Dead Nolte (31 page)

***

S
eething
with power and new knowledge, Ron looked around the white room, he realized
that he knew every one of the Watchers by name, although they were identical,
he knew them individually. Somehow, way back when, he had attended their
creation. He smiled and they smiled. Ron poured another brandy and winked at
Azazel, he realized that she was no longer out of his grasp, nothing was.

“Give them their papers and cash; I want them in place by
morning.” Not only did he know their names, he knew their purpose and
individual assignments. They were his ambassadors, as much an extension of
himself, as were his own arms.

By tomorrow, each one of them would be standing next to a
King, a Prime Minister, a Dictator or President, conveying his will and wishes
to every leader on the planet. All save one, he would be delivering the
presentation to the King of Jordan in person. The palace in Amman would serve
as his temporary residence, until after the war. Besides; the Jews had yet to
begin construction on his Jerusalem home.

Though Ron was telepathically connected to each Watcher, he
realized it was Azazel’s job to communicate with them on his behalf. As Ron’s
new persona became more established within him, the clearer his role became
within the chain of command. Since he did not have to answer to the Trinity,
there was only one higher, yet, there were millions, soon to be billions,
beneath him. Azazel was not only a tool of communication; she was at his beck
and call, to do his bidding, all of his bidding. When he got her to the palace
in Amman, he would be giving her that DNA sample.

Directly above him, two archangels stood. Though he couldn’t
see them, their presence was unmistakable. He couldn’t help, but admire the
power that emanated from them. He waited quietly until they had moved on. They
could feel him, too. They knew he was coming. “Get these guys paid and get them
something to wear from the Walmart. They need to cover those Ken doll mounds
until they can purchase, or steal some proper attire.”

The Watchers, one by one blinked through the portal. Ron
looked around the white room again; there was something he had to do before he
joined them. He could feel Nolte in his head, and the foul little beast was
planning a party. All parties need partiers.

The sounding of the Fifth Trumpet releases the locusts from
the bottomless pit to torment men
---
he now knew the Holy Bible, chapter
and verse from memory. Although Ron had no control over the Trumpets, he did
hold the key to the abyss. Nolte’s time on earth, as far as Ron was concerned,
had gone on much too long. He doubted God would mind if he borrowed a few
locusts. Ron was really impressed with his newfound knowledge, though it was
unnerving to know something which someone else had learned.

Ron refilled his brandy snifter to the brim; the Watchers
and Azazel had gone; they were all shopping for sweatpants. He was alone in the
white room. He knew that pissing on the wall would create a hole, but he had
drained himself before he became a god. He supposed that even gods were subject
to some laws of nature.

He tossed the snifter at the wall and watched the dark
liquid steam and burn through the wall. Soon a brown, Smurf looking creature,
leaped through the opening and tested its small wings against the atmosphere of
the room. Ron shook his head and laughed, John had really fucked up their
description when he had called them locusts. The white room quickly filled with
four-foot-tall, winged demons, yet, without even having to say abracadabra, he
halted their flow into the room, with a thought. He had total control. Even in
his new godly state, this amazed Ron.

Vibrations, accompanied by a long horrifying scream, filled
the room. The smurfs scattered, plastering themselves to the walls, terrified.
“You are a pack of pussies, aren’t you? How in the fuck are you going to
torment men?” Ron motioned them forward. “It’s nothing, someone just killed the
midget. It’s okay, though. You are going to kill his killer.” Baal getting
killed didn’t bother Ron in the least; in fact, he could feel Nolte’s joy
coursing through him. What bothered him was that the old man had figure out a
way to kill a principality. It was time to go to Walmart.

With brown smurfs in tow, Ron approached his troops. His
heart sank as he looked over the Watchers. Some were dressed in jeans and
t-shirts, some in nursing scrubs, some in bras and panties. He hadn’t expected
much since it was temporary, but there was no way he was turning his soldiers
loose in drag. “What the fuck are you doing? We’re a bit crunched for time.”

“Come now, it’s a joke, did you really think I would allow
my dears to meet heads of state in Wally World attire?” Azazel beckoned two
immaculately dressed Watchers forward, “Don’t they look lovely?” The rest of
the watchers turned and trotted single file into Layaway. “I think they’re
disappointed that you didn’t laugh.” Azazel pouted.

“I might be a little more jovial if I didn’t have a war to
start in a few hours. Get my boys for Iran and Saudi Arabia on their way; I
want a nuke popped over Tehran, no later than four o’clock pm, Greenwich. We
are going to be cutting this close.”

