After all, his attempt to bring salvation to the roster of Sin City Championship Wrestling had resulted in failure. Only one wrestler had even accepted the rapturous repast, and as far as anyone knew, Seymour Almasy had dumped it out as soon as he went around the corner. That had been the closest thing to a conversion all night. Most of the other SCCW superstars had, at best, ignored him. The rest offered either derision or threats. Brothers Paco and Jorge had abandoned their cart, which still had a half-full container. Worst of all, they had to leave Brother Macarthur behind entirely, due to the untimely presence of His eternal adversary, a demon in the form of a man named Edward Lambert. All told, the first phase of the Master's plan had been almost a total disaster.

It was that 'almost' that put the smile on the False Prophet's face--for there was one aspect of the mission that had been an unqualified success. Brothers James and Colt had distributed their entire supply, and at one point had to go back to the truck for more. They were blessed with a location that a multitude of people who were both thirsty and foolish. The fans' concession area.

They had set up right by the popcorn vendor, doling out Kool-Aid to a parched populace. Connors knew the effort would be fruitful, but even he was surprised at the results. Hundreds of wrestling fans, never ones to pass up a free beverage, approached them for a cup. Anyone who did was immediately offered a second, and most of them took it. Once the trap was set, Neophyte would ask them to show their support for the Decency Crusade at the upcoming SCCW show in Knoxville, Tennessee.

That would not be the end of it, however. Many people had more than two tastes of the beverage--in fact, there were some of them who skipped half the show, instead choosing to drink Kool-Aid all night with the Crusaders. Those people took things a step farther.

'That's what I like to see,' Wyatt beamed as he watched the string of people slowly approaching the front gates of the Decency Compound. 'Initiative.'

The False Prophet stood just behind the front gate, his robes whipping about him in the stiff breeze. About twenty or thirty people walked toward him, led by the rickety blue pickup that served as the Decency Crusade's transportation. He'd sent Pablo and Jeremiah (or was it Seth? Connors had trouble remembering at times) back to San Antonio to retrieve Brother Macarthur from the hospital. They had been waiting, with slack jaws and dead eyes. The had camped out at the hospital, knowing that the man who gave them salvation would one day come back for his disciple. After the Crusade had retrieved their teammate known as Caravan, the new believers formed one of their own. They all piled together in about a dozen cars, and followed Jeremiah through the dusty backroads all the way back to the Compound.

Wyatt's ears pricked up at the sound of footsteps behind him, but he did not turn around until he heard the voice.

'Reverend Wyatt? How much farther out are they?'

The voice was female, and noticeably stronger than most. There was an independence in that voice, a spark of defiance. Wyatt turned around, already knowing that he would be speaking with Abigail Proctor.

'Ah, my dear Sister Abigail. It should only be another five minutes before they return...and it seems that they have company. Has the refreshment been prepared?'

'Yes, sir. An extra batch has been mixed. There's no more spare bunks, though, so they're going to have to sleep on the floor.'

Wyatt pursed his lips in thought. 'Hmm. That should be all right for a while--show them that the road to salvation is a hard one at times.'

Abby peered off into the distance, getting a glimpse of the oncoming vehicles. 'Is there anything else you need of me?'

'Not at the moment. Don't stray too far, though. I may need to have a word with you after our new guests arrive.'

'Thank you, Reverend,' she said, and left quickly. Perhaps a little too quickly.

Connors cast a glance at her, then turned his attention back toward the oncoming parade.

Two minutes later, Brother Seth (Jeremiah?) pulled the truck up to the front gates. James and Jorge released the latch, but Wyatt still blocked the direct path.

'You have returned, I see. How is Brother Macarthur?'

Seth leaned out the window, allowing the wind to play merry hell with his long hair. He swept it out of his face before answering, 'He's all right. Needs to stay off his feet for a few days. Someone really did a number on him.'

The number of the beast, Connors thought idlely. 'Very well. He has earned his rest. Brother Pablo, help our fallen warrior to the infirmary.' The man in the passenger seat nodded, then attempted to pull Macarthur to his feet. 'James? Jorge? Show our new friends where to leave their worldly concerns, then bring them to the dining hall.' Both of them immediately turned toward the newcomers and began directing traffic, herding the fleet of cars around the outside wall.

Seth stepped out of the truck. 'You want me to help Loom--er, Brother Pablo?'

Connors' lips twitched into a smirk. 'No, I want you to come with me. We must ready ourselves for the welcoming...and after that, I have a task that requires your assistance.'

Seth hesitated for a moment, but then began walking a few steps behind Connors. There was that defiance again--he had it, just like she did.

