Blaze (6 page)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

LAREDO, TEXAS

J
uan Herrara belched. His large belly was full. Two big macs and large fries. Three beers.
Time for a smoke.

Juan inhaled the cigarette smoke slowly and exhaled with relief. His room was a mess. Nowhere really to sit. Just a mattress on the floor. Shit everywhere. Laundry, empty cigarette boxes, random electronics, wires, and a low rider bicycle with a missing front wheel. He sat on the floor and leaned his ass and lower back against his mattress, exposing his plumber's crack. He was playing Call of Duty on the XBOX. Rap music filled the air. He could hear his mom and her drug dealer having sex in the room next to him. The walls were thin. He leaned over to turn up the music.
Fucking whore.

Juan really didn't like the fact that his mom was banging a white guy. It was bad enough when other Mexicans were giving her dope for sex, but now Blanco was in the other room laying pipe. Not that he really cared that much. He hated her anyhow. She'd been a slave to heroin and anyone who could supply her with the drug for almost the entire eighteen years Juan had been alive.

He could hear them getting louder. It made him sick. He banged on the wall. “Shut the fuck up!”

They kept at it. Harder, faster, louder.

Then he heard a crash. Glass breaking. His mom screamed. Blanco was yelling.

“You're not finished yet bitch. You want your fix don't ya? We're done when I say!” Blanco shouted.

Juan got up and ran to bust open his mother's bedroom door. She was under the covers. Crying. Blood dripping down her face. Green pieces of a broken Heineken beer bottle shattered beside her.

Blanco stared at Juan with raw anger. He lifted his arm and waived Juan away. “Get the hell out of here kid. This is between your mother and me. Go back in your room you fat shit.”

Juan ignored him and shook his head in disgust. He didn't even care if Blanco killed her. He just wanted them to both shut the hell up. He gave up on caring about her years ago.

Juan's mom wiped the blood and tears from her face with the bed sheets. “Just go back to your room honey. We're okay, just a little fight baby, that's all.”

“Whatever, Mom.” Juan shut the door.

Juan went back to his room. Back to Call of Duty. Back to the blaring hip hop. He cracked open another beer. He wished she would just die already.
She doesn't do anyone any good anyway. Lazy bitch. She don't care about me or Marie.
Juan took care of his sister Marie, not his mom. Now eleven, Juan had practically raised her. He'd do anything to take care of her. He treated her like she was his daughter. He prepared her lunch every day to take to school. He walked her home from daycare. Anything she needed, he'd get her. Even if he had to steal it. She recently began menstruating and Juan researched on the Internet what a parent should tell a young girl going through puberty. He gave her the talk. Then he stole her a shit ton of tampons and pads from the drug store.
Thank God Marie is at Gramma's tonight and doesn't have to hear Mom banging Blanco and getting her ass whooped.

Juan took another swig of beer. His prepaid cell rang.

“Yeah?”

“What's up? You comin' with us tonight. We're heading to the clubs. Gonna act up. Find some chicas. Fuck up anyone who gets in our way.”

It was Angel, one of the neighborhood guys that Juan just began hanging with. Angel used to bully Juan. Used to beat him down in front of everyone. Humiliated the hell out of him. He once gave him a huge wedgie and ripped his underwear. Right in front of Juan's sister. Juan couldn't walk right for days. He couldn't see right for days either. Angel gave him a huge black eye that day. It was one of many.

“Hell yeah I'll go. What time?” Juan was psyched.

“Be at my crib at 9pm. We'll all roll down together. Don't come without your protection. Shit could get ugly at this club.”

“Word. See you then.”

Juan smiled. He was excited. He stopped thinking about his mom. He stopped worrying about Marie. And he had long forgotten any wrongs Angel had done to him.

Angel and his crew were now Juan's friends. They still teased him, but that was all right. They had his back. They were his brothers.

The last time they went to the cantinas across the border Angel and the crew pushed back a bunch of dudes from jumping Juan. Juan was protected. Juan had beef with one dude that night and beat him near dead with a cue ball in a dirty sock. He earned mad respect from Angel and his crew. Since then, he'd been fighting every weekend.

Maybe I'll score tonight. Been a minute since I got some.

Juan put on his baseball cap, put his cell in his left pocket and his switchblade in his right pocket. He slammed the door on his way out. Not a thought given to the tattered mother he left behind. It was time to go drink and fight. And maybe get laid.

CHAPTER TWELVE

THE OFFICE OF PRESIDENT HADI SAMANI, TEHRAN, IRAN

T
here was no comedic irony to be acknowledged by Iranian President Hadi Samani in regard to the death of his life's mentor; his spiritual and political role model, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad. As honored and humbled as he had felt to assume his mentor's position when he had passed, thus fulfilling the meaning of his name—guide or leader—he still simmered with unspeakable rage when he thought of the audacity of his mentor's killer. Samani was a close friend of his mentor and an integral part of his cabinet. It was not only an audacious act, but one carried out by someone who, in Hadi's mind, should had been executed a long time ago. It was an act carried out by one whose social status was such that his success in killing Hadi's mentor was the ultimate embarrassment in the eyes of Islam.