Azazel smiled, “In your wildest dreams, did you ever think
those words would come out of your mouth?”

“I can’t believe how fucking smart I am.”

“Yes, well we still need to work on the potty mouth.”

“Do I not sound like royalty?”

“Why do you have winged demons following you?”

“They are a present for my dad.”

One by one, the Watchers returned, dressed in Caraceni
suits. It wasn’t lost on Ron, that Azazel had dressed them better than she had
him. She would whisper in their ear, and they would disappear. Ron smiled, just
like I dream of Jeanie. His guys could travel like Nolte, minus the piss. “Make
sure they have their passports, I don’t want these guys arguing with some
fucking gate guard, or Marine over their diplomatic status.”

He turned toward his pack of smurfs. “Let’s go boys.” In
unison, they alerted and followed Ron to the front door. “The angels are going
to shit when they see you guys.” Ron looked up at the church steeple and
smiled, before he stepped back, allowing the tiny demons to bum-rush the
parking lot. Immediately a rifle started cracking, sending asphalt from the
parking lot spraying into the air. Ron wanted to stay and watch, but he had to get
to Jordan and get the party started. “No man knows the hour or the day.” Jesus
once said. Ron knew that to be true, but he had a feeling that God was waiting
on him. “Jim crack corn, Motherfucker.” He sent the words, right into Nolte’s
head.

N
olte
poked his head over the sill, careful not to knock the cherry off his Virginia
Slim. The angels were just standing there, not even bothering to watch out for
another shot. Michael was no longer a silver monster. Nolte wondered if he had
imagined his transformation. Their arrogance chapped Nolte’s ass. Slowly he
rose up, stepping back so the rifle didn’t protrude from the window and to hide
his muzzle flash. He took aim.

"Hey, Asshole." There came a still small voice in
his head. "Hey, Asshole, I have a present for you." It wasn’t the
little coward, this time, it sounded like Cupcake.

"Look down here; I want you to meet my little
buddies."

It was Cupcake! He was standing just inside the entrance to
Wally World. Nolte took aim at him and was releasing his breath when the doors
suddenly burst open. A hundred or so black midgets spilled into the parking
lot. Nolte’s dream of dreams had come true; it was Clock Tower Day! Nolte
squeezed off two air balls, missing everything, but the ground.

"Jim crack corn, Motherfucker." Cupcake whispered
into Nolte's head.

The demons ran toward the angels but suddenly stopped in
unison. Except for the flapping of a few wings, they seemed to be frozen. The
archangels hadn’t even flinched at the charge of creatures.

Slowly, one by one, the demons snapped their heads in
Nolte’s direction, until all were staring at him. Nolte grinned around his
Virginia Slim and squeezed off a shot. The demon nearest the angels exploded.
This seemed to get their attention. The three twinks also looked up at Nolte.
“Holy Water, Motherfuckers! I’m using your magic!” Nolte screamed and cackled
like a mad man. He fired twice more, in short succession, blowing two more of
the demons to pieces. Nolte cackled again.

Michael smiled at Jerry and Gabriel, “How, in the hell, do
you think he handled Holy Water in his condition?”

“He’s resourceful, I’ll give him that.”

“The Fifth Trumpet hasn’t sounded; we should get rid of
these.” Gabriel stepped forward and raised his hand. Michael quickly grabbed
his arm.

“Let’s see how many he can take down, before they can get
him. Baal’s gone, his head’s splattered all over Jerry, someone needs to take
out the little guy.”

Two more cracks, from the bell tower, made a mist of two
more demons. “Get some!” Nolte shouted from the belfry. “Get some!” The demons
began flapping their wings and bouncing, trying to become airborne.

“Why can’t they fly?” Gabriel looked back at the other two
angels. Michael shrugged, but Jeremiel smiled sheepishly.

“I owe him one, he killed Baal for me.” Gunfire erupted in
earnest.

Nolte grinned, his dead eyes twinkling; the sustained
gunfire had made his little niglets scatter. He paused, took a long swig of
mescal and lit a fresh Virginia Slim. The added length on Virginia Slims kept
the smoke out of his eyes, they were the perfect smoke for clock tower killing;
this was the best day of his life. He popped up over the window sill and fired
another burst; some of the demons had made it to the curb on Walmart’s side of
the street. He painted the sidewalk black with their blood, he couldn’t miss.
Again they scattered. The black explosions thrilled Nolte; the only way it
could get any better would be if they caught fire, too.

Nolte would fire and the niglets would hop and run. The
breeze coming through his firing port now reeked of rotten eggs. The little
fuckers smelled worse than his diaper.

