“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:
“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 . . .”
“Stop talking.”
“. . . Mary was an unwed teen mom,” said Roger. “We’re concerned about his views on abortion . . .”
“. . . And we’re worried about His stance on capital punishment,” said Jansen. “Because of that incident . . .”
“Both of you, shut the fuck up! I can’t believe what I’m hearing!” Serge stood behind the drugged political operatives next to the fat Jesus, who was petting a lobster in a tank filled with iron pellets, and glanced over at the duct-taped hostage. “What’s wrong with this picture?”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
ALFONSO’S
Serge tucked Roger and Jansen snugly into their beds and made it back to the warehouse just as truck traffic cleared off the charcoal-black industrial road.
He moved the hostage outside, in back by the scrapyard, and made him change his clothes at gunpoint.
Now the captive was all shiny.
