spidered hand was wrapped around Michael’s throat pinning him to the wall while the other spider bounced off his face again and again.
Cain had grabbed a pair of bottles off the table and beaned Mammoth with both of them after he sucker-punched me. Then he actually jumped onto the table for a second, which proved to be a poor choice when the center pillar of the table toppled, taking him to the floor with Mammoth underneath him. He just kept waling on the biker as they went down. I looked around, saw that I didn’t have anybody to hit for a second, and yelled at Emily “Get Junior and your mom outta here!”
She didn’t wait, grabbing Junior by the collar and yanking him to his feet. She shoved Myra and Sidney towards the door, and stepped in front of them to punt one of the bouncers square in the nuts when he made to stop their exit. Eve took a second from bludgeoning Tiny to throw her truck keys to Myra. “Get both cars running!” I shouted as I picked up the chair I’d been sitting in. I cleared my throat to get Spider’s attention, and when he took a second from pounding Michael’s face into tapioca, I broke the chair into splinters across his head.
He fell backwards almost in slow motion, taking out another table as he toppled like a redwood. Michael slumped to the floor, and I could almost see the little birds circling his head. It would have been a lot funnier if I hadn’t looked up just then to see a half-dozen more thugs heading our way, along with a pissed-looking bartender swinging a baseball bat. I thought for a second about pulling the pistol, but since none of them had done anything worse than a little bludgeoning so far, I figured I didn’t need to escalate things. After all, they couldn’t really do any lasting damage to any of the four of us, so it wasn’t worth it to me to kill anybody over a little bar scuffle.
Until four of them came back into the bar with Emily, Myra and Junior in tow. Junior was tossed over one guy’s shoulder unconscious, and it took two of them to hold Emily back. But when I saw Myra with a bloody lip, I kinda went nuts. Not Wolverine slashing people to pieces nuts, but close. I went straight at the four of them, and that didn’t go well for the guy who got in my way. I just kinda grabbed him by the neck and walked through him, if that makes any sense. I wasn’t thinking too clearly, and I just know that one minute he was in front of me, and the next I had stepped on his chest on my way to the door. I pulled up in front of the one holding Myra, and he let her go.
Emily broke free of the guys holding her and helped her mother into a chair. The fourth one put Junior down face-first on a table, and then I had four of them, all to myself. This might be fun after all.
“Which one of you hit her?” I pointed to Myra.
“Me. What you gonna do about it?” He was about 5’11, maybe 180 pounds and looked like the type to hit girls and bash bigger guys over the head from behind. He had a patchy beard and close-cropped hair that needed a wash.
“I’m gonna save you for last.” With that I swung at the one on my left, catching him full in the nose and completely by surprise. There’s a lot to be said for martial arts and flashy kicks and throws, but at the end of the day, if you break a guy’s nose, he’s out of action for the next few minutes, at least. The guy dropped like a sack of wet concrete, and I ducked as one of his buddies threw a big roundhouse punch at my ear. When I dropped to one knee, I was at eye level with his belt buckle, so I grabbed it and put my shoulder in his gut as I stood up, taking the guy up onto my shoulder. I spun him around a few times to clear some space and then backed up fast into the nearest wall. That mashed his head between my back and the wall, and he stopped struggling. I tipped his feet backwards over my shoulder, and he went down with a thump.
I looked over for the third guy, but he had all he could handle with Emily, who apparently carried pepper spray in her purse. It looked like it hurt when she got him in the face, but she’d obviously learned more hanging around the Prince of Darkness than just cards, because when the thug opened his mouth to scream, she squirted another shot right in his mouth. He clawed his way to the door with one hand on his mouth and another over his eyes, and I turned my attention to the little shit who’d decked my girlfriend.
He was wearing a wife-beater and no vest, so I knew he was just a hanger-on, a wannabe. Good. I didn’t want to take on the whole bar if I broke the little bastard, and that was kinda where my mind was headed right then. I reached out and grabbed him by the straps on his tank top and pulled him into me. When his face was just a couple inches away from mine I said in a low voice, “Tell me if this hurts.”
