Prologue

Prologue

Squatting on the curb across the street from a decrepit Victorian house, a vagrant spoke into a pint of white port, “We’ve been watching Max since he came to our attention on a bet right out of the Book of Job. His story isn’t about a one-percenter who’d lost all he had on a cosmic bet and then in the end got it all back twofold. It’s about an everyman, Max, who lived paycheck to paycheck, lost all of what little he had, and was grateful to come through it with his hide intact. Fair enough, we say, because there has been very little evidence so far that Heaven plays fair.

The vagrant tossed his pint in the bushes, walked over to push his shopping cart... muttered in cadence to the rattles and squeaks of the cart’s wheels creaks and groans, “Max, unlike Job, didn’t sit in council at the city dump but disappeared from sight of friends and family for several years. Like a cat, he went to lick his wounds hoping that everything would be back to normal someday. Someday seemed to always be the day after the one he was in and that reality was the one he lived for almost a decade.”

Vagrant crushed an aluminum can underfoot, picked it up, tucked it into a plastic bag in his cart, and continued, “Max tried to picture what happened to him and his aspirations and how love had teased and abandoned him. He half-assed looked for guidance but stuck to his own council most of the time and never gave much thought to prayer of any kind. We watch these sorts of things but don’t tug anyone along on a leash. We simply hold up a sign when it is called for. He hardly ever called for one, but we did hold a flashing neon for Max's benefit several times while he worked things out.”

The shopping cart rolled past another wino at the recycling center who joined him, “Heaven… You speechifying ‘bout heaven?”

Vagrant was glad to exchange views with those of the Earth dimension, “Well, yes, but not the Pearly Gates and all that. I’m talking about the business end of heaven. It looks more like an infinite series of cubicles housing lower-level angels stationed at computers.”

“Ah, I see. Like technical aides from Mumbai?”

“You realize, of course, that heaven, pearly gates and all, are only configurations of the imagination. Just suppose this scene is imagined… like it was dreamed. Imagine the sons of God meeting at the Oriental Throne of God way up on high. See a dingy little cubicle several levels down from the Throne Room among a near eternity of cubicles stretching out to the horizon where a G-4 bureaucrat angel sits at his desk tapping out something on the keys of his antiquated heavenly PC.”

“PCs? You’re kidding, why no Macs?”

“No, no, there are no Macs at this level.”

“Now I know you’re bullshitting me. Heaven would have the best of everything,” Wino says and walks away leaving Vagrant alone with his cart.

“The Angel was reading some directives on contemporary changes from mortal to venial sins to be sent and stored in an even lower level bureaucratic angel’s computer. An Imp named Lucky from the Satanic entourage, led by his black cat, Slick, pops-in to chat with his old pal.

"Hey, Lucky's my name."

"It's a story, Lucky, listen up. Get in character."

Lucky says, “Hey there Angelo.”

Angelo pets Slick, curled up around his ankle, and says, “Look at what the cat just dragged in. What you have been up to old boy?”

Angelo was happy to see Lucky because even a visit from a minor imp from Hell breaks up the eternal tedium of heavenly duties.

“Oh, I’ve been tagging along with The Master, Lucifer”, Lucky says, pumping up his chest as best he could from his pathetic and scrawny frame. Lucky continued, “You know, Numero Uno... the Big ‘L’… to and fro, and all that.”

Angelo looks at his console, scrolls down the page… sees Max’s name… downloads the file and yawns, “Look here... This guy... see through his massive but hemorrhaging ego, he seems okay, drinks a little too much, but who wouldn’t?”  Angelo takes a sip from a full pint of heavenly nectar and passes it to Lucky.

Lucky downs the whole pint and hands it back empty, “Ahhh, thanks, we don’t get much of this good stuff down there… except, of course, when one of you guys changes sides.”

Angelo continues, “Tries to cheat on his wife now and then… but he rarely scores on that account. They just split up. But he isn’t such a bad guy.... He loves his daughter... a five-year old.  That ought to be good for a point. Has a good teaching job and he actually cares about the people he works with… pretty sincere… check him out. What do you think?”

“Oh, yes, he looks like an okay guy,” Lucky admits, “but, let me see here. Fortune’s been with him. No big problems… has his health and his wits about him. What problems he does have seem to always work out… gifted? Maybe. Hey, wait one minute... some kind of protection’s goin’ for him. Even when he gets drunk and stoned he hasn’t gotten in trouble since his early twenties… no DUI’s, fights, or any bad shit… a happy-go-lucky kind of guy. What would happen if he had that protection lifted just a tiny bit?”

“Have at him, if you’re bored. It might be interesting to see what he’s made of. I say he’ll come out smelling like roses.” Angelo hasn’t much but he has faith in Lucky’s choices.

“You’re on. How about a case of Nectar?” Lucky’s confidence rises, “I’ve seen these types before. They can be moral, good and happy, as long as they don’t have to go out of their way too far for it. Let’s say you let me take away his wits and creative drive. We’ll see what happens to that happy-go-lucky chap after I’m done with him?”

Imp has the power to afflict on a limited scale. He is most adept at seeking out weakness on a mark.  He rubbed his scrawny hands together, “he’ll be such a loser that even the Big Kahuna won’t recognize him. C’mon Slick, we got work to do.”

Angelo knew something that the imps from hell aren’t privy to, or they just can’t accept; that the weakest of your kind have a tenacity and the capacity for it when it comes to suffering. 

Angelo also knew Lucky never pays-off when he loses and wonders after the imp leaves, “I’ve seen cases like this before. They can’t get so bad that the Kahuna doesn’t recognize them.”