Mike Resnick - Chronicles of Lucifer Jones Vol 4 1934-1938 Hazards

Hazards Copyright 2009 by Mike Resnick. All rights reserved.

Interior design Copyright 2009 by Desert Isle Design, LLC.

All rights reserved.

ISBN-13: 978-1-59606-357-0

ISBN-10: 1-59606-357-2

PO Box 190106

Burton, MI 48519

www.subterraneanpress.com

Portions of this novel appeared in Argosy, Subterranean, Adventure , and Son of Retro Pulp Tales.

To Carol, as always

And to B. J. Galler-Smith,

a fine writer and a finer friend

El Presidente

My first impression of South America back in 1934 wasnt a whole lot different from my strongest memories of North America, Africa, Asia and Europe: a six-by-eight-foot room, a canvas cot along one wall, steel bars on the windows, and lousy grub.

There are some things that are the same the world over. Most people are friendly and trusting folks, theyre approachable even when you dont speak the lingo, and they all love an honest game of chance. They also tend to get ornery as all get-out when you trifle with the laws of statistical probability by gently inserting an extra couple of aces into the game, which I did about ten minutes after stepping off the boat from Spain, and they tend to have the same disheartening way of demonstrating their displeasure.

Which is how I wound up in the calaboose in Ferdinand, the capital city of San Palmero. Over the years I had become quite a connoisseur of jails. This one didnt have the quality of cuisine I found in the jails of Europe, but on the other hand it wasnt anywhere near as crowded as the jails in China or as run-down and badly in need of repair as the jails of Mozambique and South Africa. The guards werent bad sorts, and as they happily confided, they belonged to the one sector of a sluggish economy that had always boasted full employment during the reigns of the last few rulers.

It was on my third morning there, while I was still awaiting a hearing before the local magistrate (which the guards assured me might well take place in something less than five years, especially and here they kind of reached into their pockets and jingled their coins if I could find some way to encourage them to bring my situation to his attention), when I suddenly got a roommate.

He was tall and lean and kind of swarthy, with a bushy black moustache, and he looked like hed been roughly handled along the way.

Good morning, Seor, he said as the door was locked behind him. I am sorry to intrude upon your privacy.

Truth to tell, I could use a bit of company, I replied. It gets a little lonely in here from time to time with nothing to comfort me except my copy of the Good Book. Whats your name, friend?

Jos Juan Domingo Garcia de Alvarez, he said.

Thats quite a mouthful, I said. You got any problem if I just call you Joe?

No, he said. But why not Jos?

Because so far, counting poker players and constables and prison guards, Ive met thirteen citizens of your fair country and eleven of em have been named Jos.

It is a popular name, he agreed. Not as popular as Maria, but still

You got a lot of guys called Maria, do you? I asked.

Women, senor. Hardly any men are called Maria.

Good, I said. I got enough problems as it is.

And what is your own name?

Im the Right Reverend Honorable Doctor Lucifer Jones, I told him, formerly of Moline, Illinois, and currently a citizen of the world. Which was officially true, and certainly sounded better than saying that I had been banished from 33 separate countries due to our different interpretations of the finer points of the law, and had been forcibly requested to leave the last four continents Id visited. Truth to tell, I was fast running out of major land masses that would tolerate my presence, which is why I wasnt in no hurry to walk into the local magistrates courtroom.

Of what church are you a minister? asked Joe.

The Tabernacle of Saint Luke, I said. Donations gladly accepted.

I have never heard of it.

Well, it aint quite got itself built yet, I admitted. Im still scouting out locations.

How long have you been looking? he asked.

Oh, maybe ten or twelve years, I said. You cant just rush into these things.

I dont believe Ive ever heard of Saint Luke, he said.

Youre talking to him, I said. Youd be surprised how calling it the Tabernacle of Saint Lucifer puts contributors off their feed.

Forgive an impertinence, said Joe, but just what religion is it that you practice?

A little something me and the Lord worked out betwixt ourselves of a Sunday afternoon back in Moline, I said. It aint got no name yet, though I been toying with calling it Lukeism after myself since Im the guy who thunk it up.

So God really had nothing to do with it, he said with a smile.

Of course He did, I shot back. But Hes got a ton of religions named after Him already, and when all is said and done Hes a pretty modest critter.

I understand completely, Doctor Jones, he said. How did a man of the cloth come to be put in jail?

A simple misunderstanding, nothing more, I said.

You dont seem too distressed about it.

I view it as an occupational hazard, I answered. It happens all the time.

I never realized that preaching was such a dangerous profession, said Joe.

It all depends on how you go about collecting donations for the poorbox, I explained. And how about you, Brother Alvarez? What are you in for?

I tried to assassinate El Presidente.

El Presidente? I repeated. Aint that a racehorse?

It is Ferdinand Salivar, the President of the Republic of San Palmero.

Now thats a curious coincidence, I said. Your president is toting around the same name as the city were in.

Its no coincidence at all, answered Joe. He renamed it Ferdinand when he overthrew the last dictator. It used to be Roberto.