All Gods Battle Amazing George

By Hilton McCabe

Amazing George lives a life of bad and good religious choices. His conscious life seems confused. Yet, he finds powerful forces guiding him to where he is most uncomfortable. He knows he is flawed with failure, posessed by dangerous ambitions, and confusied by memory shadows. He wanders seemingly without purpose, while moving with the relentless guidance of people and events. You may see your own religious beliefs lived or distorted. Innocently these sneak into Georges living, but they come as if by some design. He finds a variety of people, rejecting and accepting them carelessly. His own life plans give way to horrific events, as well as the most uplifting. Somehow, he keeps on his way without personal direction. Hes clumsy, comical, tragic, and, perhaps, hope filled. He is his own person without suspecting his own destiny, until a burst of clarity renders him amazing. A patient reader will get his or her amazing reward for loyalty.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: May 24, 2013
• ISBN: 9781475989502

Hilton McCabe

The author is a happily married man, aged 60 years, and is the proud father of five children, who are now all adults. He has four beautiful grandchildren. His main home is in Northern Ireland and he has an apartment in Spain. Hilton prefers Spain, it’s warmer. He was a serving police officer in Northern Ireland from 1983–2010. During his service, he performed both uniformed and plain-clothed roles in both; city and rural settings. Hilton experienced many of the province’s atrocities first-hand, but also the marvellous spirit of its people. He always wanted to write but never found the time until the Covid lockdown arrived. The author hopes you enjoy his humble creation. He can assure you that this fiction is closer to the truth than one might think. This is not a book about politics, it’s about people.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Out Of The Sky

Brilliant, powerful and small, the spacecraft circled unseen outside the atmosphere of earth before entering as a fireball plunging toward a little country church in Minnesota this quiet night. No longer glowing, the craft touched down on the courtyard, quickly dispatched a cargo basket before carefully passing one of the old, smoky, glass windows of the worship building. It hovered briefly some fifty feet higher before turning abruptly to disappear in the darkness.

Inside the sanctuary, a middle aged woman and old man were bickering. He sat slumped over a pew midway down an aisle, while she bustled about pushing a huge broom like it was a mighty weapon ridding the world of evil things and bedeviled people.

Folks can’t just make up their own gods, George, instructed the church janitor to her nightly visitor. She stared an ugly, fearsome face at him.

I don’t make up no gods, he fired back, though his eyes looked weary.

That’s because you don’t even have a god, do you, old man Lucifer?

His eyes lit up some as he retorted, I ain’t no Lucifer, woman. And for your information Lucifer ain’t the devil like you’re implying I am. In English that word means only enlightened, like me, he smiled slightly. Actually the name means a bright morning star in your God’s heaven. That star shows up regular like and has nothing to do with no God of any sorts.

Don’t go talkin’ down at me like I don’t know about the morning star. I been brought up a county gal and I see it regular up there in my Creator’s great heaven.

To back up to where we was, he continued, Seeing as how I got Salvation Army duds on, whatever god I do have ain’t providing much on my account.

I resent you blaming the Almighty for your sorry circumstance.

So your Almighty don’t have enough care or power left over for the likes of me, is that it?

Leaning on her wide sweeping-up broom she stopped her work to ask, Have you no fear of him? she screached.

I might have a bit if I had some proof of his existence. Just where is your great God if not taking a interest in me?

Oh he’s around alright. He’s in here listening in judgment to what you say of him. He’s everywhere. In here for sure. Then waving wildly with arm up toward a nearby window she added, And out there flying around and going about the whole universe keeping tabs on sinners and the saved. He’s got a judgment day coming and he has all the records writ down in his book.

Some big sucker book that must be, he mocked pointing with both hands up to the ceiling. Then he added, How he gets around the universe makes one wonder just what mode of transport he employs for his trips.

He does his traveling invisible as a spirit. Unseen, unheard with his supernatural powers is how he does it. Us believers don’t make no wondering as to how he does it, but you can be damned sure he does it and does it thorough as can be.

He eyed Clara. Well maybe I got another just as good a way at looking at my God as lots of gods. Yeh, maybe I got more gods than you ever thought of having and better ones than you. Think on that some.

Dear God above and all around, Clara sighed looking upward, Forgive this your lost son. Give him a sign of your truth and love. Hear my prayer and give him a sign of your living presence.