Then I kneed him in the balls as hard as I could. As he doubled over I grabbed both ears and rammed his face into my knee, and then pulled him upright by his ears again. I took his chin in my left hand and reared back with my right to tee off on his jaw with a huge haymaker when I heard a huge crash from behind me.
“ENOUGH!” The Voice came from where I’d left Michael, but it didn’t sound anything like the meek Archangel I knew and usually wanted to run through a wood chipper. Instead, this was the Voice that commanded the armies of Heaven in the war against Lucypher. This was the Voice that meted out God’s own Justice across the land. This was the Voice that almost made me wet myself.
I turned, slowly, and looked to where the Voice was coming from, and it was Michael. Well, to say it was Michael is kinda like saying that The Hulk was Bruce Banner, like Superman was Clark Kent. It was The Archangel Michael, which bore about as much resemblance to the thin, fair-skinned little man that had gotten his face pummeled in a few seconds ago as I did to Arnold Schwarzenegger. He was in full-on War Seraph mode, with 9’ of angelic wing spread across the bar. He was almost 7’ tall, and had ripped most of his clothes when he expanded, adding to the Hulk metaphor. Gone was the mild-mannered little humanoid, and in his place stood the Sword of Heaven. Oh yeah, and the sword wasn’t just a title, he held a 5’ long two-handed sword that was rimmed with white fire. I don’t know if it was hot, but it definitely had shattered the table that was in front of him, because it lay on the floor in a dozen or more pieces. Michael had apparently tired of the ruckus, and he had decided to lay down the law.
Nobody moved for a long moment as the immortal humans looked at the angel, the bikers looked at us, and Emily looked at Junior’s bloody nose. Michael cast his gaze across the mute assemblage and said, “Good. Now that you’re done making such an awful racket, would it be possible for my companions and I to leave?”
No one said a word, but anyone standing or lying anywhere near the door opened a wide path. Michael looked around again and said, “Good. I assume there will be no problem with the bill? Excellent. Have a splendid evening.” With that, his sword vanished, his wings folded into nothingness, and he was once again the nattily dressed British poof that came upon me outside of Myra’s restaurant. He started towards the door, collecting Junior, Emily and Myra along the way. He stopped just before the door and looked back at me, Cain and Eve.
“Coming, children?” He asked, like a disappointed teacher. Cain and I let go of the guys we were about to pound on and headed for the door. Eve took one last regretful look around, as if she could see in her mind’s eye all the pretty mayhem that Michael was putting a halt to, then she gave one last clout to the guy she’d been pounding, put the pool cue back in her voluminous shoulder bag, and followed us out into the night.
by john | Jul 9, 2009 | Fiction, The Chosen
As we headed out onto Broadway the streets were starting to fill. It was about 10 o’clock, and all the bars had their acts going. We meandered through the throngs of humanity until we got almost all the way back to the car. I had just started to think that we had made it through one whole city without anything stupid happening when Emily’s cell phone rang. She looked down at it, gave a puzzled look, and answered it.
“Yeah, mom? What’s up? Oh no.” I might only be able to hear one side of the conversation but it didn’t sound like I was going to like the outcome. “Alright, we’re almost at the car, we’ll be there as quick as we can. What? Yeah. We found him. What? What about my tone? Nothing, alright. Geez, we’ll be there in a few minutes.” She blushed a little as she hung up the phone and looked at it like it knew something it had no right to know.
“What’s up?” I asked. Em snapped back to the present and looked up at me.
“Oh. Um, well, we need to go.” She said.
“We’re on our way. Is there someplace in particular other than the hotel that we need to go to? And is there something that I should probably know about that you’re trying not to tell me?
“Well, it seems like there’s a bit of trouble at a biker bar just out of town.”
“Really? And who exactly is involved in this trouble, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Eve. And Cain. And by extension, I guess, my Mom.” The first two surprised me not at all, and the third didn’t really surprise me, but the quickening of my pulse when she said Myra was in trouble was a bit of a surprise.
