Dead Nolte (24 page)

“Yeah, I’m about to piss myself.” Neither had wanted to stop
during the night, for fear that Nolte might reappear, as if he might have been
chasing them down the highway, skinny arms and legs pumping, drafting Ron’s
car, waiting for the precise moment to overtake them.

Charlie coughed and wished for one of Nolte’s piss stained
cigarettes. It seemed like the cravings were never going to go away completely.
“I slept like an inebriated baby.” He said stretching. “Any sign of Grampa
Nasty?” He scooped the pistol off the floor and tried to spin it around his
finger. He concluded, that guns on TV must be made of styrofoam; real pistols
were much too heavy to twirl.

“Nope.” Ron jerked the wheel and suddenly left the highway.
“Thanks for helping me look for gas.” At the end of the off ramp was a small
dilapidated store with two gas pumps poked up in the middle of a concrete lot.
As Ron eased his Mercedes up to the pumps, he couldn’t help but notice the tall
grass that feathered out of spider web of cracks, crisscrossing the drive. The
lack of traffic, in and around the pumps, made him leery of the quality of gas
he was about to put in his gunshot baby.

“Holy shit. I can’t believe there are two of these places.”
It was an exact replica of the store where Charlie had stolen the Harley. There
was a rickety wooden bench out front, with a sand-filled five-gallon cigarette
bucket next to it. Someone had written Peeches on the side with a sharpie. A
sign on the front of the building, in worn and peeling paint, announced the
location as Fast Mart. “It’s fucking identical to the one I stopped at in
Colorado.”

“Wow, that’s amazing,” Ron replied in mock disbelief. “More
than one store with the same name? Someone should sell the idea to Seven
Eleven.”

“I guess you had to be there.” Charlie scanned the area,
expecting Nolte to materialize at any moment. It didn’t appear to be the best
of neighborhoods. There were no white people in sight, always a bad sign for
white boys, as far as he was concerned.

Five or six black teenagers, at the side of the store, were
passing around two ‘fortys’ of Old English malt liquor. Several times, they had
glanced at the brothers and laughed. “This neighborhood’s a bit dark, buddy.”
Charlie held out his hand. “You want me to go in and pay?”

“What? Do you think I’m scared of those kids?”

“No, it’s just that I have street cred.” He tapped the
barrels of the empty derringer on his thigh. Charlie didn’t consider himself to
be racist, but it didn’t take the Grand Dragon of the Klan, to know that these
fellows wouldn’t mind having a few more forties on their dime.

“Yeah, you have street cred alright, Sesame Street cred.”

“Hurry up, I’m about to piss myself.” Charlie shifted his
legs to give his bladder more space.

“Don’t wait on me,
you
racist
prick, go piss,” Ron said, looking around for the bug squeegee, knowing he
wouldn’t find one. He estimated the life expectancy of a bug squeegee in this
neighborhood was probably only fifteen minutes, tops. Removing the nozzle, Ron
gave the end of it the sniff test, though he had his doubts, as to how 'good
gas' might smell, but he figured he would know if it was bad.

Charlie got out of the car and shook his legs to get some
blood flowing in them. He faced the gathering of hood rats; to be sure they
noticed him shove the chrome pistol into the waist of his jeans. The laughter
ceased. As he walked to the door of the Fast Mart, he heard one of the kids
wonder to another, if the white boy was going to rob the store.

Inside, it was empty, other than Charlie and the clerk.

“Where’s your restroom?” He asked the large woman behind the
register. She looked remarkably similar to the lady Charlie had seen rifling
through her purse, outside the Colorado Fast Mart. They must be sisters. He
wondered what the odds were, that he would happen upon the two stores, without
planning it.

“It’s out of order.” She called out, flatly. Charlie felt
his bladder tighten. “You can piss around the side of the building, where the
niggers piss if they’ll let ya, but I seriously doubt they’ll let you take a
shit.”

“Do you have any body spray?”

“Over there at the front of the isle, the niggers love that
shit. I have to keep it where I can keep an eye on it, or it has a tendency to
walk off.” The woman waved a fat arm above her head, for no apparent reason.

The door opened and Ron walked to the counter. “I don’t
smell any coffee? He stated the question.

“You are shit out of luck on that, grab yourself a Red
Bull.” She pointed at an old Frigidaire, sandwiched between two racks of potato
chips.

Not waiting for Ron to mull over the decision, Charlie
walked past him; he took a can of Axe from the shelf and grabbed two Red Bulls
out of the fridge. He plopped it all in front of Ron.

“I guess you’re buyin’ Handsome.” The clerk rang the items
up, scowling at the Body spray. “Seventy-five, fifty. Do you want a bag?”

Ron nodded, as he leafed through the bills in his wallet.

“How big is her head?” sniggered, the portly woman.

