The 1964 Impala ripped through the roadblock like a plastique detonation. Jesus slunk down in the seat and drove like a low rider, while Rosie and Lena ducked as far down on the floorboards as they could manage. The guards at the checkpoint sprayed bullets and arrows through the front, rear and sides of the car. Miraculously no one got hit. The car ripped down the gravel road at seventy miles an hour, gaining speed by the second.
Lena poked her head up to check out the action. An arrow protruded from the back of the seat, directly above where her head had been. She broke it off and threw it out the window. She peaked out through the shattered rear windshield, and that was when she discovered the bad news. Three guys on motorcycles were chasing them.
“First three guys in a car chase you while you’re on a motorcycle. Now you’re in a car being chased by three guys on motorcycles. Does this kind of thing happen to you often, Jesus?” Lena asked him cynically.
“This is the first time it ever happened in one night,” Jesus paused, “As far as I can remember. No, wait, there was one time in Houston, but that involved horses too. I’ll have to think about it.”
“Don’t bother. I was kidding,” Lena explained.
Rosie didn’t budge from where she was curled up below the front dashboard. She prayed the Lord’s prayer over and over. Every now and then she spoke the words loud enough to hear, even though she tried to keep it quiet. Lena didn’t hear her, but Jesus did. He didn’t blame Rosie at all. He figured that if prayer could help her, then more power to her.
At the next intersection Jesus slammed the Impala into a ninety-degree left turn at fifty miles an hour, throwing dust and gravel twenty feet in the air. A hundred yards later he jerked the steering wheel back the other way. They were aimed west, directly at the river three miles away. The motorcycles gained ground in the turns, but not enough to bring the car in range. All Jesus had to do was keep them alive down a three mile straightaway.
The motorcycles caught up with them a quarter mile down the road. Bullets lodged in the driver’s side door, and in the seat behind Jesus. The riders had noticed a lack of return fire, and they pegged Jesus for a sitting duck. Jesus had other plans.
“Take the wheel, Lena! Hold it straight!” he shouted at the girl in the back seat. He had already determined that Rosie was not in a good place, and wouldn’t be any help. Lena climbed over the front seat and took the wheel.
The bikers kept pace behind the car, and on both sides. They knew better than to pull up even, because the car itself was a lethal weapon. They emptied round after round into the car, but Jesus stomped on the gas. The old Impala gained momentum. Holes sprouted in the quarter panels, well to the rear of their targets.
Jesus leaned out of the window with the M16. He fired short, controlled bursts at the two motorcycles on the driver’s side. One of the riders swerved around to the passenger side, but Jesus nailed the other rider. The rider fell back out of the seat, and the handlebars of the motorcycle jerked sideways. The bike flipped end over end in the air, and exploded into a fireball when it came down. Jesus slapped another clip into the rifle.
The Colombian pulled himself back into the car, and yelled, “Get down, Lena!” Lena shoved herself down upon Rosie as Jesus slammed on the breaks and cut the wheel hard, spinning the car sideways. If the car hadn’t been so wide and low to the ground, then it would have flipped over. As the Impala spun out, the bikers behind the car on the passenger side came into view through the front and rear windows. Jesus opened up with the M16, and emptied a full thirty round clip at them.
The biker closest to the side of the road swerved to avoid the gunfire. He hit something in the grass, and the bike lay down on its side, dragging the rider down the road with it. Jesus wasn’t sure if the rider was shot or not, but it was obvious the man wasn’t getting up. The other biker took several rounds in his chest, but somehow he managed to stop the bike without wrecking. He must have died as the bike came to a halt, because he and the motorcycle fell over slowly. It was a bizarre way for a car chase to end.
“That was intense,” Lena told Jesus breathlessly. Her heart pounded in her ears. The night continued to get more exciting. She extricated herself from Rosie.
“You kneed me in the kidneys. I already hurt all over. Could you be a little more careful the next time?” Rosie whined.
“I’m sorry, Rosie. They were shooting at us. I didn’t have time to plan how I got out of the way,” Lena told her patronizingly.
“You’re so mean, Lena. Do you hate all women, or just me?”
Jesus backed the car until it faced west again, and then he gunned the engine. He was tired, and he had enough hostility to deal with from the entire world. He didn’t need an extra fight going on right next to him.
“If you ladies don’t treat each other with civility, then I’m going to put both of you out of the car right here,” he said firmly. The girls could tell he was serious. They rode quietly for a while.
Jesus changed the subject. “That must have been a main checkpoint into evil territory. They only keep motorized vehicles at major checkpoints. I am sure they weren’t considering the consequences of their actions when they followed us. The motorcycles were worth more than catching a few gatecrashers. The stupidity of evil never ceases to amaze me.”
“I think a lot of the bad guys get off on killing. They have no other purpose or goal for their life than kill or be killed, so they get obsessive about it. They couldn’t care less about their motorcycles, because that would interfere with their obsession,” Rosie hypothesized as she looked out the window at the passing scenery.
“How would you know?” Lena asked sharply. Lena meant the question to be nasty and rhetorical, but Rosie didn’t take it that way.
“I spent weeks at the mercy of the same kind of people, or did you forget? They kept me in a cage in the men’s barracks. My own thoughts were my only entertainment, when I wasn’t being abused. I contemplated my captors a lot. Evil makes people somewhat two-dimensional. I think it may be external, perhaps a part of damnation,” Rosie postulated at length.
Lena felt embarrassed that she put Rosie on the spot, and perceived that her own feelings of inferiority fueled her attacks on the girl. Rosie was beautiful, and evidently very intelligent. Lena hated those qualities in women around her, because that narrowed her chances of getting a good man. She decided to take it easy on Rosie, however. The girl had been through a lot.
“That sounds awfully accurate, Rosie. The bad guys never stop attacking once they get started. Maybe that really does come from something external,” Jesus reflected.
The sun began to rise in the east, and the gray shades of dawn spread out over the strife torn lands. Closer to the river a thin fog captured the growing illumination and formed ethereal shapes that drifted aimlessly. The gravel road took several unexplainable twists when it reached the downtown area. Jesus slowed the car at that point, relatively certain there would be no more trouble.
The track wound up the slight ridge that ran straight through the city. Residents of the city knew that the ridge was actually the natural levee, formed by the river instead of a geological upheaval. From the top the occupants of the Impala could see the fortress known as the Pentacle. Jesus stopped the car, and they drank in the sight of it for a few seconds. It was pleasant to see a place where people would help them, rather than try to kill them.
“I hope I can get some news about the guy I’m looking for,” sighed Jesus.
“There’s only one way to find out. Personally, I’m in need of a hot bath more than anything else in the world. Those savages never allowed me to clean myself. I actually began to look forward to being tortured to death. It had to be better than living like that,” Rosie shuddered.
“Yeah, I didn’t want to say anything, but you don’t smell good. I can’t wait to get out of the car,” Lena said, but not out of cruelty. The statement was merely true.
Jesus nosed the car down the long gentle slope to the fortress. Long-range sentries warned the forces inside the Pentacle about the car’s presence long before it could get within weapons range. Two women armed with state of the art compound bows rode out on horses to meet them. The horses were magnificent and so was one of the women. The other woman could very well have been born to warthogs. Jesus tried not to stare at the ugly one. He instead directed all his attention to the pretty one.
“State your business in the Pentacle,” the ugly woman demanded.
Jesus was forced to look at her to respond. She had warts. One of her eyes was ice blue, and the other looked black. Most of her teeth were missing, and a long scar ran from her forehead through one eyebrow and down to her chin. Jesus swallowed hard.
“I’m here to seek information on a man named Louis Comeaux. These two women are in my care. One of them is a newcomer, and we rescued the other from certain death no more than an hour ago.”
The two women on horses glanced at each other with knowing looks. The pretty one turned in the saddle and waved her bow high in the air. A group of four armed men rode out from the fortress toward them. Jesus controlled his impatience. The women were just doing what they were required to do.
The woman with the scar said, “We don’t trust newcomers and escapees. Both of them have been cozy with evil, very recently.”
“The newcomer came here as a result of my actions. She knows nothing about evil, and is here through no fault of her own. As for the ‘escapee,’ as you called her, I can assure you that any affection she may have once held for evil has been stripped from her,” Jesus argued reasonably.
The pretty woman demanded, “Why did you ask about the man named Louis?”
One of the men rode close to her and whispered in her ear. She nodded her head and turned her attention back to the car. “Are you Jesus Mendoza?” she inquired.
“Yes, I am,” the assassin said with trepidation. He recalled many times when giving out his name resulted in an immediate firefight. He fingered the M16 apprehensively.
“You should have said so. Drive on up to the stockade. By the way, that’s a nice car, stud. Maybe you could take me for a ride in it later,” the scarred woman winked at the assassin. She was only poking fun, but Jesus felt vulnerable and exposed. He shuddered as he pulled the car forward.
The mounted soldiers parted their horses for the Impala. The people of the fortress had a few motorcycles, cars and trucks stored in a large barn inside the walls. They preferred to use horses because the animals were beautiful and full of life, qualities that were very antithetical to the nature of evil. The animals gave their riders inspiration.
