'Yes, but look what happened to him.'
'He was a politician,' I said with a shrug. 'They all fall, sooner or later.'
'Primarily,' a voice behind me interjected, 'because they misuse magickal symbols.' It was a beautiful voice.
Ann and I turned around.
'In Hitler's case,' said Thomas Russell, 'he made the fatal mistake of reversing the swastika-an ancient symbol of the sun-as a mark of earthly state power. His downfall was guaranteed from that point.' He sighed. 'I sometimes wonder whether all those pentagrams on the U.S. flag are going to save us.'
He looked up at me. 'I like your sign. Trying to cash in on millennial fever?'
'Fever?' Ann asked.
'Round numbers,' he said, 'bring out the mystic in people.'
'Yeah,' I said. 'I'm starting my own end-of-the-world cult. Five grand gets you the privilege of taking orders from me and including me in your will. We'll be in the Mojave watching for the saucers. If it doesn't rain.' We reached my car-one of the last Chryslers built. I leaned against the side to stare at him.
'So you're really planning to go through with it,' he said. 'You really plan to kill Him.'
Ann gave me a sour look. 'No one will believe an open conspiracy,' she muttered, as biting as bathtub gin. Her gaze turned to the young man. 'I don't think we've been introduced.'
'Ann Perrine, meet Thomas Russell-religious studies student, author, and survivor of the
show. Tom-meet Ann, my financial manager.'
They made courteous sounds at each other. He looked at Ann to ask, 'You've figured out a method?'
She merely smiled at him.
I did, too.
'Fine,' he said. 'Play the sphinx. It doesn't matter what you do to God. People will still act like bastards or not, depending on their perception of their own self-interest. It's just that without God, they'll have one fewer light to guide their actions.'
'Or one fewer excuse for their evils.' I opened the passenger door for Ann. 'In any case, they'll have one fewer leader to obey.'
'When did they ever obey Him?' Tom muttered. He turned to leave.
I stepped around to my side of the car. Ann had unlocked the door. I nodded a farewell to Tom and reached for the handle.
That's when the first bullet hit.
The side window shattered, the safety glass grasping the fragments like a spiderweb holding dew.
I ducked behind the door and grabbed for my .45.
'Down, Ann!' I shouted.
Tom hit the pavement and rolled between my car and a blue Subaru. Three more shots made their points against the maroon paint job.
I tried to use the sideview mirror as a periscope. No good. I coaxed the engine into life.
'Hey!' a voice screamed from behind. 'You're taking my cover!'
'Sorry pal,' I muttered. The car coughed and sputtered. 'Come on, Friz,' I pleaded, 'catch.'
The engine turned and whined. It sounded like a Cuisinart.