“Well, let’s get a move on. And why don’t you try a little explaining as we roll.” We got into the car and she gave me the address. I punched it into Myra’s GPS and saw that it would take us about fifteen minutes to get there.
“Well, nothing’s happened yet. Exactly. But Mom seems to think there’s a good chance that a big fight is about to break out, and that Eve and Cain might be in the middle of it.”
“In the middle of it or the cause of it?” I asked.
“She didn’t say, but I guess we could figure, based on past experience, that it’s probably the latter.”
“Excuse me?” Sidney piped up from the back seat where he and Michael had been listening.
“Yeah, Sid. What is it?” I asked.
“Um, Sidney. Please. I really don’t like to be called Sid.” He replied.
“Build a bridge.” I told him.
“Excuse me?”
“Build a bridge. It’s what we use to get over it. Now what do you want?”
“Um, did you say Cain? As in…” he trailed off. I think he was really starting to get an idea of exactly what was going on.
“Yeah, Cain. As in my second son. As in the founder of fratricide. As in really, really old and oughta know better than to get into bar fights with rednecks when you’re hopelessly outnumbered and there are people around who aren’t immortal. But his mother is a bad influence sometimes, so it’s not all his fault.”
“Um, his mother?” The kid was starting to look a little green. I couldn’t tell if he was getting carsick after drinking or if the enormity of the situation was just now sinking in. I guess it’s all well and good to sit in a bar and talk to a guy who says he’s Adam, but when you start throwing the rest of the Fig Leaf Brigade into the mix it can be a little much for most normal folks. Even normal folks with faces like pincushions and arms that looked like comic books.
“Yeah. His mother. Remember Eve, the weak one who took the apple? She’s not such the wilting flower as your little novel there makes her out to be, and she has a bad habit of starting fights in bars.”
“Now in her defense, Dad, she didn’t start the thing in New Orleans.” Emily chimed in.
“Okay, I’ll give you that one. But still, she has a history of starting fights that goes all the way back to Troy.”
“Troy?”
“Yeah, you remember Troy, right? Paris, Menelaus, big horse? Ring any bells?” I said.
“Yeah, but what does that have to do with Eve?” Emily still looked confused.
“There wasn’t a Helen. Eve was Helen. She was married to Menelaus, got bored, and ran off with Paris. Menelaus got pissed, called his brother Agamemnon and they besieged Troy for a decade or so. Eventually that whole thing with the horse happened and Troy was pretty well screwed. By that time Eve was wandering around Egypt hanging with one of the Ramseses, I forget which one.” I explained.
“Oh.” Emily was quiet for a few minutes, but then piped up with “There’s her truck.” Sure enough, that shitty old Ford was parked in front of what had to be the seediest looking bar within a hundred miles. Eve really knew how to pick ‘em. There were about two dozen bikes out front, mostly Harleys with the occasional Triumph or Indian mixed in. No BMWs or Ducatis here, and definitely no crotch-rockets. These were big, growling machines that were made to eat up the road and announce their coming from a mile or more away. There were a couple of muscle cars parked here and there, and a good dozen trucks with rifles in the gun racks scattered around the parking lot. Depending on how many people Eve had managed to piss off, this could be challenging.
by john | Jul 8, 2009 | Fiction, The Chosen
“So, what do I do?” He asked after he downed a shot of firewater to fortify himself. “Do I have to fight a horde of unbelievers? Do I have to martyr myself for my beliefs? Do I have to sacrifice my eldest son, because I don’t have any kids, but I could have some if I need to.” I reached across the table and put my hand on his shoulder.
“Okay, kid, calm down. We’re not fighting any hordes, at least I hope not. And nobody’s martyring anybody or sacrificing anybody for any beliefs. At least not that we know of. Let’s just take a step back and recap. How much do you know about what got me and Eve kicked out of the Garden?”