Jesus knew how much those horses meant to their owners. Mounted cavalry would fight all the legions of hell for their steeds. Some of the horses were magically enhanced to communicate empathetically, and horse owners were very clannish. Jesus didn’t know much about that, though. He was just a simple assassin on a quest to kill all evil.
“What are you thinking about, Jesus?” Lena asked him, and she looked right into his eyes. She saw myriad shades of gray and green inside them, and she thought the sunlight made them very beautiful.
“Just something I read a long time ago,” Jesus looked away as he spoke.
Jesus felt that he could not afford to become attached to anyone. He stopped the car and got out, and closed the door behind him. Lena quietly cursed the man. She huffed noisily and climbed out the passenger side after Rosie.
A very tall man of great size strode purposefully through the gate in the stockade and stopped in front of the car. “You are Jesus?” he directed at the assassin.
“I am.”
“My name is Michael Flannery. I’m Louis Comeaux’s priest. I prayed for your arrival most of the night. Louis wants to leave within the hour,” Michael spilled out all at once.
“I’m afraid that’s out of the question,” Jesus responded.
Lena interrupted, “My name is Lena. I’m tired, I’m dirty and I’m not happy to be here. This here is Rosie, and you can see her condition. Now where can we get cleaned up and bed down? I am assuming that the forces of goodness do have baths and beds. Am I right?”
“That is, uh, Louis said… Cara!” Michael finally yelled for help. He didn’t know that the acolyte had come up right behind him.
“Yes, Michael?” Cara answered him in a quiet voice. Michael jumped visibly in surprise.
“Can you see that our female visitors are taken care of?”
“I was about to do so before you yelled,” Cara told him. Her voice conveyed no emotion of any kind. She was always like that. She gestured broadly with her right hand, and the girls tromped in the indicated direction. Cara fell in behind them, and they all disappeared into the Pentacle.
“What about me?” Jesus asked.
“Perhaps you should speak to Louis. He intends to depart for Asmodeus’ palace this morning,” Michael told him.
“Asmodeus?” Jesus blurted out the question. He really didn’t want to know the answer to that question, but it was too late.
“Follow me. We have much to discuss.”
The two men talked as they walked across the front lawn of the fortress. Jesus appeared not to notice the intricately carved frescoes and ornate tiling of the Pentacle’s interior. They ascended the black marble staircase that spiraled up to the other floors, and neither one of them showed the least appreciation for the classical statues set in small alcoves every few feet. They were both too engrossed in the business at hand. When they reached the fifth floor, where Louis’ quarters had been relocated, Michael finished the condensed report and pointed to a wooden door down the hall.
“He’s in there,” Michael told Jesus. Michael sat down on the stairs to wait. He refused to get involved. Michael knew that Louis mood had grown dark since the dream in the middle of the night. The priest already tried to change the young man’s mind. Michael thought it was best to get out of the way and let someone else have a try.
Jesus walked to the door and knocked, and on the other side Louis said that it was open. Jesus straightened his back and entered resolutely. The young man stood over the bed filling a small backpack of earthly manufacture. Louis struck Jesus as childlike in appearance. Jesus shook his head, because Louis’ actions were childlike as well.
“Louis, I’m Jesus. I’m your bodyguard.”
“That’s great. Time’s a wastin’. Are you ready to go, Jesus?”
“You’re not going anywhere, at least not right now. I suggest you make yourself comfortable, because you’re going to be here awhile,” Jesus informed him.
“Oh, is that right? Who’s going to stop me? You?”
“Absolutely. My job is to keep you alive, and that means preventing you from doing anything stupid. I understand that you are shocked by this experience, and that you want to go home. Trust me, though, Louis, getting killed is not the solution.”
“Haven’t you heard? I’m pure magic. I don’t think I’m even human. Nice, right? First I get sent to this world o’ shit, and then I lose my humanity. I gotta tell you, I’m feeling more and more like a victim than a perpetrator. A little petty theft and some drug use is peanuts compared to what has been done to me. I’m ending this game,” Louis carried on bitterly, “and then I’m going home.”
“Louis, I want to go home just as bad as you do. I’ve lived here over two thousand years. I get sent to Earth to kill people, but I can’t rest until I’m back here. You have no idea what it’s like to go home and be unable to stay there. My life, my soul and my ticket home all depend on getting you out of here alive. I’m going to get you home, Louis, because that’s how I’m going to get home. But not today. First we make plans.”
“Didn’t you hear anything I said? I don’t need you. I’m pure magic. Now I suggest you get out of my way, before you get hurt,” Louis threatened.
“I’ll make a deal with you, Louis. I will follow you without question, no matter the danger, but you have to do something for me first. Prove it. Show me the magic. If you can do anything magical, anything at all, then we will leave for New Orleans right this minute. I’ll give you sixty seconds,” Jesus checked his Rolex, “starting now. Go.”
Jesus crossed his arms and stared at Louis. Louis looked away, and then fumbled with some of his clothes. He finally looked Jesus in the eyes, and tears welled up in the young man’s. He sat down heavily on the bed and covered his face, ashamed of his own emotions.
The assassin wanted to know more about Louis, for business purposes only. Jesus initiated his powers of telepathy to delve into Louis’ mind. It was the same ability he used on Lena while she was unconscious in the street. It was harmless, and it only took a second. He reached out with his psyche. He found Louis’ consciousness, but something struck at Jesus’ probe with fantastic force. Jesus staggered back into the hallway a couple of feet, and almost collapsed. Louis showed no sign that anything happened.
Jesus regained his composure, but he developed a splitting headache. He glance over his shoulder at the priest, and saw Michael gazing at him with concern. Jesus had just gained firsthand proof of Louis’ magical alter ego, and within the sixty seconds allotted. Jesus kept the information to himself.
One of the most important things Jesus learned in two thousand years on Discordia was the importance of planning. Failure to plan constituted suicide in a place like South Louisiana. Dangerous people inhabited every corner of the cities. Jesus knew that it wouldn’t matter if Louis’ could split the atom with his bare hands, their success depended on their intelligence.
Louis’ wiped his face and looked out the window. The sun was slightly more orange than he remembered, but somehow it was still a beautiful day. He crossed over to the window and studied the landscape in the distance. A strange idea entered into his head. For a second he wanted to save Discordia. He knew that it was crazy, so he put it out of his mind.
“I’m sorry, Jesus. I’m not normally the sensitive type. I thought I ran out of tears a long time ago, but I was wrong. You’re right. We need to take our time and think things through,” Louis almost whispered.
“I know we don’t know each other, Louis, but you will find out that I am one of the good guys. I’m not superior to you as a human being. I am one of the best assassins of all time, but my trade almost led to my damnation. I have teetered on the brink of hell for two thousand years. I see that as two thousand years of atonement for losing my humanity. If anything, your tears define you as the kind of person I wish I was,” Jesus revealed compassionately. It was a side of himself he rarely had occasion to call upon.
“When you asked me to perform an act of magic, I couldn’t do anything at all. I guess I look pretty foolish. Maybe what I dreamed last night really was a coincidence.”
“No, Louis, it was no coincidence. There’s something incredibly powerful inside you. I found that out for myself a minute ago. You need to learn how to control that power, and you don’t have much time. Every bad guy, every sadist, every devil worshipper and every two-bit shyster on this planet wants you dead, and I can’t take them all out.”
“Then what the hell do we do, Jesus?” Louis wanted an easy answer.
“Play it by ear. Right now I need you to promise that you won’t leave for New Orleans while I take a nap. Uncle Jesus is tired. Maybe something will come to me in a dream,” Jesus suggested inanely. He really didn’t have any plan beyond getting some sleep.
“I promise I won’t split while you’re asleep. Something’s bothering me, though. If every bad guy on the planet wants me dead, then why don’t they attack this fortress?”
“Louis, I could kill you for asking that out loud.”
The statement darkened Louis’ mood even further, but Jesus didn’t notice. The assassin hadn’t slept in four days. His mission with Louis surpassed every other assignment of his life in danger, complexity and importance. He desperately needed rest, because the point when every second counted could not be far away. He exited Louis’ room with a slight nod, which Louis solemnly returned.
Jesus conferred with Michael briefly. He extracted a promise to look after Louis. He asked about a place to sleep, and found that for some reason nobody prepared a room for him in advance. Jesus asked for the location of Michael’s room, and then descended two floors to make use of the priest’s bed. Jesus fell into the bed fully clothed, and drifted instantly into a fitful sleep.
Jesus’ Tale
Carlos Ruiz Mendoza loved his young son very much. Members of a rival cartel murdered the child’s mother during a vicious feud in 1972. For that reason Carlos sent little Jesus away from Medellin when the boy was only five years old. Carlos feared for his son’s safety in a world where assassination and kidnapping represented a viable method of social advancement. Besides the boy’s personal safety, Don Mendoza also recognized the liability factor of showing his love for the child. Carlos knew that his enemies would use his love against him in a heartbeat if given the chance, and he could not take that chance.
Jesus grew up in Antigua, Guatemala with his Uncle Fernando. Fernando Mendoza owned a multinational export corporation that shipped coffee all over the world. Fernando was Carlos’ younger brother. He earned his livelihood safely and legitimately. Carlos knew that Fernando wasn’t cut out for the drug trade. Because Fernando lived a normal life, his plantation in the Guatemalan highlands provided a perfect place for a young child to grow up.
