The Amazing Power of Ashur Fine by Donald J. Sobol

Author:Donald J. Sobol
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780816710492
Publisher: Troll Communications Llc
Published: 1986-01-01T15:00:00+00:00

EIGHT

THE ANDERSON DIAMOND

LITTLE by little, Ashur was becoming acquainted with the Power. The experience at the overpass confirmed something that he already suspected. And it introduced him to something frightening.

The visits of Babe Ruth, Franz Liszt, and Otto Lindt had suggested that the Power lasted for roughly fifteen minutes. Joe Louis proved it. His departure had been impossible to miss. All at once Ashur had stopped hurting.

The aches pounded into him by the blonde Amazon had vanished. Simultaneously, the torn skin and bruises about his knuckles had healed without a scar. He stroked his face ex-ploringly. The cuts were gone.

The healing alarmed him. One explanation only was possible. When Joe Louis departed, he took with him all the physical signs of his visit.

Suppose, Ashur thought, he had not knocked out Hal and beaten the big blonde to the ground. Suppose he had been killed by Hal's pistol. After Joe Louis had departed from him, might he have returned to life as whole and healthy as before, without a trace of a bullet wound?

The concept hounded him as he drove toward Arizona ahead of the rising sun. It hinted that while another personality dwelt in him, he was deathless.

Surely Methuselah had not meant for him to have such an unholy faculty. Could the Power be growing in him in spite of Methuselah's intention to limit it? Had the elephant lost control when the hippos raised such a ruckus of protest?

Ashur rubbed his eyes. He needed sleep. Exhaustion was getting to him. His thoughts wandered back to Hal and the big blonde. They hadn't taken his money. They had tried to force him into their car. Why? If they weren't thieves, who were they? What were they really after?

He turned on the radio. A rasping rock group brought his mind to a raw and jagged wakefulness.

He drove on. He crossed the southern tip of Mississippi and-entered Louisiana. At Theodore he turned south off Interstate 10 and followed Route 90 along the Gulf of Mexico. If the dark-suits still were after him, they would not look for him on a secondary road.

He passed the kind of folksy, slumbering towns that America is built.on. He had to sleep soon. Half an hour into Louisiana, he saw a sign announcing West Gulfport. According to his Triptik, West Gulfport was a popular resort. He scouted its main streets before selecting the hotel with the most crowded parking lot.

He combed his hair and straightened his shirt. In the large, cheaply modernized lobby, he bought a newspaper from a vending machine. He carried it to an overstuffed love seat and opened it casually, as if waiting to meet someone.

He read the headlines and fell fast asleep.

When he awoke, the lobby had come alive with the low, incessant chorus of scattered conversations. At the far end, a line of hotel guests and townies stood waiting to get into the coffee shop.

He felt rested and glanced at his watch. He had slept past midday.

Suddenly he became aware of another person on the love seat with him.

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