He'd have to do something about that later. Right now, he had guests to prepare for.

# # #

The screen door creaked as he softly pulled it open. He winced at the sound; he was hoping he could get in completely undetected.

Hell, he thought, too late to go back now. Slowly, he entered the house. A few more steps told him that stealth was an impossibility, as the floorboards squeaked every time he put his foot down. He continued to walk slowly anyway--there was no need to make it easy for anyone who might be listening. The man walked through the kitchen and into a hallway, going over in his mind where his prey should be.

He'd followed the Crusade back here from the show in San Antonio, keeping just enough distance to avoid notice. He'd parked a few miles out, then crept up to the Compound on foot. He had two days of observation, during which he spied Connors many times. He could have just grabbed him then and there and put an end to it, but there was more that needed to be done. So he waited, and he watched. He did both of them long enough to notice that a few of them--Connors, mostly--took several trips to a weather-beaten clapboard house that stood some distance outside the Compound walls. That's where his target would be--separated from the rest of the flock.

Figuring the world would have its eyes on the new sheep rather than the house, he chose their arrival as the time to approach. He crept down the hallway, staying well clear of the living room. He hadn't seen any evidence of guards, but he wasn't about to take a chance. Soon, he found himself on one side of a closed door. Light shone from underneath, as well as through a crack in the middle, and muffled voices came from the other side.

As he reached for the knob, he again thought of arming himself. He decided against it, though. If he opened with a threat, the other man would be less likely to capitulate. He was pushing his luck enough with the surprise entrance--he wouldn't be sneaking in if it hadn't been the only way.

Slowly, he turned the doorknob, and cracked the door open slightly. The voices became clearer, so the prowler took a moment to listen.

'I wanted to congratulate you personally, My son. You helped a great many souls find peace during your mission, and I have no doubt that you will do the same for many more in the coming days.'

'Thank you, Father.'

The first voice carried an air of certainty only attainable by the completely insane. The second, barely more than a whisper, was filled with reverence. If the intruder had been the wishing type, he'd have wished he had waited to make his move.

'I hope you understand how important you are in My grand design. You are more than a man; you are a symbol. A testament to My capacity for love and forgiveness. Even with the evil that taints your flesh, the sin in your veins...you have risen above it all, to take your place at My right hand.'

'Thank you, Father.'

'Think of it, My son. With every battle, the Crusade grows stronger. More converts in every town we visit. They will offer their souls, and through Me, they shall find eternal joy. Soon, a glorious empire shall stride the land...and though Brother Wyatt may be the voice of the movement, you shall be the face. A nation of followers, all eternally devoted to Me...and perhaps, someday, to You. Does that not fill your heart with holy light?'

'It does, Father.'

Jesus, he thought. This is what I gotta deal with?

'I am glad to hear it. Truly, you will be a shining beacon, and one of the favorites of My kingdom. Now, can you do something for Me?'

'Anything you ask, Father.'

'Go to the door, and invite our new friend in.'

Shit. He considered making a run for it, and actually took a step back. Then he thought, Hang on a minute. He's got you dead to rights, and he knows it. Might make dealing with him a little easier. Anyway, they were likely to have the whole Compound after him if he tried to bolt. He turned back to face the door, and whoever might open it.

He didn't have to wait long. The door swung open, and suddenly he was face to face with a kid, probably barely out of high school. Tall kid, a little skinny. His eyes were ice blue, but they were softer than marshmallows. Something didn't seem quite right about it.

'The Master would like you to join us,' the kid said. The intruder nodded and tentatively entered the room...and there, got his first look at the Reverend Ibrahim Seck.

It shouldn't have been so shocking, given all the pictures and video footage he'd watched...but the truth was that they just didn't do him justice. It wasn't that he didn't look like he did in the old pictures--sure, he'd lost a lot of weight, but even if you overlooked the pompadour and the perfectly white teeth...one look in those eyes, and you knew it couldn't be anyone else. But there was no comparison between a photograph and seeing the man face-to-face. He had a presence, an aura, that made him seem so much...more. If you weren't careful, you started to see things they way he did, rather than the way they were. It didn't matter if you didn't believe it. He believed it for you.

The Reverend smiled, showing off those gleaming teeth. 'Greetings, Brother. Who might I have the honor of addressing?'

'Harley,' the intruder murmured. 'Call me Harley.'

'Of course, Brother Harley. It seems you have come a long way to gain audience with Me, and endured many hardships. Tell Me...what business would you have with the Lord's younger son?'

Seck's words lilted into Harley's ears like notes from a harp, and he had to shake his head a little to keep his wits about him.