The plantation occupied two thousand acres of prime arable land on the side of one of the three volcanoes in the Antigua area. Armed guards stood watch at the front gate because of the bloody civil war that raged in the jungles, and elsewhere. The guards helped guarantee the safety of the estate. The plantation’s remote location and limited avenues of approach guaranteed the privacy. There was only one small road in and out of the estate, and nobody entered or exited without permission. The property itself contained dozens of small tracks and trails, for the purpose of transporting the coffee crop. To a young boy, it was like a natural fantasyland.
Jesus grew up on his uncle’s land, untouched by the bloody civil war that took place on many fronts inside the Central American country. He played soccer with the children of the Indian plantation workers. He loved to run foot races through the banana trees, but most of all he enjoyed the game of hide and seek. Jesus lived so happily, he thought he was the luckiest boy on earth. He sometimes missed his father, but he was very young. His uncle showed him enough love to make up for it.
Fernando employed the best tutors in Antigua to educate the boy. Jesus spoke perfect English by the time he was eight years old, and showed great promise in mathematics. The boy’s athletic abilities greatly impressed his uncle. Fernando hired a full time physical trainer to teach Jesus all the best ways to exercise. Some of Fernando’s friends worried he was pushing the young boy too hard, but Fernando knew better. Jesus enjoyed the tutoring and the training because he had no daytime playmates. His friends worked in the plantation during the day.
Jesus’ father rose through the ranks of the Medellin Cartel. By 1981 Carlos Mendoza was one of Pablo Escobar’s chief lieutenants, and obscenely wealthy. He decided it was time to reacquaint himself with his son, and introduce him to the ways of the world. Carlos arrived at a small airfield on the coffee plantation in his private jet. Jesus was finally reunited with his father after eight long years.
Success in the cartel changed Carlos Mendoza. He completely bought into the ideology of the drug lords. He believed that God intended for the cartel to exploit the resources they were given, and that the violence of the business was simply part of the natural order of things. Long years of cocaine abuse and self-justification warped the old man’s thinking.
Carlos’ Spanish heritage instilled in him a deep sense of familial duty. He viewed the drug trade as a divine inheritance. He believed that it was his responsibility as a father to initiate Jesus into the cartel. The time had come for Jesus to become a man, and begin his apprenticeship in the family business.
The father-son reunion took place on Jesus’ thirteenth birthday. Carlos allotted twenty-one days for the task, and informed his son of the time constraints of their time together. Carlos spent the next three weeks educating Jesus about the nature of the organization and the inner workings of the business. He presented Jesus with facts about the cocaine trade. Carlos lessened the impact of the more graphic information with his own brand of homegrown propaganda. Jesus swallowed the lies he was told, because his father gave him the information.
Signs of insanity showed through in Carlos’ paranoid ramblings and deluded rationalizations, but Jesus didn’t recognize the indicators. Jesus often fantasized about making his father proud while he was growing up, and he welcomed the opportunity to demonstrate his worthiness and his love. Jesus’ unconditional love for his father blinded him to the moral implications of the things Carlos told him. The teenager basked in his father’s attention, which was something he dreamed about his entire life. He would have done anything his father asked.
Carlos and Jesus spent three weeks of pleasant mornings talking in the plantation’s dining room and library. They went on long walks through the shaded coffee fields, and lounged around the pool during the hottest part of the day. Carlos congratulated Jesus on his passage into manhood, and gave him rewards for being such a good son. Jesus tasted alcohol for the first time, when Carlos opened a bottle of fine cognac for just the two of them. It was difficult for Jesus to feel that anything was wrong in that atmosphere.
On the last morning of their time together, Carlos embraced his son and expressed pride in him. He told Jesus that it was graduation day. From that day forward Jesus would be a full member of the Medellin Cartel. He quizzed Jesus about some of the finer points of their discussions, and all of the questions related to the cartel’s methods of dealing with their enemies. The subject matter and the look in his father’s eyes frightened Jesus, but he answered all of the questions to Carlos’ satisfaction.
“Are you absolutely clear that the men who stand against us must be destroyed, at all costs?” Carlos asked his son.
“Yes, father,” Jesus answered.
“Would you kill someone for our family, Jesus?”
“Yes, father.”
“Then come with me, son.”
The older man led them from the house to the garage. They got into Fernando’s Mercedes Benz. Carlos drove his son down a small gravel road that wound far into the recesses of the plantation. The older man refused to answer any of Jesus’ questions, and admonished him to remain silent as they rode.
After about twenty minutes they arrived at a small shack near the base of the volcano. A man with a machine gun sat in front of the place. Jesus knew that his Uncle Fernando never posted armed men inside the property. He got a sinking feeling that something bad was about to happen.
Carlos gestured for his son to enter the shack, and Jesus did so. Inside there was only a table and a few chairs. Tied securely to one of the chairs was a man Jesus didn’t recognize. The man had been severely beaten. Both of his eyes were black, and swollen almost completely shut. Dried blood was caked on his chin where it dripped down from his mouth. The man’s lips were puffed and torn from being smashed between knuckles and his own teeth. The man groaned when they entered, dimly aware of their presence.
“Look closely at this man, Jesus,” his father told him. “We discovered that he gave information to a United States DEA agent. They collared him six months ago, and to save his own worthless hide he betrayed his friends and family. At first we didn’t know who the traitor was, so we fed false information to several of our people. The filthy betrayer turned out to be this man.”
“What are you going to do to him, father?” Jesus asked his father.
The scene disturbed the thirteen-year-old deeply. He had never witnessed human suffering before, much less intentionally inflicted injuries. What his father taught him about enforcing the secrecy of the cartel made perfect sense when it was only talk. He saw nothing right about the practice in reality, however. It made him feel sick.
“It’s not what I’m going to do to him, Jesus. It’s what you’re going to do to him. End his suffering, son. Take his miserable life,” Carlos ordered. He pulled a small pistol from a holster inside his belt and handed it to Jesus.
The request sounded so simple, but Jesus didn’t know if he could do it. It was one thing to talk about killing someone, but an altogether different thing to carry out the task. His emotions seethed inside him. The Catholic values his uncle taught him warred with the desire to win his father’s approval. He could not bring himself to take the pistol from his father’s hand.
“What troubles you, Jesus?”
“You know I listened to everything you’ve told me for the past few weeks, but in church I learned that it is wrong to hurt people. I don’t know if I can do something so terrible,” the adolescent boy confessed.
“Listen to me, and try to understand what I am going to tell you. By taking this man’s life you will be freeing him from a life of pain. No matter what sins this man had in his lifetime, he has had time to make peace with God by now. You will be sending him to heaven, unless he is truly beyond salvation. In any case, you won’t be committing an unjust act.
“If we let people like this man get away with informing on the families of the organization, then we are essentially allowing evil to take place. Cartel members are tortured and executed every day in Colombia, and they are the lucky ones. Others are kept alive in prisons so terrible they seem like hell on earth. This man sent a number of people to terrible fates, but not openly, like a soldier would. He did it through treachery and betrayal of trust. His actions remind me of Judas Iscariot. Taking this man’s life is not a sin, Jesus. It’s the right thing to do,” his father lectured him.
The ideas all made sense again, when his father explained them. Jesus took the pistol. His father tapped a finger on the man’s temple, and Jesus understood. He placed the gun beside the man’s head and pulled the trigger. After the sound quit ringing in Jesus’ ears, he realized that in its place there was only emptiness.
The act haunted Jesus for centuries. He never forgot that moment. It was the moment when he lost his way. All the regret and hindsight in the universe couldn’t change something once it took place. Jesus hated the laws of nature, almost as much as he sometimes hated himself for the things he did.
After Jesus passed his “final exam” he left Fernando’s plantation forever. On the day Jesus left, his uncle refused to look directly at him. Fernando knew what happened, and he couldn’t bear to see the evidence of Carlos’ corrupting influence. Fernando’s stance infuriated his brother. A few years later Carlos ordered his brother’s execution, and seized possession of the plantation for his own purposes. Jesus never found out.
Once the young Jesus settled down in Medellin he was totally immersed in the lore of the cartel. He carried a gun at all times, and became a victim of the paranoia that infects drug dealers. He attended low level business meetings for the purpose of learning proper etiquette. He also witnessed several more executions, though he was not asked to pull the trigger again. He became immune to the nausea he originally felt at seeing a man’s brains on the floor.
Jesus was considered an adult in his society, and he acted like one. He found that he enjoyed the presence of pretty girls, and spent a lot of money keeping different ones around at all times. Carlos viewed Jesus’ licentious behavior as a sign of weakness, and banned the presence of prostitutes in the Mendoza hacienda. Jesus became highly skilled at hiding women in his private apartment, in stark defiance of Carlos’ wishes. Sex helped him escape reality for a little while.
The Santa Lucia Preparatory Academy in Medellin welcomed Jesus into the student body in the fall of 1982. Jesus never realized how much he enjoyed normal life until he moved home with his father. Classes and homework appealed to him much more greatly than listening to old drug dealers tell war stories. He encountered the beautiful daughters of wealthy landowners at his school, and the school immediately became his favorite place to be. He even gave up whores, because none of them could measure up to the señoritas he admired during the day.