When it was reported that Samani's mentor and his driver were blown up by a car bomb detonated remotely by cell phone, that was devastating enough. When it was discovered that the attack was coordinated by the group known as GALOI, or Gays and Lesbians of Iran, the magnitude of the insult became unbearable. The act was beyond shameful. The infidels worldwide mocked Iran's loss and championed the efforts of the homosexuals. There was no doubt that many homosexuals in Iran, while denouncing the murderous act, still felt some vindication that Mahmoud Ahmadinejad was in fact terminated by one of the people he claimed did not exist in his country.

Unfortunately for members of GALOI and other homosexuals in Iran, Hadi Samani's vengeful hand proved to retaliate in a couple of very unpleasant ways. First, he had anyone who stepped out of the closet executed by public hanging. Additionally, he developed a law enforcement agency whose sole purpose was to defend Islam by reaching into that proverbial closet and dragging Iran's gays and lesbians kicking and screaming to their inevitable hanging. There were a rapid series of small group hangings as well as nationally televised executions by large group firing squads. These televised events featured audio narrators reading the Koran during the executions, and hailing the imminent coming of the Twelfth Imam. Also known as Imam Al-Mahdi, the Twelfth Imam was lauded to be the One to put an end to such immoral sexual perversions with the coming Caliphate. More homosexuals had been executed in the first six months of Samani's presidency than the entire reign of his mentor, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad. Gay rights activists worldwide had come to view A-Jad as Santa Claus in comparison to Samani.

As the newly elected president of Iran, Samani held his first cabinet meeting at a sacred section of real estate. It was there that all his cabinet members had signed their written pledge of loyalty to the Mahdi. Samani and his cabinet members were all faithful members of the Hojjatieh Society. Hojjat means ‘authoritative source' and refers to the Mahdi.

This sacred site was not only the burial ground of his beloved mentor, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, but it was also the spot where the tomb of Imam Reza, the fourth Shiite Imam—the only one that had been buried in Iran—lay in rest. The gravity and weight of purpose that enshrouded this first cabinet meeting was truly one of destiny and purpose that further validated the strong conviction that Samani held.

Samani was deeply convinced that it was indeed he who had been divinely chosen to pursue
taajil
in such a way as to see the glorious un-occultation of his beloved Mahdi on his presidential watch.
Taajil
is the sacred notion amongst the Shiite Islamic Twelvers that the return of the Twelfth Mahdi can be encouraged and hastened—but not forced or controlled—by the actions of the followers of the Mahdi. The Mahdi, or the Twelfth Imam, who had been in hiding, or ‘occultation' since 874 AD, was the One who was to come and erase the yoke of humiliation from the collective neck of mankind. Of course, this process of the stripping of the yoke would naturally occur by the removal of infidels, or the quick conversion of them. As Samani saw it, the Caliphate was at hand and all that was needed was for the conditions to be arranged for the Mahdi to return and take His destined seat of authority in Kufa, Iraq. Iraq is the country of the Mahdi's birth, and it is to Iraq that He will return to administer his rule of the worldwide Islamic caliphate that Samani and the faithful had been feverishly preparing for with diligent, defiant, and faithful hearts.

Samani had not showered in three days. As he walked into his office he threw his work gloves, which reeked of garbage, promptly in the trash. Three days was sufficient, he reckoned, for the neglect of bathing. He was beginning to disdain his own smell. He had concluded that his abstinence from bathing and participation in the lowly activity of collecting trash, alongside the common government workers of Tehran, were for the moment complete. He had duly offered these actions of humility and sacrifice to his beloved Allah. Samani believed such expressions of humility were absolutely crucial for him to continue the sanctification process of his soul. He was convinced such actions were needed if he was to remain positioned to be, as he believed he was ordained, one of the 313 chosen believers who were to join the Mahdi in His return. The beloved Imam Al-Mahdi would return with his chief deputy, Jesus of Nazareth, by his side to help him initiate the commencement of the long awaited global Caliphate.