He had them pinned down, but every so often, one would grow
a pair and charge the steps of the church, becoming a dark mist before it even
got close to the first step. It hadn’t taken too many heroes rushing into his
line of fire, before the targets of opportunity ceased. In his fantasies, there
had been no lulls in the gunfire. He took another swig of mescal and put a
round in the Prius next to Michael. The angel didn’t even flinch.

Nolte could see the winged niglets massing in two groups,
one to the north of the church and another to the south. He knew they were
about to make their move. He dropped below the window and reloaded his
magazines. He took another extra-long pull on his mescal. Something told him he
wouldn’t be coming back for another.

Looking out the window, he could see his opposition closing
in. He tossed the three bottles of wine onto the steps below, the Jesus blood
soaked the stairs, creating a nice demon barrier.

“Watch your step Faggots, that shit will burn your toesies!”

Nolte turned and squeezed down the narrow stairs, if this
went hand to hand combat, he wanted some room to fight.

At first, it was just screaming, as the niglets danced in
his Jesus juice. Then it was screams and a few tiny fists, banging on the
church doors. Within seconds, it sounded like a hundred of them, growling and
pounding on the heavy oak slabs.

Nolte took a knee and took aim; he wished he could have worn
his ‘Happiness Is
A
Warm Gun’ T-shirt. The doors
bulged and throbbed, then burst open. The demons roared and poured in like
liquid. Nolte fired blindly into the crowd, as fast as he could pull the
trigger.

***

F
rom the front seat of the Diablo, Charlie had
watched it all. Exploding demons, archangels on an apparent smoke break, a
sniper in a diaper, it was all definitely stuff you don’t see every day. Hell,
he’d never even read about shit like it in books, but the only thing Charlie
found impossible for his mind to accept, was the look on his brother’s face
when he released the demons. Evil can be a facial expression.

Once the herd of demons broke down the doors to the church,
the angels had ended their break and started walking toward the demon filled house
of God. Soon the gunfire stopped. Charlie fired up the Lamborghini and drove
off in the opposite direction.

***

“S
orry
again, about the hour, but I’m a stickler when it comes to last wishes and one
of Nolte’s last wishes, was to read his will at the stroke of midnight after he
had been interred.”

Nolte’s lawyer, dressed as though he were aiming for a cross
between Matlock and a 90’s GQ version of a stockbroker, complete with a thin,
gold hoop earring. But what immediately caught Junior’s attention, was not
man’s powder blue Gucci, or the man’s exquisite Windsor knot, or the fact that
the man had his hoop in the wrong ear, it was the lawyer’s face. As far as
Junior was concerned, they could have been twins. Junior felt as if he had
found his doppelganger.

Though their mannerisms were much different, Junior was
smitten, he watched the man closely. At the points in the conversation where
Junior would usually express one of his confused looks, the lawyer would
instead, smile, causing Junior to smile. Junior felt as though he was looking
in a mirror, yet, seeing a more successful reflection. A version of the man he
would have been without Alice.

Alice tapped Junior’s shin with her foot, she could also see
the resemblance, and could sense her husband’s confusion beginning to set in.
This was the last place she wanted him looking stupid. However, she couldn’t
help but wish, that she had met the lawyer before Junior had knocked her up,
she figured if she was going to be saddled with comb-over adorned, pasty faced
Twinkie disposal, for the rest of her life, a lawyer’s take home pay might make
it more bearable. If the lawyer had seen the resemblance, he wasn’t letting on.

After making sure, all four of them had had an opportunity
to see his smile, the lawyer opened the manila envelope on his desk. “Well, it
seems that Nolte was meticulous in paying his bills. So often the decedent
leaves behind a great deal of debt, which can largely reduce the estate. Nolte
owed no one. Not one cent.” The lawyer beamed with pride as if it was he,
himself, who was responsible for the good news.

Once the counselor saw no accolades were going to be offered
him, he set to work explaining Nolte’s redistribution of wealth, first in
legalese, then again, in terms; he felt the group in front of him might be able
to understand. It was painfully clear, that the laws concerning marriage of
immediate family members were not strictly enforced wherever these people came
from. If he had to guess, gun to his head, he would venture their parents were
first cousins, maybe brother and sister. He thought that father/daughter or
mother/son might be a stretch. From the corner of his office, one of their
offspring sucked snot and plucked incessantly at his crotch. It was going to be
a long, dark night.

