... Dumble grabbed Brent by the lapels and hauled him up. Dumble’s forearms were slick with sweat and caked with graveyard dirt. His blood pounded in his ears. Brent hung from his grip like a CPR dummy. Blood and mucous smeared his face, his smirk almost literally wiped off his visage.
... “All this time,” Dumble said quietly, almost to himself, “all these years living in fear of spindly little toe-rag like you. And ‘cause of what? A lucky shot. ‘Cause you saw me before I saw you.” He pulled Brent closer. Brent whimpered, like the old man was about to breathe fire on him. “Well, hear this,” Dumble said. “I see you now, you abomination.” Dumble picked up Brent’s dick jar.
... “Prepare to meet your unholy maker.”
... But Hell had already broken loose down the street.
... There was an explosion of sound that rocked Dumble even these few blocks away. La Gorda’s Putero was engulfed in flames, the neon figures topping her sign melting into hot pink squiggles.
... Dumble looked around for Lily, but his eyes only told him what the icy feeling in his gut already knew.
... He dropped the jar of penes, shattering it. The flaccid scraps of flesh lay there in broken glass and preservative. Then he dropped Brent, who landed broken-face first in his newly-freed collection of dead johnsons.
... “Lily,” Dumble whispered to the cold graveyard.
... He ran the three blocks to La Gorda’s.

#

... Dumble could feel the heat from the flames up the block. What girls and johns were able were fleeing the inferno on foot or by car. Dumble tried to breach the front door but was held back by the panicked crowd and the wall of heat, which dried his eyes before the tears could even form. Dumble, the evening of destruction finally catching up with him, let go. He rode the flow of scattering humanity.
... Deposited upon a concrete parking slab, Dumble sat and watched the Putero burn. The stream of people fleeing dwindled to a trickle, and he did not see Lily anywhere among them.
... All these years. Gone. Wasted. When Dumble had been consumed with boredom, with bullshit ennui, he’d blown town until he found meaning. Esmerelda. Lucy. Life, not death.
... But death had caught up with him. Death had stolen his family. So he’d spent fifteen years hunting death down until he’d finally caught up with her.
... Bullshit. He’d spent the past fifteen years the way he’d spent his whole life: running away. Running away from home. From Daddy Dumble. Then, from his dead family, the insufferable guilt. He’d tried to paint it as piety, as duty to his God. But he was nothing more than a giant fucking coward, hiding behind the hem of the robe of his Creator. And on his Holy Quest to prove he was not as big a coward as he actually was, he’d gone and gotten Lily killed. Lily, the one blooming flower in this miserable desert. Lily.
... Dumble wept.
... “Whaddaya cryin’ about?” a voice croaked.
... Lily had dragged herself all the way out to the parking lot. Her legs splayed out uselessly behind her as she dragged them, broken and bloody over the asphalt. A collapsing roof beam had all but crushed her lower half, and blood dribbled down her chin as she fell, spent, no longer even able to keep herself up on her elbows.
... Here, Dumble thought. Here is a second chance. He rushed to Lily’s side. He found a crushed beer can with some Miller Lite still in the bottom. He quickly made the sign of the cross over it and sprinkled it on his desert flower.
... Lily coughed up some more blood, the copper stink of it thick in her nose and now mixed with the odor of stale beer. She forced her heavy eyelids apart and watched as Dumble prayed over her.
... “Lord,” sayeth he, “she whom you love is all fucked up. This fucked-up-ness is not unto death; it is for the glory of God. So that this son of a bitch here,” jabbing a thumb to his chest, “may be glorified by the means of it.”
... Lily felt a coldness begin to seep over her legs. She tried to ask for some water, but all she could taste was her own blood. Her eyelids began putting on the pounds.
... “Father,” Dumble cried to the Heavens, “I thank Thee that Thou hast heard me. I know that Thou hearest me always.” He sniffled, a line of snot on his upper lip. “But I have said this on account of the fact that I’m a no-account motherfucker with a brain addled by junk pharmaceuticals and a heart ravaged by the devils of the wilderness. Do not, O Lord, do not pluck this Lily and keep her to Thine breast. As Thine humble servant, I beg of Thee. So little fight is left in these old bones, and though I deserve no better fate, have pity on Thine useless, sack-of-shit, to-the-curb bum of a servant. For she embodies the strength I so require to do Thine work on this here rotted Earth.”
... Dumble lowered his head. “Lily,” he whispered, “Come back.”
... And as his tears shed onto Lily’s face, Lily saw the Light spread outward from his silver crown, filling her eyes, her head, filling her mind, her soul. And she felt the warmth creep back into her legs and strength into her spirit. As she heard the thunderous charge of the host of Heaven as it descended to assist them in their work, their most holy work, Lily began to rise to fight once again at Dumble’s side.
... Then it turned out all the light and noise was just news helicopters.
... “Fuck,” she said as she sank back to the ground. “Nope, it didn’t take. You’re gonna have to get me to a hospital, man.”

