The place was packed with shills getting taken by the wheels. I pushed my way through making for the door when the shiksa vamp Delilah hooked my arm and pulled me into an anteroom off to the side.
“Say, Teacher, there’s centurions out front. You’d better amscray through the back way,” she said close and hot, her breath stinking of stale smoke.
“Why? They’ve got nothing on me.”
“They must’ve been watching the place and seen you come in. That’s enough.”
She had a point, but all the same I smelled a set up. I grabbed her by the arm and pulled her into the crowd, finding a wheel that was still taking bets. I pushed her on until her balloon-like chest was practically in the guy’s face.
“Put a grand on zero,” I said in her ear.
“But I ain’t carrying that kinda dough, Teacher,” she protested like a poor little rich ***** and I twisted her arm behind her back.
“Do it,” I said. “Satan’ll cover it.”
She reached out and pinned a long pink fingernail to the green square and raising her plucked eyebrows, caught the croupier’s eye with a wink.
“A Gee,” she cried loudly.
He saw me standing behind her and nodded, spinning the wheel, the silver ball racing and jumping like it was on fire.
The big wheel went around like it was never going to stop and the crowd stood still. I let go of Delilah’s arm and ducked towards Satan’s office as the squad of centurions burst in from the bar.
A woman screamed: “It’s a raid!” and the mob panicked but there was no place to scatter. I slipped into the office where Satan sat bolt upright at his desk.
“What gives, Teacher?” he uttered hurriedly.
“Somebody called the bulls on your joint. I’ll give you good odds who it was.”
“Iscariot! The rat!” he cried. “This way!”
He jumped from the whirling chair and made for a secret panel. I followed as soon as the hidden door slid open onto a dank tunnel that looked to lead straight to the sewer.
Chips flew as the helmeted Romans smashed the wheels and slapped the bracelets on everybody in the place. Hauled into the street, they were paraded before the Roman Prefect Pontius Pilate and heaved into the blue and white wagons.
Pilate had his beady eyes peeled for Satan or me and when he realized we weren’t among the crowd, he felt like an idiot because he’d have to run them all in anyway.
“**** Jews gather like rats in a cellar,” he complained.
But the Savior wasn’t among the ones he’d brought in, so he’d more than likely have to let the lot of them go.
Pilate didn’t worry about harassment charges, since the lawyers were Jews too and could be cowed more easily than their clients. Cowed or bought off, if the shysters had the chutzpah to try to press their case.
Delilah wasn’t a Jew so was one of the first to be cut loose.
Satan brought me to another one of his joints. There the demons shooting pool in the smoky backroom were surprised to see their boss emerge out of the shadows and pulled themselves together in a hurry. Satan was too worried to care.
“Relax, boys. You know the Teacher,” he said as we went through a beaded curtain to the joint’s private office.
He poured a couple of drinks and licked his wounds. “That raid’s gonna cramp my style for a while,” he said, tossing the boiling hot liquor into his tight throat. “You still want me to set up that meeting with the Arab?”
“The centurions are your problem, not mine.”
“Start mixing it up with Muhammad’s boys, they’ll be your problem. You know how Pilate feels about that kind of noise.”
“Ask me if I care how Pilate feels about anything.”
“I don’t have to ask. I know. All you care about is your Father’s territory.”
“That’s right. And nobody sets up any rackets unless they go through me.”
“Yeh, yeh. All the dough in the world doesn’t mean a thing to you. You’d let a camel walk through the eye of a needle like it was no big deal before you’d give a swell a break.”
There was an abrupt knock at the door. Satan put down his glass, got behind his desk and sat down, yelling out, “Yeh? What is it?”
A demon pushed the door open and poked his red face inside.
“Delilah to see you, boss,” the bug-eyed monster said.
A look of grief came over the snake’s face, but he said, “Show her in.”
“She might’ve been followed,” I said warily.
He stiffened and jumped to his feet, going to the bar and pouring himself another drink. He lifted a rod from below and placed it on the bar as the strumpet came in pale and frightened.
“Satan—,” she said breathily, and stopped, seeing me sitting there.
“Teacher!”
“What do you want, Delilah? How’d you know we’d be here?” he hissed.
