Dead Man Running Read online

"The Palestinians? Aren't they terrorists?"

  Hamid stretched his slender fingers upon his desk. "Palestinians are peaceful people. We merely seek a home of our own, our own country located in the lands of our ancestors."

  "How can Wiley help with that?"

  "We have no voice in this government. As he becomes more powerful, so do we. If he becomes president our nationhood is assured."

  Jan nodded, pleased that the man wasn't looking for a piece of the real action – the millions she can skim off of campaign contributions and back room deals with rich backers. "Is that all you want?"

  "To protect my interest my granddaughter Mira will join the Wiley team."

  "Bullshit! We don't need anyone else."

  "Yes, you do. You've lost two members in the past two days."

  Jan cocked her head, stared in the old man's earnest eyes. "Who? What are you talking about?"

  "You'll see. Plus you'll need a source of supply for more of these potions – Mira has magical skills and can conjure both."

  "He needs to keep taking this stuff?"

  "Every few weeks or else he'll revert to the basic zombie and you won't want that while he's being interviewed on Good Morning America."

  The old man smiled – he had her. Her ambition created more dependence, on him. Maybe one of his zombies will become president. Even if Wiley falls short he'll have a U.S. congressman in the palm of his hand. That can't be a bad thing for the Hidar's or their motherland, Palestine.

  Jan stood, hand extended. "Deal," she said and they shook.

  After Jan left, the building and Hamid's office reverted to their true state – a dingy, poorly maintained building and a small office with decade's old furniture and well worn carpet. With their visitor gone the Hidar's felt no need to maintain the magical façade of splendor. In fact, the payment from Elias had already been spent on back rent and supplies for the marginal business they maintained.

  Mira took a seat in front of her grandfather, who remained seated behind his desk.

  "You knew she would come?"

  "I knew either she or Turnbull would come. Of the souls in that hotel room they were the most depraved and desperate."

  "We could have used some more of their money, grandfather."

  "You will get a salary, more than enough to satisfy your needs."

  Mira blushed, took her grandfather's hand in hers. Flashed across her mind were the many people she made money from by performing magic on the streets and by selling spells and potions on her popular website. The fact that her online persona wore skimpy outfits did not hurt sales. That money she kept for herself, allowed her to live large in an expensive Manhattan apartment. Although her family was not devout Muslims, she kept her bank account a secret. With the secret came guilt whenever she spent time with her less than successful grandfather.

  "I have enough money, grandfather. I meant for you and this business."

  Hamid patted Mira's hand, sat back in his chair. "There are things more important than money, Mira. The security of our people is paramount. Our people need a safe, secure country that belongs to them."

  "And this is the way we get it?"

  "We know that terror is not the way. We have many people from many lands speaking for us from behind a rifle or with explosives strapped to their bodies. The 911 bombers said they were, in part, acting on our behalf." He swatted that sentiment like he would swat a fly. "We are not going to get our nation that way. It has to come from America, and they have to want to give it to us. That is why I came here. To find a way to get them on our side. This is our opportunity"

  "They'll never back us against the Jews, grandfather."

  "They don't have to – they say they are all about fairness and justice. With Wiley as our spokesperson, perhaps by linking the Palestinian cause to civil rights and the long American struggles with race, we can make the case that Palestinian nationhood is long overdue and deserved justice for our people."

  Mira hoped her skepticism did not show on her face. "So I work for him now?"

  "Yes. You need to, as they say, keep him on message. Point him towards the Palestinian cause. His position on the Foreign Affairs committee is key to that."

  Mira nodded. "And what happens when he needs to eat?"

  Hamid stroked his hairless chin. "You let him eat." He thought about it some moments more. "No, you arrange for him to eat. You make sure nothing destroys our plans."

  "But, what about the people who are killed? The innocents."

  "As the American military is fond of saying, they'll merely be some 'collateral damage'. Most important is the long term viability of our people."

  "I don't like it grandfather Hamid."

  Hamid's eyes flashed the anger of centuries of abuse and betrayal at the hands of the world's powers.