Jesus trained in the martial arts on a daily basis, and joined the track team. He became very popular among the other students. The girls wanted to be with him because of his athleticism and good looks, and the boys wanted to be with him to improve their own chances with the girls. Jesus forgot all about his home life while he was at school, but the fantasy of normalcy would not last.
In the summer of 1986 Carlos sent Jesus into the Peruvian Andes to study special subjects. An old Indian named Silvio, who was tough as nails, schooled Jesus in the art of assassination. Jesus learned thirty ways to poison a man with readily available ingredients. He learned how to throw any item that could injure or kill a man, anything metal with a point on it: axes, knives, forks, nails, needles and screwdrivers. Silvio taught him how to fashion booby traps in nature, using vegetation, tree limbs and rocks. Jesus developed a morbid interest in the subject, and was always hungry for more knowledge.
When the summer ended, Jesus was surprised to find out that he wouldn’t be returning to Santa Lucia’s. Carlos gave Silvio complete control over Jesus’ life. The old Indian was under strict orders not to release Jesus until his education was complete. Silvio told Jesus that three months of playing in the mountains did not make him ready to hunt human beings. Jesus protested strongly, because he missed the young girls of Medellin.
Silvio finally lost patience with Jesus’ whining. The old Indian told Jesus that if he could prove his worthiness, then Jesus could return to his soft existence at home. He took Jesus to a hut high in the mountains, and left him there with no food or water. Silvio agreed to send Jesus home if he could survive a week.
Silvio hid in the rocks two ridges over and watched. On the fifth day Jesus failed to appear. Silvio traversed the distance to find the young man unconscious, suffering from severe dehydration and hunger. Jesus was so proud he refused to admit defeat, even if it killed him. Silvio spent two days nursing Jesus back to health, and then resumed the young man’s education.
Physical training took on a completely different meaning under Silvio’s tutelage. Every morning Jesus carried buckets of water up a steep trail that was almost a mile long. He chopped firewood for over an hour almost every day. He slept on a straw mat on the hard ground, and bathed in ice cold water. The training was meant to increase his capacity to endure hardship and pain.
Silvio constantly made conditions more difficult, because Jesus never seemed to tire. The old Indian moved their camp back to the hut, seven thousand feet above sea level. Jesus learned to collect dew for drinking water. Silvio taught him that any moving creature constituted nutrition. Jesus survived off of bugs and slugs for three days, while Silvio ate rabbit and venison. The Indian considered the look of hatred in the young man’s eyes a good sign, but he didn’t take Jesus lightly. Silvio slept with one eye open.
When winter reared its ugly head in June of 1987, Silvio told Jesus that it was time to return to Colombia. Jesus rolled his eyes when he found out that Silvio was going with him. Jesus frowned when he learned they weren’t going to Medellin. The education had entered a new stage.
They traveled to the most dangerous area of Colombia, the coca rich region near the Peruvian border. They passed through government checkpoints unmolested. Money determined loyalty in the region. Jesus father provided them with bank drafts to get where they needed to go without any problems.
The funds got them through the government checkpoints, but it took more than that to reach their destination. The cartel employed leftist guerrillas to guard the coca region, and money didn’t mean so much to them. Silvio and Jesus spent a tense day on the outskirts of a town called Putumayo, waiting for leftist soldiers to confirm their identities. When the guerrilla commander found out who Jesus was, he offered the use of five men as escorts and guards. Silvio refused the offer.
Life in Putumayo was very tense. The threat of violence hung heavy in the air. Everybody there looked for an opportunity to advance his or her own position by any means available. Disrespecting or cheating the cartel was absolutely forbidden, but that’s where the rules ended. Silvio and Jesus found lodging near the center of town.
Silvio explained, “Your father has high hopes for you, Jesus. He wants you to lead the cartel one day, and his dreams for you don’t stop there. He knows that to rise to such a position requires absolute ruthlessness, and that is something that can not be taught. It can only be acquired. You are here to acquire ruthlessness, Jesus. I have given you the tools you need, and now you just have to use them.”
By that time Jesus no longer had any moral objections to his duties in the cartel. The boy inside him no longer existed. The man inside him wanted to take the world by the balls. Silvio told Jesus he was there to eliminate members of a rival cartel trying to muscle in on the Medellin Cartel. Jesus felt like a pit bull loosed from its chain.
Over the next six months Jesus tracked down the top eight representatives of the Cali Cartel in the region. He killed them one by one without any hesitation or complications, even though each man was more cautious than the one before. Jesus displayed a natural talent for assassination. He came to be known as “Little Death” among the natives, because of his age and his deadliness. When the last Cali representative was killed, Silvio embraced Jesus and bid him farewell.
Silvio returned to his home in the Andes. Jesus made the trip back to Medellin, where the cartel gave him a million-dollar villa for his efforts in Putumayo. Jesus’ time with Silvio changed him so much that he no longer had any interest in school. Jesus took his favorite girlfriend out on a date to celebrate his return, but he couldn’t relate to anything about her life. He felt like a stranger in the normal world. He couldn’t return to the home he longed for, because it vanished with his innocence. He settled for a night with two of Medellin’s finest prostitutes.
Jesus rarely saw his father. Carlos treated Jesus more like a project than a son, and Jesus knew that. When Carlos showed up at the villa in March of 1987, Jesus knew life was about to change again. The old man informed Jesus that he had been admitted to Louisiana State University in the United States, and that he would be attending in September. Jesus mouth dropped open. Carlos told Jesus the Cartel wanted him to be an attorney, and LSU was the easiest place for him to start.
It turned out to be true. Carlos’ secretary purchased all of the necessary documentation in Medellin. She submitted it all to the university, who had a hard time saying no to a valedictorian, and son of a Colombian diplomat. Jesus thought she laid it on a little thick, but he was ecstatic that she had. He couldn’t wait to get away from the atmosphere of fear and paranoia in Medellin. His father ordered hits on six judges the month Jesus went off to college.
Life in the United States restored a certain amount of Jesus’ sanity. Some world nations denounced the United States as a violent gun-toting society, but Jesus marveled at the peacefulness and optimism he encountered. After a couple of months at LSU, Jesus wondered if he could ever return to the constant struggles of Colombia. He found freedom and stability to be very agreeable.
Jesus should have suspected that there would be strings attached, but he was enjoying the experience too much to worry about it. He forgot all about the cartel. The cartel did not forget about him. December 2, 1987, one of Carlos’ close associates in the states showed up at Jesus’ dorm room. The man took Jesus for a ride in a Ferrari, and spelled out the hidden details of Jesus’ college experience. The cartel didn’t really want an educated lawyer. They wanted a hit man with a perfect cover.
The cartel had identified three high value targets in the United States that they wanted eliminated. One of the targets was an oil tycoon in Houston, and another was a federal prosecutor in Miami. The third target was a United States Senator. The oil tycoon, Richard Putnam, stopped doing business with the cartel after he got rich, costing the cartel millions of dollars in lost revenue. The prosecutor, Mark Ruben, was very outspoken about his intentions to pursue cases involving cartel figures in South Florida. Senator Fenway spent most of the previous congressional term pushing for a war on cocaine. The cartel held the opinion that those offenses warranted death. Jesus had his winter break cut out for him.
Nobody in Colombia believed that Jesus could carry out the assassinations. The highest leaders of the cartel assigned the contracts to Jesus in a surreptitious effort to eliminate him. Carlos’ plans for his son came to light while Jesus was in Putumayo. The plans concerned the big men at the very top of the cartel, and they didn’t like to gamble on their future. They assumed Jesus would be caught, and spend the rest of his life in an American prison.
On the 15th of December, the oil tycoon answered a telephone call in his Houston office. The phone exploded when he picked it up. Law enforcement officials were quoted as saying, “This is a terrible tragedy. Mr. Putnam was an upstanding member of the community, and a devoted father and husband. We will find out who was responsible.” Authorities found video evidence of a telephone company representative entering the building, but were frustrated in their attempts to learn the black man’s identity. Little else of value to the investigation was ever found, and the case was never solved.
Two days before Christmas in Miami, Mark Ruben died of botulism. The Dade County Medical Examiner ruled the death “accidental food poisoning.” The bacterium was traced to green beans the man ate at lunch. The concentration level of the organism in the green beans was incredibly high, and health officials were at a loss to explain how it happened. Authorities expressed relief that the bad beans effected no one else.
Senator Joe Fenway and his family spent the holidays with his aging mother, at the family farm outside of Cedar Rapids. On the second day of 1988 the senator boarded his private jet to return home to the nation’s capital from Iowa. Joe Fenway left to take care of business, but his wife and children were to spend another week on the farm. One hour into the flight the pilot reported engine problems. The plane went down over Illinois, and there were no survivors. The FAA eventually blamed the crash on mechanical failure.
The three deaths propelled Jesus to the top of the list of the world’s most dangerous assassins. Only two of the deaths were murders, but Jesus would never tell the cartel that. The senator’s plane crash was a bizarre coincidence. Jesus was still trying to figure out how to handle the senator when he got the news. The crash caused Jesus to breathe a lot easier. He already felt he was pushing his luck with the first two.