Ron had heard the joke before. “Same size as yours, gimme
the one you wear.”

“You’re as funny as hair on a hemorrhoid.” The clerk
grumbled and pushed everything back toward him. “Sorry, I’m fresh out of bags.”

Charlie turned and hurried toward the door. “I have to
piss.”

Exiting the store, he turned toward the hood rats. “Where’s
the pisser?” he asked, scratching his stomach above the empty pistol, hidden
beneath his shirt. A kid in a hoodie jerked his thumb behind him, indicating
the side of the building.

Charlie walked through the small crowd into an area between
the store and a chain link fence, no wider than the width of his shoulders, it
reeked of piss and shit. He switched the pistol from his waist to his back
pocket and let loose a torrent against the wall of the building. Behind him, a
footstep crunched broken glass.

“Hey White Boy, let me hold a square.” One of the teenagers
had moved into the tight space with him, making the space between the wall and
the fence, seem tighter.

“I don’t smoke.” Charlie reached back and wrapped his hand
around the pistol grip. “And unless you came back here to hold my dick for me,
I’d appreciate it if you back up and let me finish pissing.” He stopped his
stream and stuffed himself back into his pants. He took the pistol out and squeezed
back out from between the store and the fence, gun first. Racist my ass, he
thought, I’m fucking cautious. The motherfucker waited, until I had my dick
out, to roll me.

With the gun now in full view, the boys stepped to one side,
to allow the paranoid white boy to pass.

Charlie waited until he had reached the car, before stuffing
the gun back into the waist of his jeans. Across the service road, a homeless
man in rags argued with a black kid. Déjà vu hit Charlie between the eyes. He
had seen the same two arguing in Colorado. Suddenly, the kid turned and smiled
at him, before trotting across the road in his direction.

“Hand me that body spray.”

“They don’t have coffee, but they carry this shit.” Ron
handed the can through the window.

Charlie sprayed the length of his body in two long swipes.
The hood rats behind him roared in laughter. “White Boy is taking his self a
ghetto shower. Opie got his self a date!” He tossed the can into the back seat
and opened the car door. Ron began to choke as the car filled with Axe fumes.

“Good thinking with the Axe, Jethro. Are you sure that half
a can was enough?”

Charlie plopped down in the seat and the toxicity level of
the Axe increased to lethal levels in Ron’s nostrils. “You do know, that shit
is like bear mace to women, don’t you?”

“I like to smell fresh.”

“You smell like a fresh chemical spill.” Ron reached for the
ignition and started the car. The kid from across the street walked up and
stuck his hand in his jacket pocket. Charlie fumbled desperately, to get the pistol
out of his pants.

“Easy officer, you gonna shoot yo’ dick off, I just wanted
to give you these. The kid poked a small fist into the car and dropped two
bullets into Charlie’s lap. That’s for the po-lice.” The kid smiled; all of his
upper teeth had been filed to points. “Hey, White Boy, Mama says you about to
run the fuck outta time. She wants her fucking coin.”

“You know Mama, do you?” Ron asked.

“Tell her Cleotha be takin’ care of bidness.”

“How in the fuck do you know who we are?”

The kid spun on his heel and walked back to the homeless
man, without answering.

Charlie held one of the cartridges up. “How in the fuck did
he know what caliber of gun I have?”

“How in the fuck did he know about the coin? We’re still
thirty minutes away from where the hag is.” Ron asked. “Did you tell him
something?”

“Nah man, I just went over there to get robbed and take a
piss, he was clear across the street.”

“What the fuck?” Ron pulled out of the Fast Mart. “How is
that bitch watching us?”

“I’d like to have that little fucker’s teeth.”

“I
will show the holiness of my great name, which has been profaned among the
nations, the name you have profaned among them. Then the nations will know that
I am the LORD, declares the Sovereign LORD, when I show myself holy through you
before their eyes.

"For I will take you out of the nations; I will gather
you from all the countries and bring you back into your own land."

“You think anybody can hear you, Mauffaucker?” Cleotha had
been watching the old man mumbling about God all morning. “Ain’t nobody
give
a fuck what you got to say.”

The worn and ragged preacher looked up and raised his hands
toward the bottom of the I-10 overpass; tracks marred every accessible vein, from
his hands to his elbows. “Oh God, keep not thou silence, hold not thy peace,
and be not still, oh God.” He then gestured to Cleotha. “Cast away from me this
nigger demon.”

Cleotha doubled in laughter. “Fuck you, preacher.” He
flashed the old man his grin of spikes. Every tooth in his mouth came to a
point, not fangs, but more like the teeth of a reef shark. “You better watch
your mouth, preacher, this ain’t a good part of Nawlins to be slingin’ the
N-word. These niggers will fuck your shit up.” Cleotha jerked a thumb across
the street, to a group of black teenagers gathered outside of a ratty
convenience store. “What makes you think Ezekiel and Asaph are talking about
the same thing, Old Man?”