Clara put even more weight on her broom, the shaft bowing slightly and George wondered how much of her it’d take before it cracked and she fell flat on her face. Clara shook her head with judgment oozing from her eyes and whole body and smiled a smile of pity, and George looked back just as hard.

You go right on with that superior me-above-you attitude, but I’s traveled all around for a long time and met lots of people, each thinking they better than the next, each one with some god of their own, whether you call it God, or Allah, or Buddah, or, I don’t know what all. He pointed mockingly up where she had been looking. So, with all I seen, I figure I got a good shot at getting it better than most in formulating my own God and make him—or her—the best one of all.

You know George, you come into God’s house every night and I put up with you because I keep thinking ‘This lazy bum need’s God.’ The one and only true God. Now you dare to blaspheme by suggesting there are many gods for folks to just pick and chose on a whim. You’re not worth talking to. You’re the most lost of the lost destined for the eternal abyss. You not only rebuff me, you dare rebuff the Master himself. I wonder he doesn’t just come down here now and smite you with his mighty hand. In here maybe He watches over you but out there, she pointed with her arm flailing again, no telling what awaits you without his care.

"Now, hang on. I want you to know that I am beholding to you for your kindness and the shelter of this place. Nonetheless, I know a thing or two about your God and I think you’re painting him all wrong and spiteful. If he needs to take vengeance on me for what I am, he just sounds plain mean-spirited. Is that what you imagine?"

She shook her head, her face showing hurt, earnestness. God is love itself. I’ve learned my whole life to hold him in the highest honor, in love and, yes, in dreadful fear. He’s just. Just in judgment. I know enough to tell you plain about how just he can be, even if it means damnation for the evil in this world. The Lord leads me to tell you this and he’d be much obliged for me doing so as the good book says. Pastor Wendt would back me up on this.

You run a supernatural court here, huh, Clara? Put notches in your gun if you shoot down a sinner for your God?

She stared again at him as he sat there and felt the heat of her eyes. Some believers are a scary lot, he thought. She broke her stare and forced herself back to work, and pushed her broom on down the center isle toward the chancel and pulpit. She was the only daughter of an old farmer and his wife with whom she lived in the rundown farmhouse less than a quarter mile from this little white church that could hold nearly seventy souls in summer time, and a good ninety in the dead of winter. Since the furnace was old, weak and temperamental, the colder the weather got the more people were willing to scrunch closer. So it was at Elmdrove Nondenominational Community Church, nearly three hours west of Minneapolis, Minnesota.

You’re just a sinner like the rest of us and maybe a bit more so, scolded Clara-the-janitor as she moved down an outside isle toward him again. Yet I never hear you admit to being a sinner and in need of God’s forgiveness. That perturbs me no end. If you perturb the Lord, you’ll get yourself into a load of trouble when you meet after leaving this mortal coil.

She threw out her words fast and strong and was soon out of earshot before George could reply. He figured out that she’d learned that trick months ago when their nightly meetings began. He also knew she enjoyed having his company since she often complained about her parents being the silent type. Still, she was more in it for what she had to say herself than she was for listening to George. He knew this, too, knew her tricks well and accepted what she handed out so he had a place for the night, especially during the first part of the fall season.

I’ll be heading on south in a few weeks to spend the winter with my son in Texas, he called out as Clara made another pass with her broom along the far isle of the church. Can’t say I’ll miss your proselytizing.

If you plan to spend the summer next year, she yelled back, in this church under my watch, you better come with a open heart and a yearning for God’s love, or I’ll be damned if you’ll get to aggravate me for another whole summer. Plus, you’d best be coming to church on worship days besides just getting my handout hospitality without reciprocation. You got it?

She was at the back of the church and banged her broom into the closet there, turned out the lights, slammed and locked the main double doors. He smiled, happy to have her gone but suddenly feeling a bit lonely, chuckling to himself about their nightly banter, a little predictable and rehearsed night after night. He knew what she’d say and she seemed to be all over everything he had to say. She wasn’t a completely unattractive woman, though, he thought to himself and they seemed to have some spark, even if it was just getting under each others’ skin. That’s the way a lot of George’s acquaintanceships seemed to be, moving from place to place until he finally wore out his stay enough to go, but not so much as to burn his bridges for the next pass through town. He reached under his pew for a small sleeping bag and rolled it out on the church pew.

Just as he was getting settled in, a scream like he’d never heard came from outside the main church doors, the same ones Clara had slammed shut a few moments before. He jumped up and rushed out to the vestibule and unlocked the doors, opened one and looked outside. A security light glowed above the yard and shown enough light that he could see her kneeling on the ground near the pole where the light was mounted.