#

... Three months later, Lily was wheeled out to the curb in front of Our Lady of the Eternal HMO. A shiny, newly-waxed ’56 Fleetwood Cadillac hearse awaited her there. Dumble helped her gingerly out of the wheelchair and into the shotgun seat.
... Lily took the new pair of Ray-Bans off the dash and set them gently on her face. “So, where to now?”
... “Well,” Dumble said as he got in behind the wheel, “to put it bluntly, you and me are about to rush in to where angels fear to tread.”
... Lily arched an eyebrow. “That a fact?”
... “Yes, ma’am,” Dumble said and turned the key. The Fleetwood fired up with a throaty roar. Dumble put on his own shades. “That La Gorda sure thinks she pulled a fast one on us by killing herself. And now she’s sure as sheep shit living it up even further down south.”
... Lily smiled. “Mexico.”
... “Nope,” Dumble said, “Even further.”
... “Um,” Lily said, “South America?”
... “Nope.”
... “Um...”
... “Where we’re goin’ ain’t on no map, Lily. And it’s even hotter there than in this here desert. You savvy?”
... Lily thought for a minute, and then a slow grin spread across her face. “I savvy.”
... “But you and me gotta make a real important pit stop first.”
... The banks of the Rio Felipe were far from scenic. But what with all the detergents dumped in here along with the raw sewage, Dumble figured they about evened each other out enough for his and Lily’s needs. Lily, still in the starched white hospital gown, followed him down to the water, her exposed buttocks revealing no shame (and with a set like that, really, what was there to be ashamed of?).
... The brackish green waters parted grudgingly as the Reverend Dumble and his holy piece, Lily Mudge, stepped into the river. Without a word, Dumble placed his hand on the small of Lily’s back, the other behind her head, and eased her down into the drink.
... The water washed over her face.
... He brought Lily back up to the surface, and she coughed and sputtered a bit. But she smiled up at him. Dumble said, “Repeat after me, sugar:
... “Come to Him and receive His light!”
... Lily dutifully repeated.
... “I will bless the Lord at all times; His praise shall be ever in my mouth.”
... (Lily’s lips curled into a playful smile at this last.)
... “Let my soul glory in the Lord; the lowly will hear me and practically shit their britches.
... “Look to Him that you may be radiant with joy, and your face may not blush with shame.”
... (Now Dumble felt it difficult to keep the smile from his face as he uttered the next words.)
... “Taste and see how good the Lord is; happy the person who takes refuge in Him.”
... Lily repeated this and said, “Y’know, we’re gonna just have to do this all over again.”
... Dumble frowned. “Huh?”
... “Dumble,” Lily said, pleasantly exasperated, “I been in that hospital three months now.” She grabbed his crotch. “Now I wanna taste and see how good the Lord really is.”
... “Um, uh, um...”
... Lily squeezed just a bit more. “Come to me and receive my light, Calvin.”
... And so he did.

END


Dumble and Lily will be back in:
Your Pretty Face Is Going to
HELL

 
 
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