The Jehovah Contract

"Right." She hung up without a good-bye.

"I'll be damned." The realization that I might very well be seemed less painful now. Blasphemy loves company.

On the lower levels of Auberge, guards handled trouble from the riffraff. On the upper levels, the guards served the same approximate purpose. The riffraff, however, seldom hung around-the prices were too high. I was reminded of this as I gave the waitress several scraps of orange paper to ransom my drink.

My watch read 8:13. I was begi

And I was only on my second drink.

A short time later, A

"Sorry I'm late. I had to get this from Archives." She set the luggage against the side of her chair and sat down.

"What is it?"

"The corporation's library. In case you need to do research."

"I've got a plaque," I said.

"Do you want your information requests going through the library satellites? The airwaves aren't necessarily secure, you know."

The waitress drifted by again. A

"You're taking this pretty seriously," I said.

"I'm an accountant-paranoia is an occupational requirement." She looked directly at me. "You want to find god. You might as well start by telling me what kind of god. Define him."

I hadn't considered that there might be more than one kind of God. "The usual run-of-the-mill God. Miracle maker. Controller of lives. Watcher over us all."

"Is this god-the one you've been hired to kill-is he different from man?" She frowned at her own question. "Excuse me for sounding like a prosecutor. I'm just trying to help."

"Sure. No problem." I took a drink. "Sure He's different. More powerful. More knowledgeable."

"The difference, though-is it one of kind or degree?"

"Huh?" She'd just gone beyond the limits of my self-education.

"Is this god a more powerful and intelligent man, or is his power of a different nature? Is his knowledge a nonhuman variety?"

She had me there. "Just the typical sort of unfathomable God that most people believe in."

"Well, if you can't understand god, you'll never be able to find him. And to use the term to mean anything less than a difference in kind is a misuse of the term. A more powerful man or alien may be godlike, but he wouldn't be a god."

I slugged down the rest of my drink. "Why are you bringing all this up?"

"I just want you to know what you're getting involved in. I think you've already started on the wrong foot. Have you looked through any books?"

"A lot of theology texts."

"You can't go to the people who believe already. They've made up their minds and want to convince you of their own personal heresy. Most theologians have no idea of what constitutes rational proof. Go to the antitheists."

"Who?"

"The disbelievers. At least they'll give you an idea of what god is not."

The waitress reappeared to deliver A

"You notice that I haven't asked you who wants god killed. I won't. I think the world would be better off without a god. And I don't think you're a mental case for believing that gods can literally die. Zeus is dead, after all."

"I thought he was simply doing time for rape."

She smiled at that and took a sip of her drink. "His worshippers are gone. Where does a god go then?"

"I think that was dealt with on a Star Trek episode."

Her eyes twinkled with laughter like northern lights. "Star Trek and The Twilight Zone both had a sophisticated grasp of theology."

"Are you old enough to remember them?"

She smiled like a debutante. "I have them on disc."

"And what TV show had the worst theology?"

"Father Knows Best, of course."

We both laughed. Then I heard someone behind me. Maybe heard isn't the right word. I had the same sort of crowded feeling I'd had the other night in the upstairs corridor. I turned around.

Fifty pounds of brat wrapped in hot pink velvet approached. She noticed me and changed her course to pass by, smiling wickedly. She strode up to A

"Don't worry about him trying to get into your skirt, lady. It ain't the meat, it's the tumidity."

"Cute," I said.

A

"In no ways, shape, or form-all of which she lacks."

"Cute," said the tyke.

I tapped a cigarette out of my pack. "Couldn't you go find a Shriner's convention and leave us alone? We're discussing negative theology."

She smiled a girlish little grin and winked at me in an adorable, i

The balding man there smiled through fat lips and leaned forward to welcome her, speaking quietly.

"A pretty child," A

"Pretty screwed up. In more than one sense." I tossed down my drink and sat back to scan the bar.

The gazes of several men, young and old, drifted toward A

"Call for Mr. Dell Ammo." The waiter had been walking up and down the lounge, his voice carrying just enough to reach the tables he passed.

I stood to catch his attention.

"Mr. Ammo?"

I nodded.

"A telephone call for you."

I followed him to the telephones and stepped into the booth that he indicated. I thanked him and crumpled a fiver into his hand. He looked at it, mentally converted it from last week's value to this week's, and smiled broadly.

I lifted the receiver to my ear.

"Ammo," I said.

The voice on the other end was as smooth as a mortician's slab.

"Ammo-get off this God caper of yours. Zacharias is one washedup preacher. Get wise-you're up against people who mean business."

"Yeah?" I retorted suavely. I couldn't place his accent. This was getting so overblown that I didn't even care about playing dumb. "What's it to you? If He exists, I'm no match for Him. If He doesn't, I'm only wasting my own time."

The voice spoke with slow amusement.

"Let's just say that the stakes in this particular game are high enough that it wouldn't even be worth your while to play."

The line clicked, followed by the buzzing silence of a disco

I hadn't figured anyone would take this whole affair seriously, let alone catch on to me so quickly. Now I had to plan more than a "killing" that would bring me a steady income. I had to protect myself from a second nut or gang of nuts. Great.

I mulled the problem over while walking back to the table.

A

The attachй case lay open on her table setting, its output screen alight. Bright orange letters glowed against a black background.

THE WAY OF TRANSGRESSORS IS HARD.PROVERBS 13:15

I looked around and saw no clue.

I did see the kid, though. She was guiding her bloated sugar daddy toward the exit. I raced over to grab her arm.

"Where'd she go?"

The fat man bridled. "Let go of her, fellah," he said around the edge of his cigar.

I ignored him. The brat stared up at me defiantly. "You'd have been watching," I said with a genuinely angry growl. "Where'd she go?"