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“Sure thing,” I said and put down the pedal. “You meeting someone?”
“I’ve been seeing this woman there on and off for the past couple of years. Every once in a while I’ll appear, give her a little push and then split by sunup.”
“She must be pretty special.”
“Yeah,” he said, and took out a flattened wallet. “Here she is.”
He showed me an old photo of this forty-five-year-old ex-blonde-bombshell in a leopard bikini.
“Nice,” I said.
“Nice isn’t the word for it,” he said, with a wink.
“What’s she do?” I asked.
“A little of this and a little of that,” he said.
“No, I mean where does she work?”
“At the funeral parlor. She sews mouths and lids shut. She lives in a small house in the center of town. When I get there, she’s usually in bed. I step out of the armoire, minus the robe, and slip between the sheets with her. We eat of the fruit of the knowledge of good and evil for a few hours and then lay back, have a smoke.”
“Does she know who you are?”
“I hope by this time she’s figured it out,” he said.
“She’ll end up going to the tabloids with the story,” I warned.
“Screw it, she already has. We were in that one recently with Bigfoot on the cover and the story about the woman who turned to stone on page three.”
“I missed that one, but I remember the cover.”
All of a sudden Christ sat straight up and pointed out the windshield. “Whoa, whoa,” he said, “pull over like you’re going to pick this guy up.”
Only when he spoke did I see the shadowy figure up ahead on the side of the road. I could see it was a guy and that he was hitchhiking. I passed by him a few feet and then pulled over to the shoulder. We could hear him running toward the car.
“Okay, peel out,” Christ said.
I did and we left that stranger in the dust.
“I love that one,” said the savior.
A few minutes passed and then I heard a hatchet of a voice from the back seat. “You fuckers,” it said. I looked in the rearview mirror and there was the Devil—horns, red skin, cheesy whiskers in a goatee. As I looked at him his grin turned into a wide smile.
Jesus reached back and offered a hand.
“Who’s the stiff at the wheel?” asked the Devil.
“You mean fat boy here?” Christ said and they both burst out laughing. “He’s cool.”
“Nice to meet you,” said the Devil.
I reached back and shook a hand that was a tree branch with the power to grip. “Name’s Jeff,” I said.
“I am legion,” he hissed.
Then he stuck his head in the space between us and shot a little burp of flame into the air. Christ doubled over with silent laughter. “I got a bag of Carthage Red on me, you got any papers?” the Devil asked, putting his hand on Christ’s shoulder.
“Does the Pope shit in the woods?” asked the Son of God.