Within twenty-four hours of the senator’s death, and without telling anyone else in the cartel, Pablo Escobar put a hit out on Jesus. It was the first of three contracts taken out on Jesus Mendoza’s life that day. Francisco Ochoa, the manager of North American operations and Escobar’s second in command, took out the second contract, twelve hours before Pablo did. Jose Villareal took out the third.
Escobar and Ochoa wanted Jesus dead because they feared him, and they feared his father’s plans for him. The young assassin had proved more dangerous than they ever expected. The cartel leaders also feared the fallout from the assassinations, but that was secondary among their reasons for wanting Jesus dead. Villareal’s hit on Jesus was just another bizarre coincidence. Jose simply hated Carlos Mendoza. It had nothing to do with anything else. Jose wasn’t even privy to the information about the assassinations.
Jesus was walking down Chimes Street, on his way to get an early morning cup of coffee, when a crazed Colombian gang member drove down the street with a machine gun. The hit man yelled as he rode up slowly on the street. The hit man was sadistic, and he wanted his victim to see death coming. Jesus looked up just as the man sprayed him with thirty rounds from the barrel of an Uzi. Jesus went down bleeding from a dozen wounds, and the Colombian killer sped down the street screaming triumphantly. The police pulled the gang member over for speeding three blocks away. They discovered the Uzi and enough drugs to put the man away for thirty years.
A total of thirteen rounds struck Jesus. Two rounds grazed the insides of his thighs just millimeters from his testicles, one on each side. Two rounds grazed his hips, and the wounds were diametrically opposed. There were six bullet wounds to the small strip of flesh that covered his ribcage, three to each side. The two bullet wounds in his neck were slightly askew, but on opposite sides. The final bullet parted the very front of Jesus scalp, right in the middle of his forehead, but the wound was so shallow it didn’t bleed very much. Jesus picked himself up off of the concrete and ran back to his dorm room. He was very freaked out, and his thirteen bullet wounds burned like bumblebee stings.
The image Jesus saw in the mirror weirded him out even more than being shot at. He looked like a human connect-the-dots. The wounds could have been a constellation of stars. He could almost hear an astronomer lecturing, “The thirteen stars of the Jesus Constellation represent the time when he almost got his balls shot off.” Jesus came to the conclusion that something supernatural had happened to him, and he did it all by himself.
Once Jesus calmed down he pondered the implications of the attack. He imagined that the attempt on his life would assure his eternal silence about the recent assassinations. He assumed he knew too much for the Cartel to let him live. It made him wish he had told the truth about the senator’s plane crash, but he knew it was too late for that. The die had been cast. Jesus knew exactly what to do. The involvement of supernatural forces convinced him he needed to see a voodoo priestess.
Without a moment’s delay Jesus put some Band-Aids on his gunshot wounds, got dressed and went out in search of a voodoo priestess. He parked his Toyota Celica in a legal student space, which meant that it was almost a mile away. The long walk in the cold January air cleared his head. He recalled the story of an old black woman named Camille Valoire who lived in Houma, Louisiana. She was reputed to be one of the most powerful practitioners of black magic in the Northern Hemisphere.
The long drive to Houma on that gray winter day went by like a hallucination. Some unseen force compelled Jesus to reach Camille Valoire immediately. His will was not entirely his own. Jesus had never been to Houma or the priestess’ house before, but he drove all the way there without asking directions. He parked at Camille’s house and knocked on her front door.
The old woman looked like a voodoo priestess. She had a tiny bone through the septum of her nose, and wild dreadlocks that stuck straight up from her head in every direction. Camille appeared to have lived for centuries, so deep were the wrinkles in her face and hands. She stooped so badly that she gave the impression that she was looking for something on the ground, until she never straightened up. Her eyes were narrow, dark and penetrating. She studied Jesus with them when she opened the door.
“You must be Jesus Mendoza. The dark man told me you would be coming, and he doesn’t lie about those things,” Camille enunciated cryptically.
“I didn’t tell anyone I was coming here. How do you know my name?”
“Don’t waste time on your doubts and fears. What is the reason you came to see me, Jesus?” The old woman hated to waste time. She didn’t feel she had much of it left.
“I was shot thirteen times this morning. I think you should take a look. I believe I need the assistance of someone in your,” Jesus sought for the right phrase, “line of work.”
“Come in then, young man,” she invited him in and stepped aside.
Inside Camille’s shotgun shack it was comfortable and warm. Jesus took off his coat while the old woman watched him intently. Her gaze made his skin crawl, but the heat penetrated through the aching cold that settled into his bones while he stood outside. He rubbed his hands together theatrically while he waited for Camille to say something.
“Aren’t you going to show me something?” she asked him impatiently.
Jesus took off his sweater and his shirt so the woman could look at the symmetrical bullet wounds. Camille clucked in her throat at the sight. She instructed him to remove the Band-Aids, and he did so. The wounds did not resume oozing blood, and Jesus was glad for small favors. She moved closer to him and touched one of the furrows in his side.
“You’re going to need to take off the rest of your clothes. I’ll begin preparing for the ceremony immediately. Once you’re naked, come into the back room,” she told him in voice devoid of humor.
For a second Jesus thought she was joking, or that she longed for the sight of a nude young male. She left so abruptly that Jesus knew she was serious, and that his nudity wasn’t for her benefit. He removed the rest of his clothes, and folded them neatly before tiptoeing to the back of the house. The floor was cold on his bare feet, but the tableau in the back room chilled him in a different way.
The floor was covered in a large two-layered hexagram. One layer was fresh chicken blood, judging from the bleeding chicken corpse Camille held in one hand. The other layer was some unknown white substance. At each corner of the hexagram a black candle burned. In the center of the large symbol a much smaller circle had been drawn in a black powder. The walls of the room were lined with shelves, and on the shelves were hundreds of jars. Some of the jars contained items that alarmed Jesus. He quickly averted his eyes from the jars.
The sight of Camille rattled his composure even worse. She was naked, holding a headless chicken. Her nipples were pierced through with human rib bones. Though Jesus didn’t know the bones were human, the sight was disturbing enough. Her breasts, free from the clothing, sagged almost to the floor. Her pubic hairs were so prolific that the bush hung to her knees. She had woven small bones into that hair also. A large iron ring protruded through the hair at the level of her genitalia. Jesus didn’t want to think about that. Camille was busy painting symbols on herself with the chicken’s blood. She didn’t bother to look at him.
When she was finished painting herself, she took Jesus by the shoulders and guided him into the black circle inside the hexagram. A small bone materialized in her fingers, and Jesus had the sinking feeling she pulled it out of her long pubic hair. She dipped the bone into the bloody neck of the decapitated chicken, and painted symbols on him as well. She continued the process for another ten minutes, until Jesus was covered in symbols from head to toe.
The light strokes of the chicken bone on his flesh caused his penis to stiffen into an erection, and his face flushed a brilliant red. Camille never looked at his sex. The erection didn’t go away when she moved away, nor when she began to chant in guttural tones. Jesus felt strange, like he wasn’t in control of his body.
As the minutes dragged on, Jesus became aware of a burning sensation in his loins. He had never felt so sexually aroused in his life. The arousal was concentrated solely in the touch receptors of his genitals, removed from the perceptions he received from other places in his body. The old woman’s chanting sounded like a rhythmic love song, and Jesus could feel his organ throbbing in response to the uttered tones and underlying beat.
Camille’s performance accelerated quickly into piercing cries delivered with quick, repetitive bursts of air. Jesus climaxed uncontrollably. The sound pulled the seed from his body in long strings, which dangled to the floor. The involuntary jerking of his hips caused the semen to land on the floor with purpose. When Jesus looked down he saw pearly white Sanskrit writing. A name had come forth.
The hexagram and the letters on the floor began to glow. Jesus glanced up from the floor and saw that he was no longer in Camille’s back room. He floated in black nothingness, standing on an unseen platform outlined by the six-pointed star. The Sanskrit writing rose before him and twisted in the air. Jesus imagined he could see millions of potential lives in the thin strands, but he did not anticipate what happened next. The writing shrunk down into a tiny shape that hovered before his face. Jesus thought he could see a tiny person.
The shape expanded rapidly, and inched away from his face as it did so. The human shape became unmistakable. As it continued to grow Jesus changed his opinion. It wasn’t human at all. It had horns and a tail, and it was looking directly at him. The figure swelled until the humanoid was larger than any human, and then the expansion ceased.
“Why have you summoned me, Jesus Mendoza?” the beast asked him through pointed teeth.
“Actually, I didn’t.”
The beast laughed heartily. He looked at Jesus with amusement and said, “My current physical manifestation grew from your sexual excretions. I don’t know how this came to pass, but I know where it came to pass.” The devil looked at Jesus flagging erection.
“Who are you?” Jesus asked.
“My name is Belial. It was the name you wrote before you, the name with which you summoned me. What is it you desire, Jesus Mendoza?”
“An old woman named Camille conducted a ceremony. It was Camille who summoned you,” Jesus attempted to make sense of the situation.
“And yet she’s not here, and none of her essence was involved. I am only required to ask you this one more time, and then I am free to depart from your command. I find it hard to believe you desire nothing at all, Jesus. What is it you want, Jesus?”