Oh God above, what have we here? she said looking into a basket. She whispered in reverent awe, It’s a heaven-sent child brought by holy angels.

George shook his head and quickly walked over to look down into the basket filled with fluffy, knit blankets and a cooing baby.

Don’t tell me that’s a abandoned kid, he said.

An infant. I think a boy, she said weeping softly. Given me by the Lord himself.

Someone just up and left him here without saying nothing?

A gift of God, she said. This time of emptiness in my life is filled with a divine human soul. Mine to raise and nurture in his godly ways.

Hold on there, woman. Even your God ain’t gonna drop out of the heavens and plunk down a child. That baby belongs to someone and they just dumped him for the church to take in. We got to call the sheriff.

Not on my life. The child is unclaimed and comes to this church of God under my watch. He is mine. I been praying for a purpose in my life and he, in his wisdom and goodness, has given me hope and a life to care for in his ways. With that, Clara swooped up the basket and child and hurried off down the road to her house.

George watched her disappear into the darkness. Standing there shaking his head he said out loud, Ain’t none of my matter. It’s all on her head and those withdrawn parents of hers. Baby’ll probably never learn to talk being raised by the likes of them, though. Be a shame not saying nothing your whole life. Person’s got to say a thing now and again just to feel sane, even if it is out loud and to himself. George shook his head again and laughed. Just gonna let be, I guess. Get straightened out in due time. Just gonna let things be. Not my problem.

He returned to his sleeping bag and lay down.

Thanks for the place here to sleep, Clara, he whispered. Then just before falling asleep, he added, I’m certainly glad there’s no vindictive supreme god running the whole universe like she imagines and just plunking down a basket with child. Maybe that baby will soften her up and lead her to a kinder god. That’d be worth something in itself.

* * *

George woke early the next morning, cleaned up in the church washroom, and left by the side door, locking it carefully. Elmdrove was about a mile down the road and the walk was easy enough for George’s sixty-eight year old legs. For a homeless guy he was trim and fit—told all the younger ladies he was still in his prime!—and could walk for three to four hours, off and on, daily. A quarter mile of his walk took him past Clara’s and her folks’ farmhouse. He smiled at the front window in case someone was looking out and waved briefly when he glimpsed a static electricity spark between two of his fingers. Weird things like that seemed to happen to George all the time, so as he often got to wondering just what people really know about the world and the universe and all the mysterious forces working on everything all the time. But the spark made him think a moment on the new baby inside over there. He wondered briefly if that spark meant the air was dry or that her god was going to kick her behind, even if just a little. He snickered at the idea.

Fact is, though, he said aloud, noting that he was talking to himself again, something about that baby. Strange I should feel as I do. Something of a kinship. Ain’t that the damndest thing. He felt like it was okay to talk to himself so long as he didn’t give in to the urge to answer himself back.

He began walking faster as if moving away from the thought he’d just had about the baby and his kinship. He glanced back that way once like it was now either holy or unholy ground, he wasn’t sure.

It’s Tuesday, he sang. They’ll be serving up pancakes, juice and coffee at the post. Hope I get there before Nutty Norma. That one is trouble in a skirt and tennis shoes like a ne’er-do-well vagabond fit for trouble undeserved by trouble itself. If I was Clara’s deity I’d sit Norma down for a good talking to, maybe in the form of a burning bush or a water buffalo or some such thing.

As George continued, he passed the new digital welcome sign at the town entrance.

City of Elmdrove, Minnesota

Ginseng World Center

Population 460 or so

Climate: chilly

Year: 2010

The Salvation Army Post in town was the sixth building of about nine on the only street with businesses. The morning air was just as the sign said, though George’s blue overcoat was warm enough that he could leave it unbuttoned showing his red felt shirt and orange pants. A broad-brimmed Australian hat and lightweight hiking boots completed his ensemble.

He strode toward the Post facility looking cautiously for nutty Norma. He spotted her sitting outside on a bench, her back to him with a large supply of juice and pancakes on either side of her. She was in her fifties, gray hair unkempt, stocking cap pulled tight over her ears. Her two hands kept food coming to her mouth and her heavy breathing suggested this breakfast of hers was hard work. Her black parka warmed her upper body and a short heavy dress and long socks took care of her lower body down to her dirty-white tennis shoes.

