“Serge,” said Coleman. “You might want to watch the road.”
“You watch it. I’m talking here.” He released the steering wheel and Coleman grabbed it. Serge folded his arms atop the back of the driver’s seat. “I can at least cope if the guy on the phone to the motel is making a reservation. But no, I’m standing there waiting in person, and he’s asking a million questions about the place to decide if it’s the right fit for his lifestyle. How late is the pool open, do they have HBO, is it a hot complimentary breakfast or just those big clear dispensing vats of Froot Loops. You know what I did the last time it happened? I lunged over the counter and grabbed the phone and said, ‘Listen, fuck-stick, if you check into this motel, I’ll enter your room in the middle of the night and open your chest cavity with a concussion drill.’ Then I handed the phone back to the desk guy: ‘Funny, he hung up. I’d like a room, please . . .’ ”
And now, five hours later, the captive sat strapped in a chair, staring up at a comfortably numb Coleman.
A banging on the door of the warehouse. “I’m baaaaaack!”
Coleman smiled down at the hostage. “That’s my buddy.”
Serge slid the door open and led two more people inside.
“Who’ve you got with you?” asked Coleman.
Serge held each one around the waist as they staggered forward. “You remember Roger from the Democratic Party, and this other guy is Jansen from the Republicans.”
“They look drunk.”
“Naw, I just gave them a shot of Sodium Pentothol in the parking lot when they were getting off work. Grab me a couple chairs . . .”
Coleman helped Serge get them seated. “But Roger was nice to me. Why do you have to kill him?”
“What are you talking about?” said Serge. “I’m not killing anybody—I mean not these two. I just need to explore the political terrain further, because after I was shunned and they embraced you, I realize I don’t know anything anymore. And since we still have a few hours until traffic clears off the industrial road, I thought I’d put it to use.” He looked around at the ceiling. “This warehouse reminds me of Reservoir Dogs. That whole movie was a bunch of conversations in a warehouse, with some torture and death in between, just like here.”
Serge tossed a wad of cloth, and Coleman caught it against his chest. “What’s this?”
“Just go in the bathroom and put that on.” Serge knelt in front of his two newest guests and tapped them lightly on the cheeks. “Anybody in there?”
Jansen’s head wobbled on his neck. “Wha—? Where am I?”
“A warehouse.”
Roger started coming around. “I feel funny.”
“You’ll be fine,” said Serge. “That’s just the truth serum I gave you.”
“Why’d you do that?” Roger asked in a dull monotone.
“Because I don’t know anything anymore. Our political process appears to be a toxic dance of mutually assured destruction that takes all the citizens down with you, and that can’t be right. So I’ve prepared a little experiment.”
“What kind of experiment?” slurred Roger.
“You’re positively going to love this!” Serge excitedly flapped his arms. “I’ve got the best candidate you could ever hope to recruit. Absolutely everyone will vote for him. He’s completely unselfish with a blemish-free record, and he loves all the people. But he’s not sure which party to join.”
Roger lolled his head. “And you want to know which one of us will pick him?”
“No,” said Serge. “He’s a no-brainer as the top candidate for either ticket. You’ll both fight like wild dingoes over him. That’s a given. But only one party can win. So here’s the experiment: After the election, can the other party unite behind him for the sake of the nation?”
“Depends on the candidate,” said Jansen.
“Like I told you, he’s an automatic,” said Serge. “It’s the one and only . . . Jesus Christ!”
“Jesus Christ?” said Bradley. “But he’s dead.”
“Well, he came back,” said Serge. “That possibility was always left open. I’m sure you heard the stories.”
Roger twisted his head around. “Where is he?”
Serge called toward the bathroom: “Jesus, can you come here a second?”
No response.
“Jesus, get out here!”
Roger and Jansen leaned in the direction of Serge’s gaze.
“Dang it!” Serge marched to the bathroom and banged on the door. “Jesus, what are you doing in there?”
From the other side of the door: “Jesus? Oh, right.” Coleman came out and smiled. “My children!”
“That’s not Jesus,” said Jansen.
“Yes, it is,” said Serge.
“He’s out of shape,” said Roger.
“Give him some slack,” said Serge. “It’s been two thousand years. And if you don’t believe it’s really him, check out the shirt.”
The pair looked in the middle of Coleman’s chest, where something had been written in Magic Marker: WHAT WOULD I DO?
“I’m convinced,” said Roger.
“Me, too,” said Jansen.
“Then back to my main question,” said Serge. “He’s sure to win. I mean, even if you don’t believe he’s the son of God, you have to admit he’s a people person. And if he wins for the other side, could you support his administration? Jansen, you go first.”
“Wait a second.” Roger interrupted from the other chair. “I have some issues to go over first before I can accept him as our candidate.”
“Are you joking?” said Serge. “What’s not to like about this guy?”
“The conservatives have been eroding separation of church and state for years.”
“So?”
“Well, he’s a little on the religious side.”
“He’s Christ!”
“Exactly. And politicians often visit schools. Since he’s Jesus, anything he says will be the new gospel.”
“I’m not following.”
“Prayer in the classroom.”
“You’ve got to be shitting me,” said Serge.
“I agree it’s a quibble,” said Roger. “But we have to keep our base happy—”
“Shut up.” Serge grabbed his head and turned to Jansen. “Don’t tell me you also have a problem with him as a candidate.”
“Actually, yes.”
Serge’s jaw fell open. “What?”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, because we definitely respect all faiths. It’s just that our polling data right now shows that the only viable candidate needs to be a Christian.”
“Yeah?” said Serge. “Jesus, Christian, who better?”
Jansen shook his head. “He’s Jewish.”
“He’s Christ!” said Serge.
“It’s just that our pollsters—”
“Shut up.” Serge massaged his temples and turned back to Roger. “Hypothetically, let’s take the prayer thing off the table. Surely, he’s acceptable in every other way.”
“Not really.”
Serge needed a chair. “I don’t even want to ask.”
“Remember that talk about telling his followers to render unto Caesar?” said Roger. “That they’d be rewarded in heaven?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m not sure he’d support shifting the tax burden to the rich.”
“Incredible.” Serge turned. “Jansen, can you help me here?”
“I’m afraid he scores very low on our Christian values test.”
“He’s Christ!”
“Associating with known prostitutes, creating a disturbance in a house of worship with that money-changers scene, the loaves and the fishes, which was a socialist food-redistribution program . . .”