Samani showered quickly and proficiently in the manner with which he purposefully completed all tasks. After he dressed in his customary plain tan clothes, that to the western eye looked more like a generic version of a UPS uniform, he lit up his thirty-five inch hookah pipe. The expensive pipe was vastly ornate with diamonds and crystals. Samani began reflecting deeply about his rise to power. His countenance grew more pensive as his thoughts percolated. He continued pondering as he let the aromatic smoke of the vanilla flavored tobacco slowly leave his mouth and lead his breath into the air to transform the fragrance of his office. He gazed at the two digital counters that hung on the wall adjacent to the large window overseeing the city. One digital counter was placed there by his teacher, Ahmadinejad. The other, he had installed upon taking office. Ahmadinejad had ordered the installation of the first counter as a means to make tangible the reality of the coming of the Mahdi. It also stood to remind him and others of the importance of living each day in accordance with the expectation of His return. That counter displayed the cumulative days that had passed since the beloved Twelfth Mahdi had gone into hiding. As each day passed, and that number grew, so did the anticipation of Samani that the return was near and imminent. The second counter was of lesser significance but certainly dovetailed with the sentiment of the first. The installation of this counter was ordered during the first week of Samani's presidency to illustrate the absurdity of length in which the imperialist satanic entity of the west had been occupying Iraq, the beloved home country of the Mahdi. It had now been fifteen years and counting.

Although their role was extremely diminished and their official position was that they had pulled out, the Americans were still in Iraq. The country had since been thoroughly transformed economically and had become a site of extreme interest for tourists. Violence was now at a level only slightly higher than surrounding nations, and the economy had been growing with leaps and bounds. If Beirut was the city dubbed the Paris of the Middle East, Iraq had now become the country of the Middle East with an equal allure. It was now recognized by most as an emerging center of global commerce.

Samani, on the one hand, was very delighted by this prosperity, particularly because many of his Shia brethren, who were brutalized by Saddam for so long, were finally sharing in the wealth and prosperity. On the other hand, Samani resented that the Sunnis and the Americans had their hands in the affairs of the country.

It was Samani's mission to extract the western infidels from the Iraqi equation. If the Mahdi were to return to reign in the Iraqi city of Kufa, it would need to occur under certain conditions. Those conditions would certainly dictate the absence of the Americans and the Sunnis. The removal of these elements was just one piece of his efforts toward Taajil.

It was Samani's divine duty to encourage the conditions that would hasten the return of the Mahdi. Unfortunately for the people of Iraq, who had finally obtained a certain level of peace and security, one of those general conditions would be the intensity of chaos, war, and bloodshed. Even in the land of the Mahdi's birth and the site of his eventual rule. Samani was more than prepared to help facilitate these conditions.

Samani desperately missed his dear mentor. He still remembered the day he met him at a meeting for the Hojjatieh Society. The Hojjatieh Society was a secret fraternal group that was mystical in nature. The members devoted themselves to the cult of the Mahdi as led by the groundwork laid down by its founder, Sheikh Mahmoud Halabi. Ahmadinejad instantly recognized and rewarded Samani's intellect, enthusiasm, and devotion. Ahmadinejad made extra effort to take Samani under his wing and make it a priority to direct Samani in the ways of the Mahdi. As much as Samani despised Western Culture and Hollywood, he couldn't help but imagining, in his quiet moments, that his relationship with Ahmadinejad was much like that of Obi-Wan Kenobi and Luke Skywalker.

Hadi sat back in his leather office chair and exhaled some smoke from the hookah pipe while praying to Allah for the strength and wisdom to continue Ahmadinejad's legacy. He knew that Allah would pave the way for this to happen, and ultimately pave the way for the return of the Mahdi. As Hadi reached for yet another puff from his hookah he was interrupted by the ring tone of his cell phone, which was an Islamic prayer sung over acoustic guitars. It was brother Samere.

“Samere!”

Samani put down his hookah so he could fully focus on his conversation with Samere.

“Good morning President Samani!” Samere's excitement was audible.

“How are you today my friend?” Samere was Hadi Samani's most faithful employee, and liaison for all things Messianic.

“I'm well. I have good news. The construction has begun for the train line. It will be a direct line from Tehran to the Jamkaran Mosque. Just as you wished.” Samere was extremely proud of his role in this progress.

“Excellent. I'm very pleased with the expedience with which this project is launching. The time of reckoning for the Zionists and the Arrogant Ones cannot come to pass until we have prepared the proper infrastructure needed to receive the Mahdi.” Samani fully trusted Samere's leadership when it came to preparation and planning for the Mahdi's return.

“I fully agree. The Jamkaran Mosque is where the great Mahdi briefly appeared in 941 AD, and it stands to reason that we must increase the reverence brought to this site by the Iranian people as a pleasing gesture to the Mahdi.”

“Yes. We must continue to create an atmosphere of honor and reverence in our great Republic to entice our Messiah's hastened return. He deserves our utmost efforts.” Samani felt a slight chill in his bones as he thought of the return of his beloved Twelfth Imam.

“To that end, President Samani, I've increased funding three fold for the World Toward Illumination program, as was your wish. It'll be televised more frequently and for longer duration as to further increase the awareness of the Mahdi's near return in the hearts and minds of our people.”

Samani was extremely pleased with Samere's work. He only wished his mentor could witness these amazing advancements. “Mahmoud would be proud of us. We must continue to honor his name and carry out his devotion to the Mahdi.”

“We must.” Samere, of course, readily agreed.

“We must indeed. Continue to keep me updated. The day is coming.”