concerned, this is either some trick or you're psycho. But you're a rich psycho. I know what sort of bucks the evangelical racket brings in.'
I paused for effect. I didn't have any. He just stared at me with a distant, aloof gaze.
'My fees on the case will be five hundred a day, plus expenses. And I mean five hundred grams of gold. To be deposited in the Casino Grande vault. I'm not taking chances with paper money again.'
He calmly said, 'Four hundred.'
'You want me to kill God and we're haggling over the price?'
'Oh, all right. Five.' He removed his glove and extended his hand. 'Shake on it.'
'Give it a rest.'
His hand stayed up. 'Really, Mr. Ammo. It's for your own protection.'
I'd heard that from enough shysters in my life. We shook. His touch was hot, his grasp firm.
'No contract? No signing in blood?'
'Mr. Ammo.' The corners of his mouth turned up like dead leaves curling. 'If it is a sin merely to contemplate a venial or mortal sin, then I assure you that the spoken willingness to commit the one
sin is quite enough for my purpose.'
'And what is that?'
'An end to sibling rivalry.' He turned to leave the office-by ordinary means.
Before he had walked out of my waiting room, I called after him.
'Hey! Wait! Where do I find God?'
His voice trailed behind him as he spoke without turning. 'That is a search many have conducted with much less reason than you, Dell Ammo. Good luck.'
His footsteps resounded hollowly on the floor of the corridor. The elevator whined into life.
I wondered whether it would stop at any floor or just keep going...
'Jesus Christ,' I said, sliding back in my chair. 'Son of a bitch.'
4
The Bautista Connection
I had a contract to kill God. And I'd never reneged on a contract before. How hard would it be to kill someone who didn't exist? And how long could I draw pay and expenses before Zack noticed that I hadn't eliminated his imaginary competitor?
I began to understand how seance artists felt about their profession. It's great work while it lasts.
Zacharias intrigued me. He didn't act insane, but then neither did politicians. He just talked crazy. A famous TV evangelist who had preached the word of God for years to the nation via satellite now wanted Him out of the way.
It sounded as if it would be bad for business.
All right. I'd get a cut of it without firing a shot. I had a contract to kill God, and I was going to kill Him.
No matter that it might take years. At five hundred a day.
Plus expenses.
I took a brisk walk the next morning. Down Figueroa to Fifth Street, crossing piles of rubble and shattered glass that spread across the pavement like webbed hands reaching for the opposite sidewalks. The air smelled cleaner, and a smear of blue sky hovered at the zenith. It was a great day to begin my quest.
A couple of blocks down Fifth stood the library. Nearly everyone used the computer plaque for news, information, and entertainment. The same satellites that brought the Right Reverend Emil Zacharias and his Hallelujah House into people's living rooms permitted anyone owning a plaque access to the Smithsonian library computer. Except for the people who liked to collect first editions, or those addicted to the smell of paper and glue, libraries and books were obsolete.
