Tuesday, September 07, 2004
Olivia Crashes Again
I’m quite sure he knows about you, so you’ll understand if I have to put you through this ritual. Yes, I know. Good, good.
Hiss, hiss, gurgle.
Hmm. Okay, looks clean. Just let me put a sample in with this reagent.
Ho-ho. Positive. Whaddya know? Olivia, I thought you said you were clean.
No, no. Don’t want to hear lame excuses. How long have you been into the tubes this time? Talk, dammit. He’ll be here any minute. He can smell this stuff from a mile away.
Really. Rove gave it to you? And you’ve only had two in the last week? You know that Rove is just setting you up, don’t you? He wants you to be the receptacle. He wants you to be the test tube that holds, well, you know…yes. This will be winner-take-all, no secondary deities, no demigods, this is for all the marbles. No, no, dear. He has a stake in Yahweh taking this one. He is a robot, whose only function is to make certain Yahweh wins. Oh, yes, of course. A robot goat, to be precise; my goodness, the number of throats he’s ripped out! There, there, now…don’t cry. Many have been fooled by him. I have to find Mullah Billdoug’s address book. This is the only way to locate Jesus, now that Yahweh has smitten him. His own son. His lamb. The Sufis are already up by 10 points, but this does not mean that we can be complacent, no. And this is no time to fall back into your old habits, dear.
Charon, you say? He took it from the boys? Let’s just head down to the docks, okay? Oh, you’ll be safer with me, Olivia, far safer. If you’d like your case to ever come before a truly impartial Board of Karmic Adjusters, that is…
Meanwhile, we must root out these fake Jesuses and find the real one. Smitten or not. And the address book is the key. I recall an address in New Orleans. I wish Detective Kaul wasn't stuck in that mud ...