Predatory Ethics Book I - Mad Gods

Chapter 05 - Predatory Ethics -

TIME: AUGUST 3OTH, 1961. WHITTIER MANSION, SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA, U.S.A

The echo of a shot was followed by the sharp sound of a gun hitting the floor. Two men faced the one who fired, but were too shocked to be frightened.

“I don’t want to hear excuses for your incompetence” the high, raspy voice continued. “You find the boy, or you won’t be as lucky as he!!” Mossy Akhbar had never seen his master in this state. He was used to a cold voice, which seemed to come from a great distance. Even in moments of great anger, it never rose above a monotone.

“Get that meat out of here.” Balzeer McGrath indicated the body, staining the carpet at his feet. Three rail-thin men appeared from behind heavy black velvet curtains. They picked the body up and carried it away from their master’s view, followed quickly by Mossy.

“Mordecai, what have the others reported?” He collapsed into a great chair. He had used a gun, and as distasteful as that was, the blood made up for it. He used an old massive Browning pistol. Fired five feet away from a target, it created a hole, large enough a full-grown cat could crawl into.

And the blood, oh what a splatter.

Mordecai came forward and, before answering, eyed the stain on the floor. There were reports of days like this, days that dominoed into complete carnage. He had to be mindful of what he said. If he needed to lie in his response, he had better be convincing. Supreme Tribunal McGrath was definitely in a mood.

“As Harold indicated, Master, the Redeemer did not come. Nowhere in Jerusalem were the signs for the monumental birth for which we hoped. It seems…” A halting hand silenced him. He looked away, then back.

“I don’t feel him,” the hand then went to his mouth. “We all know that he isn’t in Jerusalem, idiot. Where is he?”

The Supreme Tribunal had to answer to others who did not tolerate ignorance or explanations. They did not have horns and tails, as the initiates believed, but were no less ruthless.

“Guide us, sir. We do not know where to look.” Mordecai Aronovich could see that Balzeer was losing his grip on reality. This was the most monumental event since Christ’s birth and he had lost control. For the past nine months, he dispatched acolyte after acolyte to every corner of the earth. He could have made another Antichrist by now. One thing was clear — their master did not know where to find their Redeemer. He had relied entirely on age-old prophecies and the ramblings of shackled psychics. The head of Lucifer’s Church lost him, poof, just like the proverbial smoke and brimstone.

“Why don’t we sacrifice?” Mordecai knew Balzeer found the act distasteful. It wasn’t the blood he found unappealing, rather the work.

He had gotten lazy. He preferred to shoot someone. Where was the lovely whisper that came with the slash or stab of a knife? An especially sharp knife could make a wound seem part of the body, until the slit opened up and released its gory charge.

“No. I’ll meditate on it. We’ll find him. We have to.” Balzeer knew Mordecai was testing him. In another ten years, Balzeer saw Mordecai in his chair. There was nothing he could do to stop it.

He saw this as plainly as Nostradamus saw the birth of their Redeemer. He knew that if he tried to eliminate Mordecai, he would only hasten Mordecai’s ascent. It was a sound strategy — a strongly positioned adversary, allowing the weaker to execute a plan of action.

“But it didn’t happen where he said it would!” Balzeer sprang up and, with barely controlled anger, turned away from Mordecai.

No one could see the tremble in his hands. He held onto the shivering terror too tightly. No one had yet come to inquire about his progress, but he knew that he was lucky they hadn’t. The tattoos of his office were itching, indicating the displeasure of his superiors. Soon enough, they would be dispatching their demands. When this happened, he didn’t know what he would do.