Dan Simmons - Hardcase

"Satan," said Pruno. "Kibunte is Satan incarnate." Pruno's rheumy eyes tried to focus on Soul Dad. "You're the theologian here. What's the origin of the name 'Satan'? I've forgotten."

"From the Hebrew," said Soul Dad, rooting around in a crate, taking out some bread and fruit. "It means one who opposes, obstructs, or acts as adversary . Thus, 'the Adversary. He moved the chessboard and set some of the food in front of Kurtz. " Take thou also unto thee wheat, and barley, and beans, and lentils, and millet, and fitches, and put them in one vessel, and make thee bread thereof ," he intoned in his resonant growl. "Ezekiel 4:9." He broke the bread in a ceremonial manner and handed a piece to Kurtz.

Kurtz knew that twice a week the nearby Buffalo Bakery left an abandoned pickup truck in its park lot filled with three-day-old bread. The homeless knew the schedule. Kurtz's belly rumbled. He had not eaten all day. He held the battered, steaming tin coffee cup in one hand and accepted the bread.

"Song of Solomon 2:5," continued Soul Dad, setting two overripe apples on the crate in front of Kurtz. " Comfort me with apples. "

Kurtz had to smile. "The Bible actually has recipes and recommends apples?"

"Absolutely," said Soul Dad. "Leviticus 7:23 is even so modern as to advise, Eat no manner of fat —although if I had some bacon, I'd fry it up for us."

Kurtz ate the bread, took a bite of apple, and sipped his scalding coffee. It was one of the best meals he'd ever tasted.

Pruno blinked and said, "Leviticus also advises, Ye shall eat no manner of blood . But I think that is what Joseph has in mind when it comes to this Satan, Malcolm."

Soul Dad shook his head. "Malcolm Kibunte is no Satan… the white man who provides him with the poison is Satan. Kibunte is Mastema from the lost book, Jubilees…"

Kurtz looked blank.

Pruno cleared his phlegmy throat. "Mastema was the demon who commanded Abraham to kill his own son," he said to Kurtz.

"I thought God did that," said Kurtz.

Soul Dad slowly, sadly shook his head. "No God worth worshiping would do that, Joseph."

"Jubilees is apocryphal," Pruno said to Soul Dad. And then, as if remembering something obvious. " Diabolos . Greek for one who throws something across one's path . Malcolm Kibunte is diabolical , but not Satanic."

Kurtz sipped his coffee. "Pruno sent me a reading list before I went into Attica. I didn't think it was that long a list, but I spent the better part of ten years working on it and didn't finish it."

" Sapientia prima est stultitia caruisee, " said Pruno. "Horace. 'To have shed stupidity is the beginning of wisdom. "

"Frederick was always good for self-improvement lists," said Soul Dad, chuckling.

"Who's Frederick?" said Kurtz.

" I used to be," said Pruno and closed his eyes again.

Soul Dad was looking at Kurtz. "Joseph, do you know why Malcolm Kibunte is an agent of Satan and why the white man behind Kibunte is Satan himself?"

Kurtz shook his head and took another bite of apple.

"Yaba," said Soul Dad.

The word rang a faint bell for Kurtz, but only a very faint bell. "Is that Hebrew?" he asked.

"No," said Soul Dad, "it's a form of methamphetamine, like speed, only with the punch and addictiveness of heroin. Yaba can be smoked, ingested, or injected. Every orifice becomes a portal to heaven."

"Portal to heaven," repeated Pruno, but it was obvious that he was no longer a part of the conversation.

"A devil drug," said Soul Dad. "A true generation killer."

Yaba . Shooting yaba. That's where Kurtz had heard the name. Some of the younger cons used it. Kurtz had never had much interest in other people's addictions. And there were so many drugs available in prison.

"So Kibunte is dealing yaba?" said Kurtz.

Soul Dad nodded slowly. "He came first with the usual—crack, speed, heroin. The Bloods were the victors in the gang wars of the early nineties, and to the victors belong the spoils. Malcolm Kibunte supplied the spoils. The usual mindkillers at first—crack, meth, speed, angel dust. But within the past eight or nine months, yaba has flowed from the Seneca Social Club to every street corner. The bangers buy it cheap, but then need it soon and often. The price goes up quickly until within a year—or less—the price is death."

"Where does yaba come from?" said Kurtz.

"That's the fascinating part," said Soul Dad. "It flows in from Asia—from the Golden Triangle—but its use has been limited in the United States. Suddenly here it is in great quantities in Buffalo, of all places."

"The New York Families?" said Kurtz.

Soul Dad opened his large hands. "I think not. The Colombians controlled the drug trade here for decades, but in recent years, the Families have come back onto the scene, working with the Colombians to regulate much of the flow of opium products. The sudden introduction of yaba, although terribly profitable, does not appear to be part of the plan of organized crime."

Kurtz finished the last of his coffee and set the tin cup down. "The Farino family," he said. "Someone in the family is supplying Malcolm. Could it be coming from Vancouver? What source is in Vancouver—" Kurtz stopped in mid-sentence.

Soul Dad nodded.

"Jesus!" whispered Kurtz. "The Triads? They control the flow of junk into North America on the West Coast, and they have plenty of meth labs in Vancouver, but why supply a mob family here? The Triads are at war with the West Coast Families…"

Kurtz was silent for several minutes, thinking. Somewhere in the shack city, an old man began coughing uncontrollably and then fell silent. Finally Kurtz said, "Christ. The Dunkirk Arsenal thing."

"I think you are right, Joseph," Soul Dad rumbled. Closing his eyes, he intoned, " Our contest is not against flesh and blood, but against powers, against principalities, against the world-rulers of this present darkness, against spiritual forces of evil in heavenly places ." He opened his eyes and showed strong white teeth in a grin. "Ephesians 6:12."

Kurtz was still distracted. "I'm afraid my contest is going to be against flesh and blood, as well as against powers and principalities."

"Ahhh," said Soul Dad. "You're going up against the shit-eating Seneca Social Club."

"And I don't have a clue as to how to get to Malcolm Kibunte," said Kurtz.

Pruno opened his eyes. "Which book on my list did you like the most and understand the least, Joseph?"

Kurtz thought a moment. "The first one, I think. The Iliad ."

"Perhaps your solution lies in that tale," said Pruno.

Kurtz had to smile. "So if I build a big horse for Malcolm and his boys and seal myself in, they'll wheel me into the Social Club?"

" O saculum insipiens et inficetum, " said Pruno and did not translate.

Soul Dad sighed. "He's quoting Catullus now. 'O stupid and tasteless age. When Frederick gets like this, I am reminded of Terence's comment: Me solus nescit omnia . 'Only he is ignorant of everything. "

"Oh, yes?" said Pruno, his rheumy eyes snapping open and his wild gaze fixing on Soul Dad. " Nullum scelus rationem habet —" He pointed at Kurtz. " Has meus ad metas sudet oportet equus —"

"Bullshit," responded Soul Dad. " Dum abast quod avemus, id exsuperare videtur. Caetera, post aliud, quum contigit, Mud, avemus, Et sitis aequo tenet! "

Pruno shifted to what sounded like Greek and began shouting.

Soul Dad answered in what had to be Hebrew. Spittle flew.

"Thanks for the dinner and conversation, gentlemen," said Kurtz, standing and moving to the low doorway.

The two men were arguing in what sounded like a totally unknown language now. They had forgotten that Kurtz was there.