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Roland Hopkins Books
Category:
Action/Thriller
Publisher: Gypsy Shadow Publishing
ISBN-10: 161950314X
Type: Fiction
Pages: 312
Copyright: April 2, 2017
ISBN-13: 9781619503144
Price: $4.99 (eBook)
When will Jesus return? Can any person know, and for all the studying of scholars, can we really know the mind of God?
If Jesus came back at the same time Satan came to create the Antichrist, ordinary people would be called upon to help him out. The luck of the draw - Richard Blade, stand-up comic and private investigator, and his unlikely sidekick, April Love, a girl he literally picked up off the street - the chosen pair.
The two meet Jesus when Richard takes a job as bodyguard for Jesus. That is only the beginning of a mysterious jaunt which leads the reader on a thought-provoking journey into the surreal.
Excerpt
“Here I am. Rick Blade, Private Eye,” I said with a wide smile. “I’ll go for some of that coffee.”
Blinky poured a cup for me and indicated a seat at the table. I sat.
Johnson stumbled as he got up, grabbed a straight-backed wooden chair and sat down directly across from me. His hard life had done his features no favors. His bulbous red nose reminded me of old movie comic, W.C. Fields, who used to eat apples injected with vodka, and he’d be bombed after several scenes.
Johnson’s long days of smoking and boozing had taken their toll on his weight, which couldn’t have added up to more than a hundred and twenty bony pounds on his stooped frame, and a death mask of a face.
The janitor’s shaky hands almost dropped his coffee cup, but he gulped the drink and flashed a smile. “I found the answers,” he said.
I pondered the remark. “I don’t know the questions, friend. My calendar’s pretty full right now,” I lied.
“Are we alone?” Johnson placed his hand over his mouth and whispered. He glanced at Blinky, who nodded.
I nodded and peered out the window at the sun coming up. I drained my coffee, feeling it tingle all the way to my stomach. It was my first week as a full-fledged private eye, and April had run a small ad in some nearby local town newspaper, along with the expensive Herald ad.
Johnson’s problem will have to reveal itself in a hurry, I thought. I’m already half asleep.
“Yes sir, Johnson my man, we’re alone,” I said. “Why? What’s so secret? Did you finally murder your alimony-collecting ex-wife, or did you save money on your Geico Insurance?”
Johnson appeared perplexed at my levity. Apparently the visit was no laughing matter. “I think I got a j-job for you, Ricky.” He pulled his chair up in front of me, close enough to send a whiff of stale alcohol breath. “A detective job. Bodyguard, of sorts.”
“I only take cash jobs,” I said. “That’s how I got the trolley. It was a PI job. The yard manager hired me to get some information on his cheating wife. I shadowed her for a few days and took pictures, ones I actually could have sold to any adult website for more money than I was charging my client. The yard manager saved lots of alimony in the divorce, and paid me with the trolley.”
Johnson flipped his half-smoked butt into a coffee can.
“I could probably fit you into my engaged schedule,” I said. “Who’s cheating on who? Or is it whom?”
Johnson began quivering all over, and his voice trembled. “I don’t know how to start. You won’t believe me anyway. Maybe I should have a small alcoholic drink. Please?”
I glanced at Blinky. He shrugged. I walked over to the fridge, opened the door, and searched the shelves. I knew Blinky always kept a fifth of vodka there. I retrieved a cup of vodka for Johnson, and refilled my empty coffee cup with Pepsi. By the way, if you didn’t already figure it out, I don’t drink liquor or take any drugs. Why? If you had seen what a lot of soldiers do to stay brave, you wouldn’t drink or mess with drugs either.
Johnson studied his drink for a long moment, then swallowed it with one big guzzle, and he almost choked on his next words. “I met Jesus.”
I moved my chair closer to Johnson and studied the old man’s appearance. “You sure you’re okay?”
Johnson’s shoulders drooped. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me. But it’s the truth. I met the real Christ, and that’s why I’m here.”
I really didn’t know how to answer, knowing that Johnson was full of crap and hungover. But then why did Blinky call me? I threw my former boss a glance. He said nothing and shrugged his shoulders.
“What the hell do you want me to do?” I asked. “You should be talking to a minister, not me. I have a friend who may be able to help you.”
I sat in the wheelbearing desk chair and rolled it over to the window. I peered out into the parking lot, a place I had spent many a night freezing my butt off. The morning sun was hiding behind thick clouds, but I saw nothing there that resembled a Heavenly spirit. Johnson’s Jesus sighting meant nothing to me. I knew when a person drank as much as Johnson did, they saw things. My father was a good example.
Johnson coughed and began choking on his coffee. “I need your help. I mean—he wants your help.”
I looked over at Blinky, who was now smiling, and then shrugged again. I laced my fingers behind my neck, leaned back and nodded, my lips sealed.
Johnson mumbled, “You know that flophouse I live in? Right around the corner from what’s left of downtown Boston’s Combat Zone?”
I nodded. The Combat Zone was a place to stay away from, unless you wanted a punched jaw.
Johnson wheezed. “Last night, after playing poker with some friends, I’m walking into my room when I meet this guy who just moved into the next room, and he looks just like—like—oh damn, please help me.”
The poor old drunk’s shoulders hunched over. He seemed to wither into a small ball, his arms wrapped around his knees in a fetal position. When he looked up, his eyes were puffy, his face wet with tears. He barely whispered. “He looked just like Jesus—at least all the pictures I’ve seen—long hair, beard, kind eyes. You know, like in that Mel Gibson movie, The Passion of Christ.”
I felt a strange chill run down my spine. “You’d been drinking a lot, hadn’t you?” I seriously stated.
Johnson dropped his chin onto his sunken chest. “Of course, of course,” he said brusquely. “But trust me, this had nothing to do with how much I had to drink.”
“In what way?” I felt a rush of exhaustion, and for a moment I wished I was hardened enough to throw Johnson out the window. It would only postpone the day longer, I thought. Within five minutes I’d be out in the parking lot looking for the poor soul, making sure he got back safely to his flophouse. “So tell me what happened in as few words as possible,” I said. “I’m tired.”
The old man coughed and said, “This guy called me into his room, closed the door, and placed his hand on the top of my head. I could immediately feel energy surge through my entire body.” Johnson straightened up. “I swear I felt it, and suddenly I wasn’t drunk anymore. As a matter of fact, my arthritis pains even went away.”
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