The old woman had given Jesus exactly what he asked for. He asked for assistance, and that was what he received. Jesus suddenly understood that Belial was offering to fulfill his desires. Jesus speculated silently about the devil’s motivations, and then decided it wouldn’t hurt to ask questions.
“Will you give me anything I want, Belial?”
“Of course, Jesus. That’s why you called me here.”
“What do I have to give you in exchange?”
“At last we are getting somewhere. What I require from you depends on what you ask of me. Terms are always open to negotiation. I am nothing, if not fair,” Belial professed with a sly grin. “Why don’t you tell me what you want, and then I will tell you what I want in exchange.”
Jesus wished he had known he was going to bargain with a devil. He would have brainstormed in advance. He wracked his brain for an answer. “I want to be immune to assassination, and I want to be the best assassin who ever lived. But I don’t want to be evil. I want to use my powers for good,” Jesus threw in as an afterthought. He did some bad things in his life, but he believed in the cause. He never wanted to be a champion of evil.
Belial dropped his sophisticated façade and ranted at Jesus in contemporary English. “Are you kidding me? Are you mentally challenged? You summoned me, a devil, to make a deal, and that deal is to be a goodie-two-shoes assassin? You woke me up out of a deep sleep for this, you freakin’ schmuck. You better be freakin’ kiddin’ me.”
“Don’t forget about the immune to assassination part. Yes, that’s the deal I want to make. What do you want in exchange?” Jesus inquired cheerfully.
“Let’s start the bidding at, say, you burn in hell for a gazillion lifetimes. I think I can hook you up for that. Yeah, that sounds about right,” Belial answered sarcastically.
“I thought you were here to bargain with me, but I don’t think you’re even trying. I mean, I’m ready to do business, but you want an arm and a leg for a two-dollar item. Can I speak to your boss?” Jesus demanded irately. The ploy paid off.
“No, there’s no reason to speak to the boss,” Belial returned anxiously. “I am sure we can work something out. Your talk about goodness threw me off, but never mind that. Let’s get down to business.
“First of all, I can not make you immune to assassination. I can give you certain advantages to make it more difficult for someone to kill you, but I can’t make you invulnerable to attack. Secondly, you’ve got a lot of work to do to get yourself back into the good, pal. I can’t make you a good guy. Maybe you should consider putting the brakes on murdering people.
“Those considerations aside, I can enhance your natural senses and abilities so that you will be very difficult to kill, and a very lethal man. You could have hearing acute enough to sense heartbeats and breathing at long distances. You could even have the ability to hear thoughts. I can give you superhuman strength and speed, and the ability to track your quarry like a bloodhound. I can also throw in the ability to heal from injuries at many times the normal rate. How does that grab you?” Belial concluded his sales pitch.
“So essentially I would be like Wolverine?” Jesus asked skeptically.
“Wolverine is a cartoon character compared to what you could be, pun intended. You won’t have adamantium claws, though. Sorry.”
“I’m not going to sign over my soul. I’ve gone a long way to being a bad guy, by your own admission. I’m likely to go to hell anyway, so why don’t you just give me the powers?”
“Do I look like I’m new at this, Jesus? You may have been able to pull that off, if you hadn’t already told me you want to be a good guy. Most deals don’t directly involve the soul these days anyway, so I’m willing to work with you. I’ll give you the powers. You will be as close to invulnerable as I can make you, and damn near the deadliest human who ever lived. In return, you will have to work for us for a specified period of time, doing what you do best.”
“That sounds way too easy. I’ve always heard that you screw people with the fine print. Will I be damned? I mean, you don’t need me to bargain my soul away if I’m already in hell,” Jesus countered.
“You won’t be in hell at all. In fact, to sweeten the deal, you can work in the United States exclusively. There are enough people in Louisiana alone to keep you busy for a long time.”
“Tell me more about the work. How long, exactly, would I have to work for you?"
“You’ll have to work for us until you turn thirty years old,” Belial answered earnestly.
“I don’t want to be evil. I’m not going to be killing innocent people, right?”
“You mean you’re giving that up? No, you won’t be killing innocent people for us. You’ll be killing people who have sold their souls, or who have in some way been excluded from God’s good graces.”
“And just until I’m thirty years old, and I won’t be in hell?” Jesus asked.
“That’s right, Jesus. You listen well.”
“Then let’s do it,” he told Belial.
The devil gave Jesus all of the powers they agreed on, but Jesus didn’t ask enough questions. He didn’t know that there was a dimension where people didn’t age, and that it would take him thousands of years to turn thirty. He was shocked to discover that he could live in one dimension and work in another. He didn’t know the peril of meeting death while in the employment of a devil. Those things were the fine print of his agreement.
Belial hopped around on his cloven hoofs in unfathomable glee. He had harvested another sucker for the forces of evil, and quite a handsome catch at that. He kept Jesus around long enough to gloat. Belial celebrated his victory with an obscene dance, and then sent Jesus to Discordia, with everything they agreed upon and a few extras Jesus didn’t want. Belial’s celebration brought the devil as close to happiness as a devil could get, but Belial rejoiced too soon.
God never liked to see a devil cavort in jubilation. Though Jesus displeased Him, still the Colombian was one of His children. He tilted the odds in Jesus’ favor in every contest and encounter the assassin faced. The contracts Jesus was given invariably involved evil men. God felt no conflict making things easy for Jesus.
After two thousand years Belial was no longer laughing. Though Jesus hunted down people for the devil, more often than not the assassin performed his duties in such a way that the souls of his victims sought God’s forgiveness at the very end. Jesus became a holy assassin, and he strengthened his abilities with magic and practice. Belial became obsessed with collecting Jesus’ soul, and heaped work upon the assassin. With every mission, Jesus drew a little bit closer to his thirtieth birthday and freedom.
Pan offered Jesus a resolution to that contract in one mission. Jesus leapt at the opportunity. Belial was insane with rage, but unanimously outvoted by the old gods and other devils. That was when Jesus became Louis’ bodyguard.
“Wake up, Jesus. You need to wake up,” Michael said from the doorway of his room, where the Colombian had gone to sleep. The priest saw a look of incredible pain on the assassin’s face when he sat up in the bed. “What is it, Jesus? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I was just having a nightmare,” Jesus answered.
“What was the nightmare about?” Michael asked.
“It was less a nightmare than memories, really. I was just dreaming about my past.”
“Oh. I was hoping you dreamed about a coalition of evil forces that surrounded the fortress with thousands of well armed soldiers, and perhaps dreamed some way to deal with the situation. Go look out the window, Jesus.”
Jesus jumped out of bed and headed for the window. He cursed himself for not asking someone to wake him up. It was dark outside, which meant he slept through an entire day. One glance at the moonlit world confirmed what Michael said. The fortress was surrounded by thousands of soldiers. Jesus could see moonlight glinting off of metal and polished leather, and he could smell the rotten stench of the grunts. Somewhere under the distant trees there was an ominous rumbling. The forces of evil beat heavily on large drums, to strike fear into the hearts of the Pentacle’s occupants.
“My nightmare continues,” Jesus sighed.
The sight of the Pentacle’s interior left Lena and Rosie standing with their mouths wide open. The unusual shape of the fortress attracted attention out of doors, but the exterior walls were flat and unadorned. The inside of the fortress was completely different. Multicolored marble tiles covered the floor, and an elevated view showed that the tiles formed an enormous mosaic of a snake curled around a cross. A massive chandelier hung from the ceiling one hundred feet above the floor of the foyer, and a spiral staircase twisted out of sight to the floors above. Ornately sculpted molding outlined the floor and the ceiling, and gorgeous classical paintings covered every available flat surface. The place looked expensive beyond the girl’s wildest dreams.
“How did you all pay for this?” Lena allowed her awe to show through.
“It didn’t cost a thing. Most of it isn’t even real. If you can’t touch it, then it’s probably an illusion,” Cara revealed. “Most of the tangible work was installed through alchemical transmutation, and good old fashioned conjuring. A small percentage of the sculptures you see were crafted by hand, but everything else came from magic. The designers felt that aesthetic beauty improved the morale of the troops. We fight a very demoralizing battle, so we live in an incredibly beautiful place.”
Lena was disappointed by the answer. She preferred the idea that the place was expensive, because she had always been poor. It would have been nice to think she visited a place of great wealth. There was no denying the beauty of the place, however.
Cara led them up to the second floor, which apparently belonged exclusively to the women of the fortress. They turned up one of the north hallways, and Cara showed them adjacent rooms halfway down the hall. The bathrooms and showers were a few meters further north.
“There are towels and robes in both of your rooms. Rosie, once you get cleaned up we’ll take care of your injuries,” Cara referred to the mass of welts, bruises and cuts that covered most of Rosie’s body. “The Order of True Love maintains a women’s sanctum here on the second floor. Report there when you’re finished, and someone will heal you and provide you with new clothes.”
“Thank you, Cara,” Rosie shifted her feet and studied the ground. “I want you to know that I’m not a bad person, just because I wound up like this. I had a lot of problems back on earth, but I was never evil.”
“You should talk to the commander of the armed forces here, Rosie. I think she could tell you a story that would bring things into perspective. Everybody in Discordia has suffered before,” Cara allayed the girl’s fears gently. She turned and addressed the other woman, “Lena, did you hear what I told Rosie about towels, robes and fresh clothes?”