'I'd like to talk to you about Wyatt Connors.'

# # #

It had taken some time, but the new 'recruits' were on their way to being fully integrated into the Compound. They'd been given something to drink, a short speech about virtue from Wyatt Connors, and something more to drink. Then, they were shown which section of the floor would be theirs for the time being.

As the orientation wrapped up, Seth snuck out the door. He hadn't spent any time with Abigail in almost a week, thanks to his duties with the Crusade. Lately, he extent of his social interaction had been playing children's games with the other Crusaders during road trips...and Hangman got awfully boring when the answer was always 'All Praise Our Savior, Ibrahim Seck.'

Unfortunately, he hadn't got more than three steps out the door when he saw--and nearly bowled over--Wyatt Connors. 'Oh! Um--the--I just--' Seth stammered, being unable to think of anything to say that didn't amount to 'how the hell did you get here so fast.'

'There you are, Brother Seth. I hope you hadn't forgotten what I told you earlier. That would be a shame...'

'Forgot? No sir,' the large man said, doing his level best to keep a look of disappointment off his face. 'You needed my help with something, right?

'Exactly. Follow me, if you please,' Connors replied, and then walked off toward the shed where they kept their tools. Seth did not please, but he did follow.

Crazy bastard, Seth groused in his head. Probably wants me to get the 'good nails' up off the top shelf or some stupid bullshit. Doesn't matter that my balls feel like they're going to fall off; I've got to be his fucking handyman.

As they reached the building, Seth was almost dragging his feet...but his brain was still going a mile a minute. Had to watch Katsidy walk past three times--three goddamn times!--and the fucker keeps me too busy to even think about it. I swear, as soon as I get Abby alone, I'm going to--

Oh, FUCK.

That, incidentally, was about two seconds after Wyatt had opened the door to the tool shed, and about one second after Seth saw what was inside.

There was Neophyte, and the Luchadors. Caravan was even in there, sitting on a pile of unused lumber. And there, in the center of the room, was Abby Proctor. She was squirming in the grasp of Jorge and Pablo, but they managed to keep her arms pinned and her mouth covered. Seth barely felt Wyatt herd him into the building, and didn't even notice the door shut behind him.

As soon as the door closed, the False Prophet began chiding Seth. 'Did you really think you wouldn't be found out? Our Lord, our savior, who sees and knows all, talks to me on a regular basis...did it not occur to you that he might mention this? No, of course not. Such things never occur to people who think with the Head Where Satan Lives. You have passed on a place in paradise, preferring instead to partake of the pleasures of the penis! Oh, the shame! The palpable, palpable shame!'

Seth wiped the spittle from his eyebrow and tried to defend himself. 'Reverend, it's not...it's not like that, we're just--'

'LIES!' Connors screamed, his face turning bright red. 'You will not speak untruths on holy ground, fornicator! I WILL NOT HAVE IT!'

Seth's rebuttal died in his throat. All he could manage was a quick glance into Abby's eyes. She looked absolutely terrified...and slightly angry, probably at the fact that he had the nerve to be scared too.

Wyatt continued, much more calmly this time. 'I know how you have deceived us, Seth. You have refused to accept salvation, either in spiritual or liquid form. Worse still, you have encouraged this woman to do the same, leading her astray. You, who have espoused the virtues of our Lord, have instead followed the teachings of Judas Iscariot. You have betrayed us...and her...and even yourself. Thankfully, we found you out before the forces of evil could build any crosses.'

Seth's eyes frantically searched for a way out. Sure, he was significantly larger than everyone else, but he was vastly outnumbered. And besides...where would he go?

'I am not a cruel man, Seth. If nothing else, the glorious Reverend Seck has taught me compassion. Therefore, I shall give you another chance. James?'

Brother James--Neophyte--reached behind him, producing a metal canteen. It was the same one he brought to the shows, for when Reverend Connors needed a little boost of faith.

'Excellent. Seth, I'm going to give you a chance to make up for your wickedness. Inside this receptacle, there is just enough of our blessed beverage for one of you.'

Wyatt made a slight nod toward Brother James, who lightly tossed the canteen at Seth. He fumbled with it a little, but kept it from hitting the ground. Seth looked at it, then up at Connors, who was smiling widely.

'Choose.'

The lovers' eyes met once more. He could see her panic...hell, he could practically feel it, even over his own. 'Umm...'

'And please choose quickly. Yours is not the only soul we are fighting for today, you know.'

