charges admission for people to see the beating. He sounds like a real nice fellow.”
“It’s difficult for me to believe this Sister Voleta would be involved with a punk like Tony Silver.”
“She’s as twisted in her own way as Silver. Sexually bent all out of shape. That young kid, Claudia, told Doctor Chase Sister Voleta gets her jollies from watching people tortured-the torture, more often than not, has sexual overtones. I thought the world was bad, General, but nothing like this.”
“Those types have been around for as long as we’ve stood upright, Roger. They began crawling out of holes in the ground, so to speak, back in the sixties, when the nation’s courts became liberal. Liberal means permissive, and that’s exactly what happened.”
“You wanna know something, General?” Roger asked, an embarrassed look on his face.
Ben smiled. “You weren’t even born then, right?”
Roger’s smile met Ben’s. “Yes, sir.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
“Stay in the water, Nina,” Ike warned her. “I know it’s uncomfortable as hell, but it’ll help throw the dogs off our scent.”
“It’s cold!” Nina responded. “Jesus Christ! My toes are frozen.”
“Better numb than having the dogs chew them off,” Ike reminded her. “Along with other parts of your anatomy.”
“Thanks, Ike,” Nina said, slopping along behind him in the center of the stream. “You’re a real comfort to me.”
Ike grinned. Nina was one hell of a spunky kid. No, he thought, not a kid. A grown woman. And he knew he was getting very much attached to her. He wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. But he couldn’t help his feelings.
They both heard the baying of the dogs, far in the distance. The baying changed as the animals picked up their scent.
Ike stopped in the center of the stream. He put an arm around Nina’s shoulders. “And the chase is on, kid.”
“I’m scared, Ike.”
“Well, honey, you’d be a prime idiot if you weren’t scared.”
“You’re not scared.”
“No,” Ike admitted. “Scared isn’t the right word. I’m … concerned. But you gotta understand something: I went through this many times in “Nam, workin” behind the lines up in the North. Believe me, I’d rather have those dogs after us than Charlie.”
“Charlie? Who the hell is Charlie?” Nina asked, as they began once more wading up the stream.
Ike looked back at her. That war, he thought, isn’t even a part of her memory. She wasn’t even born when that misfought, misunderstood conflict came to its disgraceful conclusion. So long ago. “The Viet Cong, baby. The bad guys.”
“I’ve heard some about that war. I think.”
“Well, now,” a man’s voice rang out from the bank above them and to their right. “You two just hold it right where you is,”
Ike and Nina stopped, both looking up. They looked into the muzzle of a shotgun, pointed at them. The man stood flanked by other men, all carrying weapons. One of the men looked at Nina and licked his lips. “Ain’t that a fine-lookin’ piece of ass, boys?”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
“My friends and fellow worshippers of the great god, Blomm, the ever-knowing and all-seeing Blomm. I have spoken with our supreme ruler. Blomm has instructed me to join with another of his disciples to the north, Sister Voleta and the Ninth Order. Now, we will not have to leave our fine and comfortable homes to do this. All I had to do was pledge our allegiance to Sister Voleta.” What Emil did not tell his followers was that some brutish types from the Ninth Order paid him a visit late one night. They told him if he didn’t cooperate, they would cut his pecker off and stick it in his ear. Emil had almost peed his BVD’S at that.
The idea of Blomm had come to Emil one evening while he was blissfully toking and getting off on some really fine weed. The more he toked, the wilder his flights of imagination soared. And Blomm’s conception became reality in Emil’s drug-soaked brain. He would tell his people that Blomm had just recently left God’s side, after growing weary of God’s restrictive type of living. Blomm said it was OK to still worship God, but with a few twists added to spice it all up. Kinda like adding three inches to your dick, Emil thought. He giggled at that. Had his way, he’d add six.
It would be OK to fuck and all that good shit, according to Blomm. Do some dope, of course that was OK. As a matter of fact, how about anything goes? Yeah. Why not? Blomm was an all right dude. The more Emil toked, the more all right Blomm became. And so, by the time Emil had finished with his King Edward-sized joint, Blomm was no longer a figment of his rather weird and overactive imagination. Blomm was real, man! And what a heavy dude, too.
“And so, my friends and followers,” Emil said, looking over his ever-growing flock of nuts and bolts, “let us have a love feast in honor of our new friends to the north.” Savage mother-fuckers, Emil thought. He stepped forward, his foot catching in the hem of his robe, and Emil fell off the raised platform, hitting the dirt, on his face.
“Son of a bitch!” Emil muttered. He was helped to his feet by a throng of concerned worshippers, the dust brushed off his ornate robe. Emil smiled and said, “Pax vobiscum. Be bop a lula and shake rattle and roll, too.”
His followers smiled and beamed at him. Whatever Emil said was perfectly all right. Etch the words in your heart, man. Gods were supposed to behave a little strangely.
Emil made the sign of the cross. “Bless you all, my children. Joan Baez to you-and Boy George, too.”
Emil walked away, toward his beautiful new home, compliments of the Rebels. They moved out, Emil moved in.
“Blomm!” a woman shouted. “All praise the wonderful Blomm!”
“And me!” Emil shouted. “Goddamnit, don’t forget me.”
“And Father Emil!” the crowd roared.
“Fuckin’ bunch of loonies,” Emil muttered. But not loud enough for any of his people to overhear. Didn’t want to screw up a good scam.
He shuffled toward his fine new home, kept spotless by his followers. Emil never lifted a finger to do anything. Make matters worse, he was getting fat. He tried to be dignified as he shuffled along. Whoever made his robes was going to have to tighten up their act, Emil thought. Goddamn things were too long.
Emil entered the coolness of his home, tripped over the hem of his robe, and fell down on the floor.
“Emil Hite’s joining the Ninth Order does not concern me,” Ben told Captain Rayle, after being informed of the merger. “Emil just has a nonviolent scam going for him. He’s laughable in a Jim Jones kind of way. Emil and his cupcakes present no danger. They are more to be pitied than feared. The Ninth Order, on the other hand, is a paramilitary group posing as a serious religious order. They can sucker and con people into the fold, then, I’m sure, use brainwashing tactics to keep them there.”
“Yes, sir,” Roger said. “We have strong evidence that is how they do it.”
“The only thing I am reasonably certain of about this whole confusing business is that General Striganov
is not involved with it. Our intelligence reports the Russian is clean on this matter.”
“If clean is the right choice of words,” James said.
“Yes, was Ben replied. He looked toward the north. “Come on, Ike,” he muttered. “Hang in there, buddy.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
“Finally caught up with you, eh, pretty pussy?” A man grinned down at Nina. “I seem to recall you got nice, soft titties on you. I’ll soon see. We gonna have some fun with you, bitch.”
“To claim to be so religious,” Nina fired back, “you guys are sure a bunch of scumbags.”
“That crack is gonna get you pronged right up the bunghole, baby,” he said with a grin. “I can jist hear you