“Boy, I know who you are. You clear the path for Gog, you caused
this war.”

“You got me confused with someone else. Tell me sumpthin,’
Mauffaucker, do you think your God gives a flying fuck about this sackcloth and
ash shit, you puttin’ on”

“And the word of the Lord came unto me, saying, Son of man,
set thy face against Gog, the land of Magog, the chief prince of Meshech and
Tubal, and prophesy against him.”

“Mauffaucker, I told you I ain’t him.”

“You clear his path, you caused this war.”

“Bitch, you ain’t right in the fuckin’ head. Did you git
your nut yet, today?

“No, I have not yet indulged in that particular sin today,
but my head and heart are clear, you have caused this war.

“Mauffaucker, your God has turned his back on you. Look at
you, all shakin’ like a dog shittin’ razorblades, fuckin’ droolin’ on yourself,
smellin’ like piss, you all fucked up. Your God has done give the fuck up on
you.” Cleotha grinned his reef shark grin. “Tell me your name, Mauffaucker.”

“You know who I am.”

“Tell me your name.”

“God knows who I am.”

***

N
olte
sat across from Michael sipping a miniature of rum; the sun had broken the
horizon and was climbing the sky. Today was his funeral. It was supposed to be
his big day, but the two idiots still had his nest egg. He stared at the
archangel with burning hatred. The motherfucker had turned him into a dog; the
taste of shit still clogged his throat. From what he knew of angels, they were
supposed to be good, this one was an asshole. Nolte also had no idea what a
fucking archangel was, but the faggot in front of him seemed to be pretty
fucking proud to be one. ‘I stand before God.’ Big fucking deal, every TV
preacher on the planet has said the same shit.

In the form of a dog, he’d been
forced to listen quietly, to the condescending asshole spew his bullshit about messengers
of God, yadda, yadda, yadda, but Nolte wasn’t buying it.

The twink had seen fit to return Nolte to his human form
when he refused to stop licking himself. It seemed a shame to put a used diaper
over clean balls, but he needed to have a place to carry his stuff.

“This eternal life you seem to think this coin will bring
you, what does that mean to you?” The archangel asked. He knew that the concept
of true eternity was nonexistent in the realm of time. Describing an existence,
that is without boundaries between the past, present, and future would be
comparable to describing colors to a man who has been blind from birth. “You
seem to have gone to a lot of unnecessary trouble and expense to obtain
something that has been offered to you, free of charge.”

Nolte looked over the top of his sunglasses at the tiny
bottle in his hand and said nothing.

“Speak you fool.”

“I don’t want to be turned into a fucking dog again.”

“Watch how you use the name of the Lord in our presence,”
Michael warned. “I’ll do far worse next time.”

 
“I just don’t want to
go to hell. If I can’t die, then there’s no hell.” He slugged the remainder of
rum and tossed the bottle on the floor of the limo. “Now that I’ve been there,
I know I don’t want to go. What the fuck do you care Princess?”

“Why didn’t you just ask not to go?” Michael leaned forward
in his seat. “And not to worry you or anything, but you never came close to
hell. You escaped before you were even placed in the holding area. The horror
you felt was just the separation from God. The screams you heard, were caused
by the things you people do to each other when his presence is removed.” The
angel leaned back. “I know what I’m talking about, we built the place.” Michael
looked at the sun through the tinted glass. “You couldn’t fathom what we keep
in hell.”

“How many assholes have been sent to hell?”

“If by assholes, you mean humans. The answer is none. You
idiots have to wait for the Great White Throne Judgement. Who knows, maybe none
of you will go. No one knows the extent of His mercy.” Michael once again
leaned forward. “I do know; you are all lucky the decision is not mine.”

“Well if you’re not taking me to hell, what in the fuck do
you nancys want from me? I have absolutely nothing to offer you.”

Michael ignored the question. “You are the only human; I’ve
seen, get a second chance at redemption and piss it away.” He shook his head in
disbelief. “This eternal life you think you’re getting could be good for a
thousand years or a single day. Sooner or later, a change will come to this
dimension and your eternity will end. You will have to stand up and be
counted.”

“Well, I’m not kissing anyone’s ass while I’m waiting, you
fucking shirt lifter.”

“The concept of eternity is beyond the reach of your simple minds.
You will all get to live forever, but it the hard reality is location,
location, location. Are you familiar with that phrase?”

“Michael,” Jeremiel called back. They could both feel the
tremors in the dimensions. The shekel had stopped traveling, it was somewhere
nearby and they were closing in on it. The tension connecting the coin to the
dark dimension and Nolte was increasing. Nolte could feel its pull. The angels
could feel it too, but knew the shekel wasn’t causing the vibration in the
fabric of time, it was Azazel. She was never stripped of her power after she
had fallen. Something the archangels had found puzzling, but never questioned.