Judging by the weight of the canteen, there was more than enough for one person--hell, there was probably enough for four--but he had no doubt that anyone who drank it all would be under Connors' influence for a very long time. Again, he tried to look for another way out...and again, it seemed fruitless. He could probably just dump the Kool-Aid on the ground, but knowing Connors, he'd probably have them drug out and force more of the drink down both their throats. He unscrewed the lid of the canteen, and looked intently at its contents.

Bright red. Cold. Wet. Probably delicious...

'Who will it be, Seth?' the False Prophet asked. 'Will you save her? Or will you save yourself?'

He took a deep breath, and then let it out slowly. As he slowly lifted the canteen, he whispered--just loud enough for her to hear--'Sorry, baby.'

Even with his cautious grip, he still nearly dropped the canteen when someone started knocking on the door.

Connors frowned, obviously displeased by the interruption, but he opened the door anyway. On the other side, he found the cold eyes and eager face of Colt MacReady, the lad who Wyatt occasionally calls the Prodigal Son. 'I'm a bit busy at the moment, Brother Colt,' he barked. Can it wait?'

'Reverend Seck wishes to speak with you immediately, Reverend,' came the reply.

'Blast!' he cried, before remembering his place. 'Ah. I apologize for the outburst, Brother Colt. Of course, I will go to Him straight away. Gentlemen, carry on.' He bolted out the door, with Brother Colt hot on his heels.

This was the break Seth was looking for--he knew all too well that the others, while fiercely loyal, were none too bright. 'Well?' he asked, trying to claim authority through sheer boldness. 'He's obviously doing something important. Shouldn't you be helping him?'

Pleaseletthisworkpleaseletthisworkpleaseletthiswork...

The others looked at Seth, and then at each other...and immediately went for the door. Even Macarthur managed to hobble out quickly. Moments later, only he and Abigail remained. They were both too scared to speak at first, out of fear that they'd be back any second.

Abby broke the silence by asking, 'Did that...work?'

'I...think so...'

'That worked! There was no way that should have worked! That stuff only works in Bugs Bunny cartoons!' She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him deeply, stifling any kind of response.

'Oh God...I was so scared! They just grabbed me out there and hauled me in and then you--Oh my God. You were going to drink it, weren't you? You were going to drink that...stuff!'

'Yeah, well. Good thing it didn't come to that.' Soon, his modesty was also smothered by her lips.

'Oh, baby,' she said in between kisses. 'I love you so much...'

As they sank to the ground, Seth was very thankful that she heard him say, 'Sorry, baby.'

He was even more thankful that she didn't hear him think, 'Better you than me.'

# # #

A few minutes earlier.

Reverend Ibrahim Seck sat on his golden throne (which was actually a threadbare rust-orange recliner,) and looked intently into the face of his visitor. 'Don't I know you? Minnesota, wasn't it?'

Harley chuckled without humor. 'Most people don't remember that. Hell, even I barely remember it.'

'You'll find that I am not most people. Now then, Brother Harley, there is one thing I don't quite understand. Why come to Me? Yes, of course, I do know all that can be known, but one would think that if you want to talk My disciple, you should go and talk to him.'

'Well, what with you bein' all-powerful and all, I figured I should ask your blessing first.'

Ibrahim smile grew to slightly disturbing proportions. 'A very nice answer, Brother Harley. But is it not written: 'Spitteth not into Mine eye, only to then telleth Me that it raineth, for I am your Lord?''

'All right, ya got me. Truth is, me and Wyatt, we go back a long way. And some of the things I need to talk to him about...well, they have to do with the old days. Get me?'

'I believe I understand your meaning. I don't believe Brother Wyatt will be much help to you at this point, though. He has left his old life behind him, and has embraced the faith like few I have ever seen. Indeed, Wyatt Connors is not a much stronger, a much greater man than he ever was before.'

'See, that's the thing. The guy you've got your hooks into...that Wyatt Connors doesn't help. I need the Wyatt Connors that I know. The one that was around before you...'saved' him.'

'Then it seems we are at an impasse, Brother Harley. The man you seek no longer exists...and, quite frankly, the world is a better place for it.'

'I don't know if that's the case, Padre. The first part, I mean. As for the world being a better place...hell, that's probably true. But that ain't the point. Now, I heard about what that Kool-Aid stuff of yours does to people...and I need him off of it before I can talk to him. But I'm willing to bet that if you dried him out, we could get him--the old him--back up to the surface.'

For the first time in their conversation, the grin started to fade from the Reverend's face. 'Suppose that is true. You are asking Me to willingly discard My best servant, the man who has done so much to rebuild My congregation. If I were to lose Him at this critical moment, I could very well lose everything.'