“I—I didn’t. I just took a chance you’d be holed up here ‘cause the Romans never come near this place.”
“Maybe—maybe not, ‘til now, if you led ‘em here, you dumb broad,” he cursed between his teeth.
She looked more scared than when she came in. Her eyes darted absently and she saw his hand inching towards the rod.
“I don’t think they followed me,” she blurted.
“You don’t think—but you don’t know either. You’re hot, Delilah, and you ain’t got the brains of a flea,” he said nastily and raised the pistol.
“What say, Teacher? Should I blast her?”
“What good would that do? If the centurions followed her, the damage is already done.”
“I could do a lot more damage,” he snarled.
He came from behind the bar and walked over to her. He gave her a cold stare and raised the pistol.
Wringing her hands, she pleaded, “Don’t **** me, Satan! I—I don’t think they followed me! Honest! They wanted the Jews is all—maybe they were just looking for the Teacher! They cut everybody loose.”
His teeth glinted like the fangs of an animal as he smacked her across the face with the hard metal, cutting her soft cheek like paper. Bleeding, she dropped to her knees, sobbing.
“You want a crack at her, Teacher?” he snorted. “No—I guess not, you being the Prince of Peace and all.”
I went over and lifted her face by the chin.
“Why don’t you crack her on the other cheek and even it out?” I groused, not really objecting to the treatment.
I didn’t feel sorry for her.
The blood trickled from the sliced flesh and ran down even with the pulsing and protruding blue veins of her slender white neck and glistened on the smooth surface of her polished string of pearls.
She tilted her head and I watched the thick mascara course from her wet eyes, the tears mingling with the blood and sweat partly washing away the pasty foundation. She wasn’t pretty to begin with. Now she was grotesque.
“I haven’t got time for this crap, Satan, and you know it. Are you going to make that call or what?” I demanded.
“Hear that, baby? The Teacher ain’t got time to waste on garbage like you,” he smirked, taking a swig from his glass.
“I was talkin’ about you, you *******. Leave her out of this.”
He drained the glass and licked his lips with his forked tongue.
“No can do, Teach. She’s in it already. You don’t think Pilate’s boys followed her here?”
“No,” I said firmly.
He backed up and raised the pistol again, snapping, “Well, I do! I think we oughta throw her to ‘em—it’ll get them off our tail.”
“Satan—,” I commanded, but taking another step back, he aimed the gat right at her.
“If you want to do business with me, we do it my way—and my way says we throw her to the dogs.”
“Don’t let him **** me, Jesus! Please!” she cried, crawling up on her knees and clutching my inseam.
“Why cast her pearls before swine?” I asked him calmly.
“Maybe the swine’ll look good in her pearls,” he retorted.
He’d poured me a drink that I hadn’t touched. It remained on the desk and grabbing the shot I threw the alcohol in his face before he could fire. His eyes burned and he let out a yell.
I snatched the rod from his claw and planted a right cross to his temple that knocked him for a loop. His knees buckled and he crumpled against the desk and from there collapsed to the floor.
Now I had the piece and I leveled it on him, saying, “I told you, I don’t have time for this. You gonna make that call?”
“Sure, Teacher, sure. I’ll make the call,” he said using the side of the desk to climb to his feet. “But I ain’t giving you no promises.”
“Leave the promises to me. All you have to do is ask and I’ll give it to you good. That’s a promise.”
He rubbed his jaw and picked up the receiver shiftily eyeing the girl and me and I knew he was up to something.
I helped her to her feet and when she stumbled into my arms, I held her close. Her body was hot and throbbing, sweaty all over and shaking from head to toe.
He looked to be waiting for the connection when I started backing towards the door, keeping the gun on him and taking her with me.
“What’ll I tell the Arab?” he said as he shifted on his Cuban heels.
“Tell ‘im I’ll meet him at Iscariot’s place.”
He put the phone to his double-breasted chest and said in dismay, “Are you kidding?”
I took one more step towards the door, the frightened **** in my arm clinging to me for dear life tripping over her stilettos and wanting to clear out in a hurry.
“No. I guess you ain’t.”
He put the phone back to his pointed ear and was saying, “Hello? This is Satan. Yeh, great. Put on your boss,” as we went out.
for Medusa
