hundred and forty - four thousand of all the tribes of the Children of Israel. And one of the elders said, What are these which are arrayed in white robes and whence do they come? And I said, These are they which came out of great tribulation, and have washed their robes, and made them white in the blood of the Lamb.' " He paused and looked hard at Dexter, who once again felt he needed to say something, to comment, but he was badly off rhythm and wasn't sure what his response should be.
"I see," he finally muttered.
"I am one of those four angels standing on the corner of this earth. From the iron rails of this great nation, I will lead my people to God's greatest victory. I will wreak havoc on a government of lost idolaters who have chosen to worship material values sold to them by Levites. Our government today is far more corrupt than the British Empire that our Continental Congress declared war on in 1776. Our leaders today choose to favor the Children of Satan handed down from the loins of Manas-seh over the godly descendants of Jacob and the twelve tribes of Israel. As prophesied, we will become a Choir of One Hundred and Forty-four Thousand and we will throw off the chains of this corrupt administration. What I'm doin' is I'm leading the Second American Revolutionary Army. Whatta ya think of that, bub?"
Dexter DeMille was forced to make another quick reevaluation. He finally knew that the intense gleam in Fannon Kincaid's eyes was more than shrewd intelligence. He now realized the silver - haired man sitting in the old chair leaking stuffing was insane.
Chapter 9
DISASTER AT VANISHING LAKE
I'll have the deluxe cheeseburger, the small chili, and a Bud Light," Dr. Charles Lack said, looking at Stacy Richardson's trim figure as she leaned across the table to pour his water. The Bucket a' Bait was filling up. It was Sunday lunch, and there were the usual after-church retirees, some anglers, and at the far end of the restaurant, a table full of soldiers from the prison, raising hell. She glanced over as they let out an ear-piercing whoop.
"I can talk to 'em if you want," Dr. Lack said. "That's okay, they're just puppies tearin' up a shoe," Stacy said, using a pretty fair country accent she'd developed playing Ado Annie in her high school production of Oklahoma.
Charles Lack was trying to figure a way to shuck this beautiful new waitress out of her tight jeans and into the sack. He had never been very good with women. He had lost most of his hair before he got out of grad school, and at thirty-four had only been laid twice. He looked at the dumb blond waitress and decided to play his best card... the old black ace, his scientific mind.
"You wanna hear something we found out that's really incredible?" he asked.
"You bet yer shabooty," she grinned, tucking the pad into her waistband and her chewed pencil behind her ear. "I usually only hear complaints about Barney's food."
"You were telling me those hobos working out there in the yard were cleaning up after raccoons that got in the trash ..." he said, trying for a smooth scientific segue.
"That's right," she said, looking out the window at Hollywood Mike and Lucky, who were just finishing up raking trash from around the Dumpster.
"Well, I did some 'index case' research on raccoons a few months ago."
So did /, Stacy thought, remembering the paper that had earned her five hundred dollars from Animal Science Magazine and Augie, the ceramic raccoon from Max.
"My study," Dr. Lack continued, "showed the relationship in raccoon HIV-1 variants that infect brain-derived positive cells in humans."
She knew the study. It had been done by three Japanese microbiologists. Nowhere had she ever read that a Dr. Charles Lack was involved. "You and Dr. DeMille must be awful busy over at the prison," she said, refocusing the conversation.
"You know Dex DeMille?" Charles asked.
"Not to talk to. I seen him in town at the grocery store once or twice. He always has guards protectin'
"I see," he finally muttered.
"I am one of those four angels standing on the corner of this earth. From the iron rails of this great nation, I will lead my people to God's greatest victory. I will wreak havoc on a government of lost idolaters who have chosen to worship material values sold to them by Levites. Our government today is far more corrupt than the British Empire that our Continental Congress declared war on in 1776. Our leaders today choose to favor the Children of Satan handed down from the loins of Manas-seh over the godly descendants of Jacob and the twelve tribes of Israel. As prophesied, we will become a Choir of One Hundred and Forty-four Thousand and we will throw off the chains of this corrupt administration. What I'm doin' is I'm leading the Second American Revolutionary Army. Whatta ya think of that, bub?"
Dexter DeMille was forced to make another quick reevaluation. He finally knew that the intense gleam in Fannon Kincaid's eyes was more than shrewd intelligence. He now realized the silver - haired man sitting in the old chair leaking stuffing was insane.
Chapter 9
DISASTER AT VANISHING LAKE
I'll have the deluxe cheeseburger, the small chili, and a Bud Light," Dr. Charles Lack said, looking at Stacy Richardson's trim figure as she leaned across the table to pour his water. The Bucket a' Bait was filling up. It was Sunday lunch, and there were the usual after-church retirees, some anglers, and at the far end of the restaurant, a table full of soldiers from the prison, raising hell. She glanced over as they let out an ear-piercing whoop.
"I can talk to 'em if you want," Dr. Lack said. "That's okay, they're just puppies tearin' up a shoe," Stacy said, using a pretty fair country accent she'd developed playing Ado Annie in her high school production of Oklahoma.
Charles Lack was trying to figure a way to shuck this beautiful new waitress out of her tight jeans and into the sack. He had never been very good with women. He had lost most of his hair before he got out of grad school, and at thirty-four had only been laid twice. He looked at the dumb blond waitress and decided to play his best card... the old black ace, his scientific mind.
"You wanna hear something we found out that's really incredible?" he asked.
"You bet yer shabooty," she grinned, tucking the pad into her waistband and her chewed pencil behind her ear. "I usually only hear complaints about Barney's food."
"You were telling me those hobos working out there in the yard were cleaning up after raccoons that got in the trash ..." he said, trying for a smooth scientific segue.
"That's right," she said, looking out the window at Hollywood Mike and Lucky, who were just finishing up raking trash from around the Dumpster.
"Well, I did some 'index case' research on raccoons a few months ago."
So did /, Stacy thought, remembering the paper that had earned her five hundred dollars from Animal Science Magazine and Augie, the ceramic raccoon from Max.
"My study," Dr. Lack continued, "showed the relationship in raccoon HIV-1 variants that infect brain-derived positive cells in humans."
She knew the study. It had been done by three Japanese microbiologists. Nowhere had she ever read that a Dr. Charles Lack was involved. "You and Dr. DeMille must be awful busy over at the prison," she said, refocusing the conversation.
"You know Dex DeMille?" Charles asked.
"Not to talk to. I seen him in town at the grocery store once or twice. He always has guards protectin'
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