Harley put up his hand in a defensive manner, 'Hang on. I ain't askin' for a permanent thing. I just want to talk to him. When we're done, you can do what you want with him. Hell, you can drown him in that red shit, for all I care. But there ain't no reason why you can't let me talk to him for a while, when he ain't all goofy in the head.'

'That may be true, My son. Still, there is a monumental risk. I would be undoing months of intense spiritual conditioning on one man--the same man who serves as the leader for the rest of the organization. By jeopardizing the soul of one man, you do the same for all under My watch. You ask a great deal from Me...but what do you offer in return?'

Harley had been waiting for this part. The Reverend hadn't said 'no' outright, so there was still a good possibility of getting what he needed. It was just a matter of finding something that Seck would be interested in.

'Well...if you remember me from Minnesota, then I'm sure you remember my friends too. And you know the kind of...services...we offered. We could offer those services to you.'

'My good sir!' Ibrahim snapped. 'You are asking the very flesh of His flesh and blood of His blood to condone--'

Harley interrupted, 'Okay, okay, you ain't interested. It was just a suggestion.' Truthfully, Harley was relieved. He'd been bluffing pretty hard with that one. He hadn't seen the old gang more than three times in the last seven years, and he doubted he could get them all into one place again.

Still, it meant that he had to come up with another offer. Fortunately, he had one--not one that he liked, but needs must and all that. 'All right. Before Wyatt's rabbit blood acted up, he stashed a lot of money away. Like, an obscene amount. We're talkin' Solomon, Croesus, and Howard Hughes all in one. Now, I can get a hold of that cash...and if you want, I can break off some of that for you. Keep you in wine and robes for a long time. Make the Scientologists look like a bunch of fuckin' amateurs.'

The grin returned to Seck's face, but he still shook his head. 'What use have I of worldly riches, Brother? Money is of no use to Me...for everything I need, My Father provides. Both in this world, and the next. Also, I would appreciate it if you did not curse in My presence.'

'Oh. Shi--I mean, dang. Sorry.' Harley chided himself in his mind--he wasn't used to watching his language, but he still should have known better. He couldn't afford to blow this deal, especially not on account of some four-letter words. 'Anyway...maybe He's just using me as a delivery system.'

'No, I don't think so. Money can be helpful, yes, but one must take care to think of it as a mean, rather than an end. Having an amount of money that is, as you say, obscene...yes, we might have use for some of it. But we live very simple lives, Brother Harley. The salaries that my Crusade draws from SCCW, plus the monies generated by incoming members, is adequate for our needs. My son, I am beginning to think that we will be unable to come to an agreement. For this, I am truly sorry.'

Harley scowled, but he wasn't ready to give up yet. 'Hold your horses, now. I'll think of something.' In truth, he had already thought of something...he'd thought of it as soon as the conversation started. He just hoped that he'd be able to think of something else.

'I doubt it, Brother. You can only offer me things of this world, which are of no use to me. I only require things that are of heaven, which you cannot access.'

No other way, then. He had to suggest it. It made Harley sick to his stomach to do so, but this was his last chance. 'All right, just hear me out--'

'I already have,' Seck interrupted. It seems this meeting was a waste of time for both of us. There is nothing that you could possibly give me that would--'

'Lambert.'

That one word stopped Ibrahim Seck dead in his tracks. 'What?'

Now it was Harley's turn to smile. 'I can give you Edward Lambert.'

Fear played for a moment in the Reverend's eyes, but that fear quickly turned to anger. 'Brother Colt!' he shouted.

The door swung open, and there stood the young man. 'Yes, Father?'

'Go find Brother Wyatt. Bring him here. Immediately.'

'Yes, Father.' Just as quickly, the door closed and the boy was gone.

'Now then,' the Reverend hissed, his face contorted with righteous rage. 'You were saying.'

'Well, here's how I see it...'

# # #

Later that night, a phone call went out from within the Decency Compound. Half of the conversation went like this.

'Yeah, it's me. Boss around?'

'Huh. Well, she'll want to know this.'

'Whatever. Just make sure you tell her, okay?'

'Right. It's just about a done deal here. Hit a snag, but managed to get out of it.'

'Nah, he'll crack. Should be any day now.'

'I know, but you can't rush these things. You know that better than anyone.'

'We've been waiting a long time for a chance like this. She can't get impatient now.'

'Yeah, yeah. I didn't mean it. Look, I know she can't get that time back, but at least she'll have the money...and that's like paying him back with interest, right?'

'Hey listen. How about when I come back into town, you ditch that card-shuffling jerkoff and spend the night with me?'

'That's not a 'no.''

'Well...just keep it in mind.'

'Yeah, I gotta go. Keep you posted.'

'Later, babe.'