I’ll be tending to you later, ugly George, she grumbled at him without looking back as he tried to pass quietly some ten feet behind her. Fill up good. You’ll need it before I’m done with you, she snorted loudly as punctuation to her greeting.

George went into the small dining room where Lucy and Bill, a husband and wife volunteer team dished up the modest breakfast to the homeless and impoverished guests. There were a few tables with seating for twenty or so people. George smiled at the couple and greeted them. Two chefs of kindness you both are, he said to Lucy and Bill. I’m grateful for you.

The retired couple both smiled back and Lucy said, It’s the likes of you, George, that’s kept us coming in most mornings.

How was your night cradled in the arms of the Lord’s house? asked Bill.

Fine enough, George replied. Never felt no arms ‘round me—would’a creeped me out if I had! He winked at Bill, then turned to Lucy. I did hear them bats fluttering, though.

Lucky for you, Clara keeps hoping you’ll convert, Bill went on. Long as she sees your soul as a prized trophy, you’ll probably keep getting lodging.

That I know, Bill. I treat her kind as I dare and listen to her preachy rambling and show just enough interest to keep her spirits up. It’s a fine line between a resting spot and perdition.

It’s since she does the janitorial work for free, Lucy added, that the congregants allow her to keep you there, you know.

Oh, I know I’m sort of her pet, and I’m grateful for it, he winced a little, then smiled as she handed him a plate with two big flapjacks crowned with an ice cream scoop of homemade butter, drenched in home-tapped maple syrup. Bill handed out a full glass of fresh apple juice donated by local farmers.

I’ll punish these here vittles something fierce, he said. Then I’ll get back over to the dish sink and wash up things for you. He turned and walked to a table where some regulars were eating, all former hands on the Miller ranch before it went up for auction after the late freeze that spring.

That Norma gal still festering a pimple in your craw? asked Jellyroll Jake, a short two-hundred and fifty pound man. He laughed heartily as he tried to gulp down some coffee, almost choking.

She has it in for tormenting my insides, George answered. Think she’s set on ulcerating my gut. And to think she found two men to marry before they kicked off. Some men have no sense.

Try most men! Lucy called from the counter. The Miller hands all laughed and toasted her wit with their apple juices.

Wish this were something stronger, Phil said, as he set down his glass, then held his hand up as he took on a big mouthful of pancake he suddenly seemed unable to resist, before finishing his thought and chewed it quickly so as not to lose his idea. Everyone waited in rapt suspense. Norma ain’t no regular tormentor. She’s got some sorts of college degrees. Pieces of paper from one of those Arizona new age colleges. They filled her head with crazy ideas and I think now she’s even more of a danger to the human race. She’s lonely and kooky and spiteful and without a brain of any measurable size.

I volunteered to wash dishes today, George said. Hope she’s gone when I’m done here.

Best wishes on that one, said Jellyroll Jake.

When George finished his meal, he got right to doing his chore. Pretty much everyone was gone by then and soon he was there alone cleaning the last bit of deliciousness from his plate. While hanging up a towel he heard that awful voice say, Cherub Norma reporting in. Today, you and me are taking over this town and the whole damn environs around these parts. Long live our domain!

Oh shit, Norma, George blurted in fright. You got nothing better going on today than to torment a sweet old fart like me?

We won’t take over the world with violence, she said. We’ll just wheedle our way into people’s confidence and take over their lives before they know what’s happened.

She grinned sinisterly showing a mouthful of well aligned teeth, which he thought would be most attractive if her sneer had more smile to it. She was so close he saw that her face was not wrinkled the way he thought it should be. This was the closest he’d ever been to her and George saw her eyes were a strange, deep shade of blue. He’d sort of assumed that after two husbands her looks would be long gone, but there was a strange youthfulness in her face that he hadn’t noticed before.

Get out of my face, woman, he shouted. Norma didn’t blink or move. She just stood there looking at him, relaxing her sneer into a serious stare.

I’m not fooling around. I know about you. She lowered her voice into a deep, velvety monotone. I see deep within you what’s inside. I’m recruiting you to join me in the boldest adventure you have ever thought possible. She waved her hand over the front of his face as though she were casting a spell. Understand?

For a moment he felt some sort of strangeness come over him. She seemed compelling to him, somehow, hypnotic. He shivered to himself and moved sideways and away while taking off a large brown apron, avoiding looking directly at his assailant.

