The Last Stoic by Morgan Wade

Author:Morgan Wade [Wade, Morgan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Historical
ISBN: 9781897475638
Amazon: 1897475632
Barnesnoble: 1897475632
Goodreads: 11721961
Publisher: Hidden Brook Press
Published: 2011-04-01T04:00:00+00:00

FIFTEEN

Sebastian was breathless when he arrived at the street corner, pushing damp hanks of hair from his face. Mark, Nasir and Sura looked up from their lunches of spicy Thai noodles in Styrofoam bowls, the takeout that Mark had brought. He’d become so familiar with the Parthians that he now spent an occasional lunch hour with them, bringing along a picnic.

“We must leave,” Sebastian said to them, “please follow me.”

Nasir and Sura put aside their meals and began to pack up their belongings, bundling clothing and keepsakes into their blankets. Mark still had chopsticks at his lips, watching in amazement. He turned to Sebastian.

“You might as well come too,” he said.

Mark got to his feet leisurely, slurping more noodles into his mouth, watching him from the corner of his eye. Sebastian threw one of Sura’s half-finished bundles to the ground. He propped a crutch roughly under her arm and prodded her forward.

“Leave it! There isn’t time!”

“She’s not a mule!” Mark tugged at Sebastian’s shirt. The young activist halted. His thin, contorted face relaxed.

“I’m sorry, you’re right. But we must hurry. Mark could you please help Sura? I’ll pick up this extra bag. Leave everything else. Come. I know a place we can go.”

Mark gave Sura his arm, Nasir hoisted their bundles and Sebastian led them away. They reached Corner Convenience at the next intersection and he ushered them through the heavy glass doors. The man at the counter, his hair shiny black and neatly parted, lowered his newspaper. He took a pen from the collection in the breast pocket of his striped, button-down shirt, yellowed at the armpits, and used it to smooth the thin, dark moustache tracing his upper lip. Glancing at the group over his reading glasses he gave Sebastian a quick, non-committal nod and raised his paper.

Sebastian shepherded them through the shop to the magazine section.

“This will be fine. Pick a magazine. Peruse.”

Mark stifled a laugh seeing Sura pick up Maximum Fitness. Nasir held Martha Stewart Living.

Sebastian helped Sura onto the cracked cushion of a steel, vinyl backed chair.

“Put your blanket at your knees,” he continued, placing and draping the blanket himself, to obscure her stump, “try to look natural.”

“What’s going on Sebastian?”

Sebastian took Mark to the front counter and scanned the street from the large, plate glass window.

“Rick Reid.”

“Who?”

“The Reverend Rick Reid. Senior pastor of Super Shepherd Ministries and newest congressional candidate for this district.”

“The man from the giant church?”

Mark recalled an article from the paper titled Place of Worshopping about a local pastor and his cathedral that occupied one hundred and fifty suburban acres.

“Yes, the billionaire Baptist. Ever since he decided to run for congress he’s been making noise about cleaning up the streets in his district. These streets. He’s on the radio or on TV every week, calling out the mayor, calling out the police, demanding something be done to make this neighbourhood safer, more Christian. The drug addicts, the prostitutes, the small time crooks, the mentally ill, the homeless, they all need to be swept from downtown.

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