“Well, I know that Eve was tempted by the serpent that was Satan, and that she was weak, and succumbed to the temptation of the serpent, and that because of the weakness of Eve all mankind has suffered…what’s so funny?” Even Michael was having a hard time stifling his laughter, and Michael didn’t really have a sense of humor. I was laughing too hard, so I just motioned for Emily to explain it to the kid.
“You see, it wasn’t quite like that, and since we all know Eve, hearing her described as weak was just, well, it’s pretty funny.” Em started.
“Yeah, and you don’t want to let her hear that version of events. Because she’s packing.” I finished.
“Well, that’s what happened! It says so right here in the…” After a second the kid realized that since he was sitting with what historians refer to as source material, he might want to think a bit before he told me what had happened. “This is going to take some getting used to.” He finished lamely.
“Yeah, it’s like that at first. Just imagine how fucked up it is to find out he’s your dad.” I know Em was trying to commiserate, but I wasn’t sure I liked the method.
“Okay, so it was like this. Eve made a Choice to take the fruit and bring it to me. And all through history there have been choices. Some have been big, deciding to invade Poland, like writing the Magna Charta, like pulling the sword out of the stone. And some choices have been small, like deciding to put the top down on the limo in Dallas, like picking the right horse for Paul Revere to ride, like deciding to go see a play at Ford’s Theatre. Those are small choices, with big consequences. But every once in a while there comes along a capital “c” Choice. The kind of choice that you know will alter the course of humanity for a long time to come. That’s the kind of Choice we’re talking about. Like when Eve took the fruit from Lucky,”
“Lucky?”
“Just go with it. Like taking the fruit from Lucky, Like Abel letting Cain kill him, like the Carpenter going with the soldiers in the garden at Gethsemane. Those Choices that you know when you’re making them will impact people for a long, long time after you make it. That’s what we’re coming up on right now, another Choice. The first one in probably a few hundred years, if not longer. And you’re the guy.”
“What do you mean, I’m the guy? What guy?” His voice had gotten a little high-pitched and thready, so I knew he understood what I meant. I decided that this would be a stupid time to start sugar-coating anything, so I just went right back to the sledgehammer.
“You’re the one who has to Choose.”
“What am I Choosing?” His eyes had gotten big, and he looked a little like a rabbit staring at a .22 rifle.
“We don’t know yet, we just know you’re the one who has to Choose. And the rest of the world will have to live with your Choice.”
“Sidney,” Michael moved in to try and soothe the frightened kid. “We know this is a lot to take in all at once, but you are very important to us, and to the world. We need you, Sidney. Will you come with us? Will you make the Choice?” There was weight in the angel’s words, and I could tell by the look on the kid’s face that he knew that if he said yes, he was committing to something a lot bigger than standing on a street corner singing psalms and trying to teach the Lord’s Prayer to a couple of drunks.
He sat there for a long moment, and I was glad to see he was taking some time with the idea. Taking on the fate of the world isn’t something that should be done lightly, even if you’re a little drunk. After a couple of minutes he sat up, finished off his beer, and looked me in the eye. “I’m in. Whatever it is my Lord has planned for me I will do to the best of my ability. I will serve Him however He requires.”
Yup, true believers are a pain in the ass.
I waved the waitress over for the check and Em went to the bathroom while I settled up. We figured we’d head back to the motel for the night and head out in the morning. Michael hadn’t yet deigned to share with us our next destination, telling me “all things in time” in that tone that made me want to punch him in the face again. But I restrained myself in light of our new addition and his potentially sensitive views on violence. And I didn’t want the angel bleeding all over the back seat of Myra’s Civic.
by john | Jul 4, 2009 | Fiction, The Chosen
So I’ve finished the first draft of the whole thing, and now all I have to do is upload it to you, my faithful readers. All three of ya :). Enjoy, and thanks for reading!
“Alright kid, let’s start with the basics. What’s your name?” I said.
“Sidney. Sidney Joseph McEwen.”
“Alright, Sid,”
“Sidney. I don’t answer to Sid.” This kid was really going to irritate me. I could tell.