What in hell is it with you women in this town? he asked with disgust. Proselytizing and recruiting the likes of me for your gods and your political revolts…crazy crap, and I want no part of none of it. Let me be and you get out of my… He suddenly forgot what word he wanted to say next. …whatever. He nodded conclusively.

Not on your life’, she countered. You haven’t actually got much of a life to get out of, though. Not a regular life. Not one like the rest of us. You’ve got nothing to show for a properly lived existence the way most people do. You’re a one-and-only Georgie Nobody, because you’ve made nothing of value for anyone and when you depart this earth, your remains will turn to worthless dust without notice. You’ve yet to become. Her sneer was back in full bloom.

Become what?

Just become, she said. Her blue eyes seemed to shift to the red slightly.

The only person ever to take notice of you for something more than you’re aware of is me, believe it or not. You better get to it, because you just don’t have that many days to waste before your last breath. Then you’ll be an immortal failure. A nothing. A nobody. Erased from existence. I see that you have the makings of a doer, though, and I can make you a somebody of worth. Some people might try to use you for your strange powers once they know about them. Not me, though. You can trust me. Oh, and saying ‘no’ is not an option.

He felt like he was in a dream, this crazy woman talking at him this way about his life and death and purpose or whatever other nonsense she was spewing. But George was also somehow struck by how she spoke and by her impressive and forceful words—inspiring, perhaps!—even if he didn’t understand everything she said. Gradually, her sneer softened and her eyes were no longer pleading and purplish, but back to their warm blue and George found the smoothness of her face inviting and comforting.

Suddenly, he snapped out of his short stupor, recalling what Phil had said about her education and her new age ideas. Maybe she got a baccalaureate in mind-control. Who knows what these schools are teaching these days… George then twitched violently away from her. Jezebel! You are incarnate frightfulness, he shouted.

With that, he marched to the coat rack, hung up his apron, grabbed his jacket and hat, and headed out the door into the street. He caught up with his Miller ranch cronies and went off to spend the rest of this lovely fall day in this tiny town, enjoying its park and quiet country atmosphere and simpler ways, far away from Nutty Norma and her crazy eyes and her high anxiety and her big plans and hidden agendas.

* * *

About an hour after his confrontation with Norma, the five men were sitting around a picnic table in the park telling tales of half truth and thick lies, sometimes laughing loudly, with maybe one or the other dancing a giddy jig, as they did their best to enjoy themselves. Phil had a brown paper bag and kept putting it to his lips to get at the bottle opening inside so he could sip a cheap alcohol from it. Within ten minutes the local police car drove by slowly. They stopped their talking and laughing and acted like they didn’t notice the vehicle. It moved on by, surveilling the area for anything out of the ordinary. Shortly thereafter, Lucy and Bill from the Salvation Army walked up to the group.

Folks, Bill said quite seriously, the Post is in some trouble, these days. The Salvation Army doesn’t operate it anymore since it was putting out services and meals to so few people. Lucy and me have been keeping it open by getting donations from locals here and from surrounding communities, but we’re getting along in years. The Post building belongs to a local farm cooperative who lets us use it for a hundred a month as a charitable write-off. Just look at it, guys. It needs repairs and the company doesn’t want to put money into it. Only three or four of the folks using the charity food and lodging need it and the rest just take advantage of what’s free. Lucy and I think of it as your Post. If you want it to keep going on, one of you—or all of you—need to take it over.

Phil looked angry when he mumbled, Ain’t that just how it goes. Some do-gooders get a thing like that going and once it’s up and running they want to dump it onto someone else.

Nothing lasts forever. Especially reliableness, someone else said.

How we supposed to make do without that help? asked another.

Lucy’s face was sad when she spoke. We just can’t keep it up. We consider you all our friends but next month we’re moving to Boca Raton. Our health is failing and we’re retiring. We wanted you to know.

Bill shook hands with the guys and Lucy hugged them one-by-one and wished them well.

Soon the group noticed that the police car was back and Officer Samuels parked and walked toward the gathering.

People been complaining again about the noise over here. Too much like loitering going on. That’s a legal issue, so I’m having to ask you to move on. Understand?

There were a few grumbles, shifting of bodies and gathering of belongings and the people left in ones and twos to find somewhere else to go and something else to do.

George thought about mentioning to the officer about the abandoned baby. He still hadn’t told anyone. Then he thought about the risk to his lodging and accommodations and decided against saying anything.

