Story code: ST-001772
Part 2: The Devil’s Harvest
Eli’s hand plunged into the heavy wool pocket of Leo’s coat. The invasive thrust knocked Leo off balance, his knee slipping against the polished hardwood. The violent buzzing stopped abruptly as Eli’s thick, ringed fingers clamped over the device. Slowly, the pastor withdrew his hand, bringing the hidden sin into the dim, fluorescent light of the recreation center.
It was not a sleek device of glass and brushed metal. It was a bulky, matte-black plastic brick. A disposable burner phone, thick as a deck of cards, its small LCD screen glowing with an angry, acid-green backlight. The caller ID showed only a string of zeroes.
The two hundred people kneeling in the concentric circle seemed to stop breathing all at once. The silence in the room became a physical weight, pressing against Leo’s eardrums. He stared at the cheap plastic casing resting in Eli’s manicured palm, feeling the blood drain from his face. The burner was supposed to remain off until he reached the alley behind the butcher shop. He had left it on by mistake. A fatal, stupid mistake.
“A secondary tether,” Eli murmured, his voice echoing in the cavernous room. His heavy brow furrowed as he examined the ugly brick. “A hidden line to the filth of the outside world. You thought you could serve two masters, Leo?”
Before Leo could force a lie through his paralyzed vocal cords, the green screen flashed, and the mechanical buzzing erupted again in Eli’s hand. The pastor did not flinch. His expression hardened into a mask of righteous fury. He pressed the small rubber accept button and lifted the brick, not to his ear, but holding it out flat between them. He pressed the speaker button.
“Speak your sins into the light,” Eli commanded, his voice booming with absolute, unquestionable authority.
For a second, there was only the hiss of static. Then, a voice crackled through the cheap speaker. It was not the desperate, pleading voice of a family member, nor the casual tone of a secular friend. It was flat, metallic, and devoid of any human warmth.
“You are ten minutes late, little man,” the voice said. The accent was thick, the tone low and gravelly. “The window is closed. The dogs are off the chain.”
Leo’s stomach turned to ice. He knew exactly what the voice meant. The cartel drop at the south street depot was heavily monitored. A missed window didn’t mean a rescheduled meeting; it meant the product was assumed stolen or compromised. It meant the cartel was sending their enforcers-the cleaners-to hunt him down.
Eli let out a harsh, barking laugh that startled the kneeling congregants. The pastor’s pride flared, entirely ignorant of the lethal reality pulsing through the cheap speaker.
“You speak in empty riddles to a shepherd of the Lord,” Eli bellowed at the phone, his chest puffing out against his tailored suit jacket. “Whoever you are, whatever secular poison you are trying to peddle to this boy, you have reached a fortress of purity. Your influence ends at our gates. You will not touch my flock.”
There was a long pause on the other end of the line. The static hissed, quiet and menacing. Leo wanted to scream, to snatch the phone and smash it, to beg Eli to hang up and run. But the heavy hands of the guards at the perimeter had already twitched toward their holsters at the sound of Eli’s raised voice.
“A priest,” the metallic voice finally replied. The dry, rasping chuckle that followed made the hairs on Leo’s arms stand up. “How touching. Listen to me very carefully, padre. I do not care about your flock. I care about the fifty kilos of product your boy was supposed to facilitate. If that phone, and the boy holding it, are not at the loading dock in five minutes, your fortress is going to burn to the ground. With everyone inside.”
The line went dead. The sharp beep of the disconnected call echoed in the silent recreation center.
Leo squeezed his eyes shut, his entire body trembling. It was out. The secret was bare. The cartel thought Leo had stolen the shipment and was hiding behind his church.
Eli stared at the black plastic brick, his jaw set in a rigid line. The veins in his thick neck pulsed against his collar. To Leo’s horror, the pastor did not look afraid. He looked insulted. Eli had ruled this neighborhood with an iron fist for a decade. He had driven out the petty gangs and the corner boys with brutal, coordinated violence disguised as spiritual cleansing. He had never faced the cartel, mostly because they operated in the shadows, far above his street-level dominion.
“Fifty kilos,” Eli repeated, the words dripping with venom. He dropped the burner phone onto the hardwood floor. He didn’t crush it. He just let it clatter, a piece of trash beneath his steel-toed boots.
Eli reached down, his massive hands grabbing the lapels of Leo’s coat. With a grunt of effort, he hauled Leo upward. Leo’s knees popped, his legs numb from kneeling, and he stumbled as he was dragged to his feet. The pastor’s face was inches from his own, the smell of peppermint and stale coffee now laced with the metallic scent of pure adrenaline.
“You brought the devil’s harvest to my doorstep,” Eli hissed, his eyes wide and feverish. “You thought you could traffic poison under my roof?”
“Pastor, please,” Leo choked out, his toes barely touching the floor as Eli held him suspended. “You don’t understand who they are. We have to let everyone go. We have to run.”
“Run?” Eli roared, turning his head so the entire terrified congregation could hear him. “We do not run from demons! We drag them into the light and we break them upon the rocks of our faith!”
Eli threw Leo backward. Leo slammed into the floor, the breath exploding from his lungs in a sharp gasp. He scrambled backward, his palms slipping on the polished wood, as Eli turned to the thick-necked enforcers guarding the exits.
“Lock the doors!” Eli commanded, pointing a heavy finger at the main entrance. “Secure the perimeter. No one leaves until this purification is complete.”
Leo coughed, clutching his ribs. “Eli, no! They have guns-automatic weapons. They’ll kill everyone in here!”
Eli ignored him. He reached under his suit jacket and drew a heavy, matte-black handgun, racking the slide with a deafening crack that made several congregants scream and press their faces to the floor. The guards at the doors produced their own weapons, their faces tight with grim determination.
“Get him up,” Eli ordered, gesturing to two of his men. “Drag him to the front steps. If these heathens want to threaten my church, we will show them how the righteous defend their sanctuary.”
Rough hands seized Leo by the arms, dragging him upright. The doors of the recreation center were unbarred, opening into the cool night air. Leo was shoved forward, his feet dragging against the floorboards, completely helpless as Eli marched them out to meet a war they could not possibly win.