Jeremiel slowed the limo; the only sound was the ticking of
the right turn signal and the creaking of Nolte’s diaper as he reached for
another miniature from the mini bar. As soon as these two retards turned their
back for a second, he was going to get his nest egg and get on with his life. A
sickening thought sent a shiver down his skinny spine. What if the witch really
wanted him? Nolte had fucked just about anything that walked or crawled, at
some point in his life, but he had no desire to become Mama’s love zombie.

Jeremiel brought the limo to a halt. A few blocks off to the
right, through the hurricane-ravaged neighborhood, was the car they had been
following. It was parked by a small house in the midst of empty lots and
battered trees.

“There are my nest egg thieving, faggoty-assed sons. Right
over there.” Nolte exclaimed, tapping the window rapidly.

Jeremiel pointed to a large pickup with oversized tires
parked two blocks away, directly ahead of them.
 
“Shorty.” The tone of his voice made the word sound more like profanity
than a nickname. “I can feel him in there.”

“The gang’s all here,” Michael said.

Nolte pounded down several more, tiny bottles, he needed to
pump up his beer muscles with some whiskey courage. Shit was about to get real.
He figured he had fucked around long enough. No more Mr. Nice-guy, he was going
to throw an as-whippin’ on those thievin’ fags.

From where they were parked, it was hard for the Michael or
Jeremiel to tell if there was anyone in the car. With the rift in the chasm
caused by the coin and the vibrations in the time dimension from Azazel, it was
hard to sense any human presence. Even Baal had almost gone unnoticed.

Michael put on his Ray Bans. “I know who you want. Is it
alright with you, if I go over and watch out for the idiots with the shekel? We
can do rock, paper, scissors if you want.”

Jeremiel gave his head a nod toward Baal’s monster truck and
grinned. “What if Shorty makes his move, what do I do with the stinky demon in
the back?”

With the seventy-second hour drawing near and the close
proximity of the coin, its pull on the stinky Nolte-demon appeared to be
overwhelming the skinny man. The angels had felt him try to jump dimensions
several times in the short time they had been parked. Nolte now had his face
pressed to the tinted glass, causing puffs of fog on either side of his nose.
Sensing the butt huggers were referring to him, with the stinky demon comment,
he turned toward the front of the limo, looking over the top of his jar lid
sunglasses. “I’m ready to roll; let’s go get my nest egg.”

Nolte had hitched his diaper up over his beer belly and put
a crooked Pall Mall between his teeth. “Today is my big day poofs, and nothing
is standing in my way.” The cigarette danced to Nolte’s ranting.

“You’re right.” Michael scoffed. “This baby-sitting is
really starting to suck...I’m sure Azazel knows we’re here, by now. Zip up there
and grab Baal, you can keep an eye on both of them while I check on the
idiots.” Jeremiel vanished and reappeared in the back seat with Baal under one
arm, his stubby legs working the air furiously. Nolte let out a piercing
shriek, surprised by the sudden appearance of the dark prince. Michael laughed
before, he himself vanished.

“Release Baal,
you
motherless
ass-kisser.” Baal waved his walking stick over his shoulder, trying to strike
the angel about the face. Jeremiel placed Baal on the seat opposite him as if
the tiny man were a toy.

Immediately the dark prince began to daintily smooth his
rumpled and tattered suit with chubby fingers. “This is a twenty thousand
dollar Vegna,
you
ruffian.”

“I wouldn’t give you two buckets of goat piss for it.”
Jeremiel chuckled. “You should remember exactly who it is that you’re calling
names.”

Withdrawing his attention from his clothing, Baal suddenly
realized his kidnapper was Jeremiel. He cleared his throat and looked up at the
archangel. “Baal apologizes for such a vigorous protest, but he was shocked by
his unexpected apprehension.” Baal respected the power of all the archangels
but he actually feared Jeremiel. Any Archangel could be sent out to dispatch
demons or principalities as long as they had permission, but Jeremiel was the
only one he knew of, who was allowed to do so at his own discretion.

Jeremiel laughed at loud at Baal’s return to the third
person. It didn’t seem to matter to the arrogant horse’s ass, that he was
confined in the form of a three-cubit tall human, he still saw himself as the
god of the Canaanites.

“Baal sees you have successfully detained the absconder for
him and is most grateful for your assistance.” He said in Nolte’s direction.

“What the fuck did you call me, you sawed off fuck?” Nolte reared
around and hitched his diaper even higher. “I’m having a bad day, mother
fucker, and you need to check yourself before you wreck yourself.” Jeremiel
laughed out loud again, wishing Michael was here to see this. A drunken
skeleton of a human, clad in a diaper, squaring off against a three-cubit,
prince of darkness, it was going to be the fight of the millennia.