“Yes, thank you, Cara. I really do need to slip into something more suited to this place. I kept worrying this dress would slip off of me last night while I was running. I doubt I could dazzle the enemy into submission,” Lena giggled.
“I’m sure that there are men among the forces of evil who would love to submit to you, Lena. There are a lot of freaks out there,” Rosie said supportively. Her statement missed the mark, and Lena quit smiling. Rosie thought what she said was funny, until she saw the way Lena looked at her.
“I’m going to leave you two girls. If you need anything, then don’t hesitate to ask,” Cara insisted as she backed down the hall.
“Cara, why is everyone so helpful here?” Lena cast one more question to their departing hostess.
“Because it’s our last chance, Lena,” Cara remarked quietly, and then she turned the corner out of sight.
The two girls disappeared into their respective rooms. Lena hurriedly got undressed and found a towel. She didn’t want to be around Rosie. The woman bothered Lena, and it wasn’t just because of the circumstances they found Rosie in. Something about Rosie reminded Lena of herself. It was the way that Rosie walked blindly into terrible situations. That was exactly what Lena always did, and she hated the idea of being just as clueless as Rosie. Lena had made a lot of assumptions about Rosie, almost none of which were correct.
Lena walked out of her room at exactly the same time as the other woman. Lena cast dirty looks in her direction, but wanted a hot shower too badly to turn back. Lena ran her eyes over Rosie’s body, and was quite impressed by the woman’s figure. Lena noticed something that bothered her. Rosie wasn’t caked in grime and dirt. She looked relatively clean.
“If you haven’t bathed in weeks, then why don’t you look dirtier, Rosie?” Lena thought she had caught Rosie in a lie.
“I wasn’t allowed to bathe, but I had liquid to clean myself off with,” Rosie told her. When Lena finally got it, she was very sorry she asked Rosie about it. Lena filed that in her mind under the title, “Things to Forget About.”
Lena fretted over the possibility of a communal shower, and was greatly relieved to see that there were private shower stalls. The water was deliciously hot, and she stood under it for a long time. Clouds of steam filled the large bathroom. Lena sang while she used the soap she found to lather her entire body. Her mother always told her she had a pretty voice, but she never sang in front of anyone. Lena finished showering, dried herself off and wrapped the towel around her. When she stepped out of the shower she saw Rosie examining herself in a large mirror.
Lena almost hurried out without saying anything, but Rosie looked different. All cleaned up, with her hair hanging in wet curls, Rosie struck Lena as a pitiful sight. Lena hoped that the marks would go away when Rosie was healed.
“Rosie,” Lena said sympathetically, “I’m sorry about what happened to you.”
Rosie opened her mouth to say something, but Lena didn’t wait to hear what it was. She left the bathroom and went down the hall wearing only the wet towel. She found the place Cara told them about easily enough. It looked like a stoner hangout. There were three women sitting on big cushions on the floor, and they were all wearing the same kind of robes that Cara wore. They had their eyes closed, but they were humming in time with each other. When Lena walked in they stopped, and one of them stood up to help her.
The woman who helped her was called Moonshadow. Lena asked her how she earned that name. The woman admitted that it was her real name. Her parent’s were hippies. They conceived Moonshadow during the summer of love, and she was born in 1968. Lena thought it was the lamest story she ever heard, and thanked God her parents hadn’t named her Moonshadow.
Lena wound up with great clothes. Her top was wet look latex that hugged her skin tightly, accentuating her flat stomach and her prominent breasts. The top was asymmetrical. It stretched over one shoulder and across her bosom, leaving her right shoulder bare. Lena found out that was to allow greater flexibility, if she were to start using weapons. She got a webbed military belt, with hooks and pouches on it, and a pair of combat fatigues. She liked the baggy way the pants offset her skintight top, and she had plans for the huge side pockets. She kept her tennis shoes. Nothing beat a good pair of sneakers.
Rosie walked in as Lena finished getting dressed in her new outfit. Lena expected Rosie sooner. She hoped they could pick outfits together, because Lena thought it would be a good way to make a fresh start on friendship. Lena imagined Rosie’s tardiness was purposeful, indicating Rosie didn’t want anything to do with her. Rather than ask about it, Lena thanked Moonshadow for the help and the clothes, and stalked out in a huff. Lena always overreacted to small setbacks.
Lena wanted to show her outfit to Jesus, but she didn’t know where he was. She figured there would be time after she got some sleep. She went back to her room and closed the door behind her. The temperature in the room hovered at a comfortable seventy degrees, even though the window was open to the hot Louisiana summer. The more magic Lena stumbled across, the more she appreciated it. She stretched out on the bed and stared at the ceiling. She was trying to choose which dimension she liked better, Earth or Discordia, when she fell asleep.
The dream wandered between scenes of bloody violence and dispassionate lovemaking. Her mind cleansed itself of built up memories through rapid eye movement. Lena tossed and turned on the bed while the scenes replayed in her head. When the stale memories were cleansed from the forefront of Lena’s subconscious mind, she slept peacefully for almost an hour. Then another dream played out inside her.
Lena sat in a restaurant at the top of one of Baton Rouge’s only skyscrapers. She recognized the place. It was one of the most exclusive establishments in the city. It was called Pierre’s.
Lena wore a red sequined evening gown that showed off her cleavage, but at the same time looked tasteful. Vera Wang designed the gown especially for her. Her feet were adorned in Manolo Blahnik sandals with long straps and four-inch heels. A Prada handbag hung from her chair, and it looked as nice as she felt. The waiter complimented her stunning appearance as he poured her first glass of Dom Perignon. It was going to be a special night.
Jesus sat across from her dressed in a custom fitted tuxedo. He looked like every woman’s dream. Lena smiled inwardly at all the stares he was getting from the sexually frustrated wives in the restaurant. Jesus tasted his own champagne and smiled at her. His dark, handsome faced radiated sexual energy, and Lena’s stomach muscles quivered.
They talked about Jesus’ business. Before they got married, Jesus opened a chain of spas in South Louisiana. The businesses provided hair and nail care, tanning facilities and massage therapists, and Jesus made a fortune in no time. The world was full of women who wanted to be catered to and beautified at the same time. Within three years he owned thirty spas in three Gulf States.
The money allowed Jesus to buy them a big house in a gated community. The house contained six thousand square feet, and loads of luxurious touches. The entire kitchen was done in black granite, and all of the windows contained remote controlled blinds. The master bathroom contained a sauna, and a Jacuzzi bathtub big enough for two people to have lots of fun. Lena had her own walk in closet, with a revolving rack for her clothes, and Jesus made sure she had all the money she needed to fill it up with designer outfits. They had a pool and a tennis court, and the yard was an enormous botanical garden. Lena finally reached the level of financial freedom she always deserved.
Sitting in Pierre’s, Lena bent down and unfastened the straps on her sandals. She gave Jesus a naughty wink, and slid her feet across to him under the table. She ran her toes softly up and down his legs, all the while maintaining the conversation without any indication something unusual was taking place. The tablecloth and the soft lighting prevented anyone from seeing, so she slid down a little further in her seat.
Lena placed both of her feet on Jesus’ chair, between his legs. She tickled his crotch with her stocking covered toes, and enjoyed the feeling of his arousal. He smiled at her, and scooted his chair a little closer. She clasped her feet together around the object of her desire, and rubbed them slowly up and down the confined bulge. She couldn’t believe what a lucky woman she was.
After they got married, her perfect husband insisted she fulfill one of her fantasies and get the education she missed out on growing up. Jesus paid for private tutors to come in their home and teach her mathematics, grammar and science. Her tutors marveled at her intelligence, and the fast progress she made. Within three months she was ready for a high school equivalency exam. She passed the exam with flying colors, and got accepted to LSU. Jesus never missed an opportunity to compliment her, and tell her how proud he was of his beautiful wife. Lena found out the American dream was real.
Jesus put his napkin down and stared across the table into her eyes. Lena was busy trying to drive him out of his mind, but he appeared unruffled. He took a small sip of champagne and then leaned closer to her. He motioned for her to lean forward.
“You are a very naughty girl, Lena,” he whispered into her ear. “I want to make this evening special, and I think it’s too early to leave. Will you do something for me, honey?”
“You know I would do anything for you, Jesus,” she responded breathlessly, as he was stroking his nails along the insides of her calves.
“I want you to go to the bathroom and go into one of the stalls. Take off your stockings, your panties and your bra. I want you to come back with them in your hand, and place them on the table. Will you do that for me, Lena?”
“Of course, I’ll be right back,” she told him. Her cheeks were flushed from excitement as she put her sandals back on and pulled away from the table. She could feel men’s eyes on her as she walked to the bathroom. She was, after all, a gorgeous woman.
Once in the bathroom she did what Jesus desired. The dress was partially sheer, and she felt very exposed in the fluorescent light of the ladies’ room. As she walked back to the table the glances from the men took on a new meaning. She imagined she was being paraded nude in front of them, and her nipples hardened from the humiliating thought. When she got back to the table she put her undergarments in front of Jesus and sat back down in her chair.