The sun was trying to peek through the curtains by the time
the reading had ended. The sisters had nitpicked at every cent; it was going to
take him days on the phone to reshuffle all of Nolte’s money. He could kick
himself in the ass, for suggesting that Nolte just put in the will that all
monies be divided equally, he had no idea the sisters were so greedily opposed
to one another.

Though, in the end, the lawyer had never seen such happiness
gathered together in one place. During the reading, along with the nitpicking,
there had been many gasps through awe-dropped jaws, when actual account
balances were mentioned. Nolte, by way of his mother, had been a very rich man,
though not much of an investor.

Nolte owned no stocks or bonds whatsoever; he trusted no one
with his money, in fact, if the old man could have had it his way, he would
have dug a hole in his backyard and buried his fortune.

It had taken quite a bit of convincing to get Nolte to leave
the money in the bank, which he finally did, but only on the condition that
each account balance did not exceed $250,000 and never two accounts in the same
bank. Nolte didn’t trust the government and the FDIC was the government. He
would only deposit what they were able to insure. Just north of three million
dollars had been divided and deposited into twenty different accounts.

Along with the sun’s appearance, came a banging in the outer
office, as if furniture was being thrown about.

“Miss Nesbitt?” The lawyer shouted. “Miss Nesbitt, is that
you?” Miss Nesbitt had worked for him for fifteen years and had always shown up
for work on time and as quiet as a mouse. From the sounds emanating from the
other room, he feared he was being robbed. Stealthily he trotted to the door,
in a manner much too feminine for Junior, RJ and Junior-Junior to contain
themselves; they sniggered openly.

As the lawyer silently cracked the door, he saw a disheveled
Miss Nesbitt, frantically rifling drawers in a desperate search.

“Miss Nesbitt!”

“Oh shit! You scared me; I didn’t know you were here.” She
tossed a thick folder to the lawyer, who didn’t appear to be able to catch
something, even if it was placed in his hand. Papers scattered at his feet.
“Pick that up!” Miss Nesbitt shouted. “That’s your account information, you
need to go get in line, there’s a run on the banks. A nuclear bomb went off in
the Middle East, everyone is panicking.”

As the lawyer squatted and scooped handfuls of paper back
into the folder, Alice knelt beside him. “What does this mean? Should I get in
line too? Where do we get in line?”

“I don’t know, New York, Houston, Dallas, Chicago. Look at
the account information I gave you. Nolte has an account in town here, but he
only kept a few thousand dollars in it. You can probably get your hands on
that, but you need to get in line behind me. Soon the Feds will close the banks
and then we’re all fucked.”

“What about our millions?” Alice was beside herself with
overwhelming worry and confusion. Why would a bomb going off,
a bajillion miles
away, affect her newly acquired bank accounts?
“What’s happening?” Junior placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, which she
immediately sluffed off. At that moment, she noticed Junior was wearing two
different colored socks. She looked up at him to find his expression twisted
with confusion. It was more than she could take, she attacked, claws out.

As Junior and Alice hit the floor, the lawyer turned toward
the door, “If you don’t get what you can from the bank now and this doesn’t
blow over, you won’t have any money at all.”

Outside the sun dulled. Inside, everything lost its color.
Everything turned to various shades of gray.

Martha wailed and RJ wondered how he could parlay her
emotional outburst into sex, Junior-Junior plucked at his crotch and
Junior-Senior fought for his life.

***

T
he
sun was rising on the war-torn neighborhood in Tremé. Snubs of broken pipe
glistened and tall weeds sparkled with dew. Charlie sat in the Diablo,
listening to the radio, though; his attention was divided between the shattered
window and the flat tire on Ron’s Mercedes. He had tried to get the money out
of the truck, but his hands felt like he was holding them in flames the instant
he had touched it. He wasn’t getting past the archangel’s voodoo.

For the last two hours, at every position on the radio, no
music could be found, only ‘News Alerts’ and ‘Breaking News Alerts’ and ‘This
just ins’, all concerning the detonation of a nuclear weapon in Iran.
Eyewitness reports were saying that most of Tehran had been obliterated by an
air burst and whatever was left of it was burning out of control. At what
distance, Charlie wondered, did someone have to be standing from a nuclear
detonation to survive the blast, yet, still be considered an eyewitness?

Speculation was rampant from experts of this, and experts of
that and according to all the flabbergasted voices on the radio, troops were
massing in every country on the planet that had enough troops to assemble what
could be considered a mass.

Several world leaders had committed suicide in the early morning
hours; the British Prime Minister, the King of Jordan and the President of
France. The world had turned to shit overnight and all fingers were pointing at
Israel.