  "Do you think our people like starvation? Do they like economic and mental depression? Do they enjoy humiliation every day at the hands of the Israeli's? You have doubts about the morality of feeding Wiley? Where's the world's morality?"

  "It is murder grandfather Hamid. We need to call it what it is."

  He threw his hands up in the air and stood.

  This was familiar to Mira – she had uncapped the volcano of her grandfather's mostly hidden passions.

  "Our people are murdered every day by Israeli soldiers and planes. A Palestinian child starves every day. You cry for the Americans who must die to sustain Wiley. Why? Why cry for them and not for our own people?"

  He stopped and stared at Mira. When the young woman had no reply he continued.

  "Ben Wiley, as a black and Democratic congressman gives us a foot in the door of the White House for possibly the next six years. We'll own him and can manipulate what he says and does. Forget him being president." Here Hamid paused to chortle. "That will never happen. Wiley will be capable, for a zombie, but not that capable." He laughed again, giving Mira an opportunity to question her grandfather's sanity.

  "The more I think on it, Wiley will be our prototype."

  "Prototype?"

  "Yes. Every several years the Israeli Prime Minister visits Washington and addresses a joint session of Congress. His remarks, mostly denigrating our people, are met by thunderous applause. We need to change that dynamic. We need to create a chorus of voices in Washington that are for our people. The next time the PM visits, there needs to be some who question and oppose instead of mindlessly cheer."

  "Would Wiley go for that – him not being the only zombie in Congress?"

  Hamid smiled. "Why not? We can frame it as his personal revolution. He would control a block of votes limited only by the number of members we dare to convert. And as long as they support our cause, I don't care what else they do."

  Mira nodded and stood. "I understand now, grandfather. And I do cry for our people. I'll do all that I can to accomplish this."

  "I knew you would Mira. You have always been a good and obedient child."

  Mira placed a kiss on her grandfather's still agitated cheek then left the room. She felt uneasy about the coming bloodshed but she would not voice her feelings. Like a good daughter of the Hidar clan she would do as she was told. It was how Hidar females have behaved for thousands of years and she had no reason to stray from all that tradition.

  Chi crept down the second floor hallway, sweaty hands tightly gripping the hatchet he had purchased in a twenty-four hour Brooklyn Wal-Mart. He paused at Ben Wiley's closed bedroom door. He listened intently for any movement. Hearing none, he nudged open the door.

  Thick curtains now covered the balcony door, making the room almost night-like in its darkness. Wiley lay face down on the bed.

  Chi stepped lightly over to Wiley. He cocked the hatchet above Wiley's head.

  "You better be sure about this," a voice said.

  Chi, startled, jumped almost out of his skin. He pulled the hatchet back, looking in the direction of the voice. Someone was in the shadows near the closet – he couldn't quite make out who was there but the voice was famil
iar.

  "Mookie, is that you? What are you doing here?"

  "Are you sure about this?"

  "Damn straight, we can't keep letting him kill people. I mean, I thought this was a good idea, but then..."

  "Where do I cut it, man?"

  "You want to help? Great, come on over. You can cut off his head."

  Chi turned toward Wiley as Mookie stepped out of the shadows. Mookie had the familiar bug eyed look of the walking dead.

  Chi turned back around and saw the look. He fought to remain standing as his legs buckled. Bile nearly overflowed in his throat.

  He swallowed hard. "Man, you gotta be shitting me."

  Behind Chi, Wiley quietly sat up in bed.

  "Whip, whop, wham," zombie Mookie said as he walked toward Chi.

  "I'll give your ass a wham!" Chi cocked the hatchet to strike Mookie. Before he could swing, it was jerked backward out of his hands. Wiley had it and he snapped the handle in two. Chi broke for the door but his path was blocked by Mookie.

  Mookie smiled then his mouth started to enlarge. It was suddenly full of sharp teeth.

  Chi turned back around and there was Wiley, now standing beside the bed. "Out came the sun and dried up all the rain."