He and Jellyroll Jake leisurely strolled away from Officer Samuels together, George saying, Time I started making plans to get to my son’s place in Texas. Guess I have two weeks left here, or so. Weather getting colder besides. Seems nothing ever stays the same. Just change after change I can’t do nothing to stop it.

Jake nodded slowly and walked quietly for a spell as though George had really hit on something that needed some focused consideration.

* * *

It was about a week and a half later that George finally told janitor Clara at the church he’d be heading out for Texas the next morning.

I guess you warned me, she bellowed with sudden anger. You come begging in here last spring like it was me and the church’s duty to take you in, making God’s house your home and without the slightest conversion in your dark soul. Now you’re running away from His mighty call. George, you are truly the bum of all bums. She stood there inside the church with her broom, scowling and shaking a finger at him before turning quickly and tramping down the aisle pushing dust and dirt in a tornadic fury. As she worked, she shouted fiercely over her shoulder, her eyes red and cold. And you take your flee infested belongings with you and come next spring you find yourself some other hapless denomination to inflict yourself on! Not back here, you hear? Not back here for me to clean up after your God forsaken bones.

George hadn’t quite seen her like this before, but he kept on with his usual nonchalance. Say, you don’t talk about the baby none. How’s he doing?

Clara froze, the dust still swirling around her. What you talking about?

The boy you found out front nearly two weeks back.

She didn’t look at him, but just shook her head, and pushed the broom toward the darkness toward the back of the church.

Sometimes I just don’t figure you! she shouted.

The narthex closet door opened, the broom banged inside, the door slammed shut, the exit door opened, banged closed and keys rattled in the lock. There was silence.

From the distance outside George heard Clara’s voice yell with surprising softness, The Lord bless your travels just the same, George.

* * *

George was awakened some hours later by knocking on the church door and a female voice trying to whisper loud enough so as George might hear, Rise up, Sire George, of this holy place. Rise up, you ugly varmint, and open this door before I bust it down.

Shit in hell, he cried with a startled mumble, foggily gaining a grasp of his surroundings and the situation he’d awaken to. That damned nutty Norma. Maybe she’ll turn into a toad and go hopping off to swim in a pond.

A man’s voice called out, Sorry about this, George. She dragged me along. It was Jellyroll Jake. His voice was apologetic and spiced with what sounded like fear. She wouldn’t be denied once she heard you was leaving town in the morning. I thought I’d better come along to keep anything from happening.

Not be denied is an understatement, old man, Norma now yelled. Open up and open pronto.

Bright moonlight was streaming in through the glassed side windows. George couldn’t see his visitors but once his head cleared a bit, he decided he didn’t want the two inside so he crept to the side door and quietly slipped out and walked around the building to the front door to greet his unwelcome guests.

Tar-nation, you two, is a man’s sleep not sacred even at a church? he chided. The moonlight flashed ominously in Norma’s emblazoned eyes and he felt a chill in his neck.

You are a called and chosen one by the force of destiny! she cried out. Desertion is punishable by me beating your sorry bones into a heap of rubbish right here and now. She came toward him, her arms starting to flail just before Jellyroll Jake grabbed her around the waist and held her still.

Get off this hallowed ground, you infidels of the underworld, spoke a firm, disembodied female voice. George thought for a split second that it could be God himself, then he shook off the notion of a woman God as silly, chuckling aloud at the thought.

What are you laughing at? Norma shouted.

I said ‘Go!’ The powerful female voice said again. It was indeed deep like a man’s but still somehow sounded feminine to George, and it seemed to echo from above or off of surrounding buildings. All three turned startled at this last directive and they saw the janitor, Clara, standing splay-legged like a camera tripod with a double barreled shotgun aimed from her shoulder. She pointed it skyward just briefly enough to fire one barrel into the air, and the recoil didn’t budge her from her stance. The one live barrel was back down again on Norma as the janitor cocked the hammer.

Meet your Maker this very second, woman, or avoid eternal damnation in two seconds. Git! Git now! And with that the second barrel fired sending a spray of buckshot just over Norma’s head.

Neither man saw Norma run. It was as if she had been spirited away by an invisible force. They could only hear clattering footsteps running and terrified snarls from the distance down the road.

Now you git too, Clara commanded Jellyroll Jake.

Sorry about this, George, Jake whimpered. And Clara, ma’am. Just plain sorry. Clara, I’ll see you Sunday right here, 10am. Good night. With that he turned and walked away.

"Can’t always be