Just for a second she remembered what her life was like before she met Jesus. In that moment, all of the years of pain and unhappiness flashed through her mind. She sold her body for drugs and alcohol. She killed her first boyfriend because he beat and raped her. She submitted to a lesbian while she was in prison. Sometimes she washed herself for hours, because she never felt clean.
One night Jesus changed all that. He took her away to a magical land, and killed everything that stood in their way. He fell in love with her, and she with him. They returned to Earth on a magic carpet, and got married in a fairy tale ceremony. They were wildly happy. Now she was sitting across from him in a restaurant, with no panties on, while he ran his eyes lustily over her body.
“I want you to reach under the table and pull your dress up above your waist. Then I want you to play with yourself while I call the waiter over. Be sure he can’t see you, but don’t stop while he takes our order,” Jesus commanded her.
Lena did as she was told, because she really would do anything for Jesus. He was the man who saved her. She pulled her dress up and caressed her pleasure spot with purpose. She figured as long as she was naughty, she might as well go all the way. Her husband allowed the pleasure to build inside her for awhile before he called for the waiter.
She felt hot all over as the waiter stood there describing menu items. Jesus kept asking her questions about the food. She had a hard time concentrating on what he said. The mischievous look in his eyes turned her on to no end. The fabric of her dress felt scratchy against her bare breasts, which heaved up and down slightly as she became more excited and her breath quickened.
The waiter finally left their table. Lena plunged three fingers inside her, and quickened her manipulation of her clitoris. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and every muscle in her stomach and thighs tightened up like the skin of a drum. A dull roaring filled her ears. The pleasure exploded in her pubic region and spread all through her body, bringing with it a comfortable numbness that relaxed all the muscle spasms. She opened her eyes to see Jesus gazing at her lovingly.
“It doesn’t look like you need me, honey,” Jesus teased. “You did just fine all by yourself.”
“Don’t be silly, darling. You drive me so crazy I couldn’t wait. That’s all. I’m all warmed up for later now,” she blew him a kiss.
“I’m not sure I want to wait that long either. I think I’ll get the food to go,” said her perfect husband.
She looked into her Prada handbag, knowing that it was a dream. She was sad that she would have to wake up. She was so close to consciousness that she could almost distinguish the sounds of the Pentacle. She wanted to sleep until she and Jesus made it to a hotel room, because she hadn’t really gotten what she wanted yet. She looked up from her bag, and was shocked. She was no longer asleep, at least not in the conventional sense, and Jesus was no longer sitting across from her.
“It’s called the astral plane. Your body is asleep, back in Discordia, but your mind is awake here,” the man across from her explained.
The man was beyond a doubt the most beautiful thing Lena had ever seen. He had curly blonde hair that radiated a soft golden light, and blue eyes the brilliant color of the sky on a spring morning. He wore a loose fitting white toga that hung off of one shoulder, and that did little to conceal his physique. The man’s body was gloriously muscular. Lena could see each individual muscle, and there wasn’t a hint of fat anywhere. He had a classic face, and the sound of his voice was like music.
“Who are you?” Lena asked him. She was certain that she couldn’t trust herself with the man, no matter where they were. She couldn’t take her eyes off of him.
“You probably won’t believe me, but my name is Apollo. I am really him, though. You just have to trust me.”
“The name doesn’t ring a bell. Are you a male stripper or something?” she further inquired.
The god rolled his eyes and sighed. Sometimes he found it difficult not to hate Yahweh. A beautiful young woman was in his presence, and thanks to God she wasn’t impressed by his name at all. Apollo longed for the old days. In the old days she would have been down on her knees before him, begging him to use her so that she might bear his offspring. Unfortunately, it seemed he would have to talk to her.
“No, Lena, I’m a god. I was rather an important god a long time ago. I was the god of the sun. I had this fantastic chariot… never mind. I’m here to talk to you,” Apollo informed her.
“If you’re a god, then why do you want to talk to me? Surely if you’re in my dream, and you know my name, then you know I’m nobody important. So why me?”
Lena leaned back in her chair to wait for an answer. The fabric of the dress was beginning to chafe her nipples, and she no longer felt sexy without her undergarments. She felt uncomfortably exposed. She thought about trying to wake up, but Apollo was just so pleasant to look at.
“I wagered a lot on the outcome of a contest on Discordia. Jesus will play a key role in that contest. Judging from your dream, you have an interest in the handsome Colombian. If you were to stay close to him, then you might be able to perform a few services for me. Should you choose to help me, I will make sure you are lavishly compensated,” the Greek promised. He reached up and ran his fingers through his hair.
“I’m done performing services for compensation, mister. Even if I wasn’t, I’ve never liked a man who beats around the bush. Don’t get me wrong. You look great, but you’re just not my type. Besides, like I said, Jesus took me away from all that,” Lena put her foot down. The table rattled, because she literally put her foot down as well.
“You don’t understand. I want you to do a few things for me, and I will pay you…”
“I understood perfectly, and I’m not interested. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to wake up,” Lena told him sharply.
Lena stood up from the table and snapped her fingers, but nothing happened. She pinched herself, but the pain didn’t do the trick. She grew impatient. She clicked her heels together three times and said, “There’s no place like home.”
Apollo watched the spectacle with increasing disbelief. He had never seen anything like it. When Lena started into “Super-cala-fragilistic-expy-ala-docious,” Apollo knew he needed to do something. He cleared his throat loudly to stop her.
“Look, Lena, I’m one of the good guys. I don’t want you to have sex with me. I want you to have sex with Jesus. I have a side bet going, and it involves you and the Colombian. I can’t directly interfere, but I can make a deal with you. If Jesus tells you he loves you, then a certain Grecian goddess will allow me into her clamshell. I want that to happen. I want you to help make that happen. Get my drift?”
“No, I don’t. What the hell are you talking about? Are you trying to get into a girl’s pants? Is that it? You need my help getting into a girl’s pants?” Lena asked him good-naturedly. She understood very well, she just wanted to make him uncomfortable.
Apollo regretted his decision to visit the girl. He found her lusty innocence unnerving. “Yes, that’s basically it. If you can get Jesus to tell you he loves you, then the ‘girl’ will sleep with me.”
“I bet she would. You’re kind of cute. So what’s her name?” Lena inquired playfully. She sat back down in the chair, hungry for more information.
“Her name is Venus. She’s the most glorious creature in all of creation,” Apollo’s eyes clouded over as he drifted away on a memory of Venus. “She’s been teasing me for thousands and thousands of years. She always uses our lineage as an excuse for why we can’t be together.”
“What do you mean by that, Apollo?”
“She is technically my sister. I don’t see how that makes any difference, but every time we get to the heavy petting she stops me. She says it goes against the laws of nature.”
Lena gasped and jumped back out of her chair. “She’s right. You can’t have sex with your sister. You creep! Get out of my dream!”
Apollo attempted to calm her down. Lena grew even more frantic to wake up when he stood up and reached out for her. She hopped in little circles and hollered at the top of her lungs. Apollo realized that it was no use. He straightened out his toga and clapped his hands together.
Lena woke up in her bed in the fortress. Somebody knocked at the door and entered without waiting for an answer. All thoughts of the dream left her. Rosie walked into the room. Lena would have gotten angry, but the look of fear on Rosie’s face stopped her.
“What is it, Rosie?”
“There are thousands of soldiers converging on the fortress. We’re surrounded, Lena, and I’m scared,” she confessed. She started to cry.
“Come here, Rosie,” Lena said kindly.
Rosie went over to Lena. Lena patted the bed next to her, and Rosie sat down. Lena took Rosie in her arms, and the young woman cried and cried while Lena stroked her hair. Lena kissed her on the forehead, and wiped the tears off of her cheeks.
“Don’t worry, Rosie. Everything is going to be all right. I won’t let them get you,” Lena comforted her, and she meant every word she said. “Do you know where Jesus is?”
“Yeah. I think he’s on the third floor. He’s in a priest’s room,” Rosie told her.
Lena wished she had taken time to explore the fortress before she fell asleep. She had no idea where anything was. She held Rosie’s hand for another second, and then she stood up.
Lena was glad she fell asleep with her clothes on. She noticed Rosie was wearing a pretty pink negligée, and for a second she wondered if Rosie had lesbian tendencies. Lena put the idea out of her mind. She was sure Rosie really was scared, and it wasn’t the time to entertain such notions.
“You need to get dressed, Rosie. I’ll come with you. We need to stay together until we find Jesus,” Lena advised Rosie gruffly. Lena imagined what it would be like to dominate the young woman, and the idea appealed to her.
“Okay. Thank you, Lena, for holding me. It meant a lot to me,” Rosie said timidly as they crossed to her room.
“If we get out of this, then I’ll let you thank me as long as you like,” Lena informed her. Lena totally misread the signals that Rosie was giving out. Rosie really was frightened. The young lady didn’t have anything sexual in mind when she awakened Lena.
“What do you mean by that?” Rosie asked in confusion.
Lena decided the only defense was to pretend like she hadn’t said anything at all. Lena walked Rosie to her room, and waited for her to dress. When she was fully clothed, both of the ladies took off in search of their handsome assassin. They didn’t know what Jesus planned to do, but they knew they needed to be with him. Both of the girls were essentially helpless in Discordia. Neither one of them liked needing a guardian, but they liked the idea of death and torture a lot less.