“Sidney, then. Sidney, how much do you know about the book of Genesis?” I figured that I may as well uncork the heavy stuff right off the bat.
“The book of Genesis is where we learn the origins of man, his dominion over women and all the beasts of the field, and…”
“Wait a minute, kid. Where did you get that stuff about dominion over women?” I interrupted.
“It’s clearly stated in Genesis that Eve was given unto Adam to be his mate and his servant, as were all the beasts of the kingdom.” Wow. Junior was gonna have some issues when he met Eve.
“Ok. Let’s start right there. Nobody ever gave anybody dominion over anybody else, and Eve was never anybody’s servant, I promise.” Emily had started to look pretty grumpy about the whole “servant” thing, but she settled back into the booth as I corrected the kid’s misconceptions.
“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t mean to disrespect my elders, but are you really qualified to question the written Word of God the Father? I have dedicated my life to the study of the Bible, and I daresay I know the Book a little better than the average man on the street.” Okay, he’d brought out the smug. It as time to play a little rough.
I reached forward and grabbed his lip ring and pulled him close enough to feel my breath on his nose. “Listen, pincushion. A couple of points here. One: nobody under the age of fifty uses the word ‘daresay,’ especially not in a bar in Tennessee. Two: if you’re going to measure peckers, you’d better make sure you’re not whipping it out next to John Holmes. I’m not the average man on the street, and while I haven’t really dedicated much of my life to studying the Book, I’ve got more than a passing familiarity with the book of Genesis. Mostly because I. Was. Fucking. There.” I gave his ring a twist with each of the last few words for emphasis. When I let go of his mouth he bounced back to the booth and looked to Michael like he wanted to bolt, but the angel just smiled at him.
“I think you should listen to Adam, Sidney.” Michael finished his second beer and waved the waitress over. He motioned for another round, and Sid took the high road and polished off his drink.
“So. Let’s work from a point of common agreement: you don’t know shit about the book of Genesis, and probably not much more about the rest of that book you’ve been thumping on. So I’ll start at the beginning, or at least as much of it as I remember. A long time ago, there was a guy alone in a Garden. It was a nice garden, if a little boring with no one to talk to. Then one day, this chick appeared, and things got a lot more interesting. After a while with just the guy and the chick, the normal things happened and there were some more people. Then there was a snake, an apple, a really bad afternoon, a couple of brothers, a big rock, another really bad afternoon, and then the rest of the world happened. You with me so far?” The kid just sat there, looking at me like I was going to bite him, which I supposed was probably fair. I had meant to scare him a little, and maybe I got a bit out of hand. But he annoyed me, okay?
“Adam, let me try.” Michael began, but Emily jumped in before either of us could say another word.
“Sid, here’s the deal. This guy is Adam. That Adam. The whole Adam and Eve thing? He’s half of that dynamic duo. The blond guy next to you with the rapidly fading British accent? He’s the Archangel Michael, although he’s tucked away the flaming sword for the time being. We’re tying to save the world, and Michael says that you’re going to be very important to that. So are you in?” She certainly did have a way of cutting through all the bullshit.
“Um, if he’s…and he’s…” the kid pointed to me and Michael in turn “then…who…what are you?” He looked almost afraid of Emily’s answer.
“I’m his daughter, but otherwise I’m just a waitress from Texas who has been known to consort with the wrong crowd.” She pointed at me and took a swig of her beer. “And seriously, Dad, PBR? I’m sure they have import beers, even in this redneck shithole.”
“Just keepin’ it real, baby girl. Just keepin’ it real.” I watched the kid for trouble signs, but he just sat there, processing.
After a minute, the kid reached out, drained his beer, and waved the waitress over. When she got to the booth, he said “Four Gentleman Jack, two ice cubes. And another round of PBRs.” All of a sudden, the kid was a trained professional. He might be okay, after all. When she brought the drinks back, he slid a highball glass in front of each of us and raised his in a salute. “To saving the world” he said as he tossed back his drink and chased it with a beer.
by john | Jul 2, 2009 | Fiction, The Chosen
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.