  "Whip, whop, wham."

  There was a loud growling sound enveloping the room, this time coming from both zombies.

  "Oh my God!" Chi shouted as he sprinted around Wiley to the balcony door. Mookie and Wiley followed him in their slow zombie shuffles. Chi unlocked the door and ran onto the balcony. He looked back into the room to see that Wiley and Mookie had almost reached the door.

  Chi turned back to the balcony. He quickly considered his options: become breakfast for two zombies or die jumping out a second floor window onto a strip of asphalt.

  He leaped off the balcony into the alleyway.

  Wiley and Mookie finally reached the balcony. They looked down and their zombie eyes saw Chi Bright lying on the alleyway, face down, his broken body in a quickly expanding pool of blood.

  NINE

  The last Sunday before the election and all candidates were expected in church, none more so than the Reverend Benjamin Wiley. The congressman's limo skimmed above the vibrant Harlem streets. In the rear sat Elias, Jan and Wiley. Absent Chi or Mookie a staffer was at the wheel with the privacy partition closed.

  "I haven't been able to contact Chi since Friday. Do you know where he is?"

  "Last time I saw him was Friday afternoon. I left the house to pick up a dress. When I came back, he was gone."

  "That's not like Chi – he knows that Wiley shouldn't be left alone. How was Wiley when you got back?"

  "He was good. Mookie had stopped by for a visit. I never realized how much Mookie and Wiley have in common."

  "Mookie? What was he doing there?"

  "Just hanging out, I guess."

  "He wasn't any trouble?"

  Jan smiled. "No, by the time I got back, he had found something to eat and everything."

  The driver brought the limo to a stop in front of the church.

  Well dressed parishioners mobbed the vehicle as their beloved faith leader appeared.

  Inside the church the ushers and attendants were busy preparing for the service as worshipers entered. A group of deacons argued near the front of the church.

  "But he called me. He called me." The deacon pointed to himself.

  Another deacon raised his voice. Small of stature, he held his head high and balanced on his toes as he spoke. "I should be the one leading the service. You know, Brother Rutherford, it was Mr. Turnbull what called you, not God."

  "Yes, Brother Weldon, they called and said that the Reverend Wiley would like one of his deacons to lead the service."

  A third deacon, Meeks, spoke then. "And that should be me as I would be the recipient of a call as well."

  Weldon said, "Brother Meeks, we can talk a lot about what you are the recipient of. From what I hear you were the recipient of something from that little Jones girl who sits up front. Between scratching your family jewels and making eyes at that girl, I don't see where you have the time to lead the service."

  "Brother Weldon, I would think you are above such gossip."

  "Brother Rutherford, Mrs. Jones is still trying to clean that gossip off her good couch."

  Brother Meeks attempted a comeback: "I can explain that. You see I..."

  "Henry, save it. We need to settle this. Anybody got some bones?" asked Weldon.

  "I do," replied Rutherford.

  "Okay, let's go to the back. First one to roll seven then eleven wins." The deacons headed toward the back room.

  Back outside, Wiley, Jan and Elias waded through the well wishers and onlookers to enter the church.

  "Give 'em hell on Tuesday reverend!"

  "Stomp that Republican Ben!"

  "Run Wiley run! Run Wiley run!"

  As the group neared the heavy front doors of the church, a young couple approached Wiley. Wiley and his group stopped.

  "Reverend Wiley, good morning," the young lady said. "I'd like to introduce you to my fiancé, Jocquim."

  The young man extended his hand to the reverend.

  Wiley looked at the man then found a point far away and stared at that. Elias stepped forward. "Son, the reverend doesn't shake anyone's hand who's not a member. You can sign up today. Ask for the installment plan."

  The young man placed his hand in his pocket.

  "Reverend Wiley, we plan to marry next week. Do you have any advice for us?"

  Wiley stood there motionless for a second, eyes still fixed on infinity. Suddenly he bent down to the young woman's level. Jan and Elias held their breath – the last thing they needed was for Wiley to bite off the bride-to-be's head on the church steps.

  "Ride big daddy! That's the way baby!" He grunted loudly and pantomimed sexual intercourse with his hips.

  The young woman stepped back, hand covering her mouth in shock.

  Wiley halted his demonstration, walked into the church.

  In his wake was the woman, her fiancée and several shocked parishioners. The young woman's features held a befuddled look while her fiancée smiled from ear to ear.

  "Now that's my kind of pastor!" he shouted as Wiley disappeared inside the church.

  Wiley, Jan and Elias were finally inside.

  "I'll go speak with the deacons," said Elias. He walked off, an opportunity for the church ladies to swoop in for the kill. Jan kept a tight hold of Wiley's arm as the women descended upon them.

  A woman in a bright purple hat spoke first. "Reverend Wiley, I was so proud of you on the television the other day."

  A woman in white – one of the nurses charged with caring for those overcome by the spirit – spoke next. "Reverend Wiley, I am so proud of you every day."

  The first woman, realizing her mistake, jumped back in. "Reverend Wiley, I didn't mean to say I'm not proud of you every day."

  Both women looked at Wiley. Wiley stared ahead silently.

  "Look what you've done," said purple hat, "now he won't talk to either one of us."

  "Ladies, I think Reverend Wiley needs to take his seat," said Jan.

  "I'll take him!" they both shouted.

  "No, thank you," Jan said. "I know the way."

  "And who do you think you are, young lady?" asked the woman in white.

  "Yeah, where's Mrs. Wiley?" added purple hat.

  Jan stepped in front of the two women. "She's where I left her after I kicked her ass. Now, get outta my way," she whispered.

  "Amen," said Wiley.

  The ladies realized that they had been dismissed. "It was all your fault," said the nurse, "always coming on to that man."

  "Coming on? How dare you? I wouldn't do anything like that."

  "Be quiet Edna. You've reached inside more men's underwear in your fifty years than a Times Square fagot."

  Jan guided Wiley toward the front of the church. "Hopefully, no one else will bother you," she said.

  At that mome
nt several children approached Reverend Wiley.

  "Good morning Reverend Wiley," they said in unison.

  One of the children, a snot nosed light skinned boy, spoke. "Reverend Wiley, can you explain to me why God will send me to hell for saying bad words?"

  "And why the Bible has all these words nobody can understand?" asked a girl child, dressed in a burgundy gown that swept the floor.

  "And why God don't let the Sun shine in the hood?" asked another boy, this one perhaps the older brother of the snot nosed kid.

  "Reverend Wiley, what does fornication mean?" asked a devilish looking girl of perhaps ten. Her parents didn't bother to dress her for church – she wore a faded t-shirt and jeans.

  Jan waved the children away. "Children, Reverend Wiley is very tired. He'll answer your questions later."

  "Are you okay, Reverend Wiley?" asked the child in the long gown.

  "He'll be fine, honey," Jan said.

  "I don't know, I saw somebody on CSI last night what looked just like him." This was the older boy. God only knows what he was doing watching a show with such violence, thought Jan.

  "Ain't nobody on CSI that look like the Reverend," his younger brother said.

  "Yea there was, he was laid out under a white sheet."

  "You ain't seen that!"

  "Did too!"

  "Did not!"

  Jan fast walked Wiley past what soon would become fisticuffs. "Excuse us, kids. Reverend Wiley needs to take his seat."

  "Bye, Reverend Wiley!" the children shouted in unison.

  Deacon Rutherford won the craps game and the privilege to lead the service. Elias, Jan and Wiley were seated in the front pew.

  "And I'd like to thank Reverend Wiley for personally calling me to this service. I am truly humble in the eyes of God and in the eyes of our beloved Reverend Wiley. Just look at him! Look at him, I said! Such a good man! Such a man of God has never crossed our threshold before."

  The audience applauded.

  "Look at that man. A pillar of strength. A living example of the power of Jesus."

  Elias whispered in Jan's ear. "He got that half right. We do owe him to the power of a man from the Holy Land."