"So how goes your pilgrimage into the wilderness? Eager to speak to your dark god?"

"Laying it on a bit thick aren’t you Geoff, you sarcastic bastard," Herbert replied through his Bluetooth, cruising listlessly through the desert.

"Now we both know that you wouldn’t have it any other way. But c’mon, after all the stories, aren’t you a tad afraid Deom will consume your soul?"

Herbert shook his head. "I’ve got too many books left in me to die just yet."

"Pride before the fall, you arrogant bastard. Pride before the fall. So I’ve confirmed your appointment with the warden later this afternoon. Christ if he isn’t a hard ass."

"But you’ve dealt with worse, I’m sure."

"Please, remember who you’re talking to, Herbie."

"Trust me, I always do. I wouldn’t want to be ripped off."

"Harsh. Harsh, dear boy. After all I’ve done for your career."

"Or to it in your case."

"Anyway, the publisher is excited about this one. Really excited."

"I think the hefty advance was proof enough of that."

"Indeed. I don’t know how the hell you managed to secure this interview and trust me, I don’t want to. Self-denial comes in handy, especially in criminal investigations. I do know that they’re making my life a living hell, so keep me updated. I mean it this time, Herbie. They’re squeezin’ and I’m nigh squealin’. These people want their money’s worth and I’m not surrendering my balls if it all goes to shit, even for you and your fifteen percent. Remember, we need this, you more than I."

Herbert sighed while adjusting his glasses against the glare. "Any new mail?"

"Just the regular. Death threats, curses of eternal damnation, wishes of anal violation. The norm from your adoring public."

"How I love Middle America."

"Hey, remember, if they aren’t outraged-"

"You aren’t relevant. Yeah, I know."

After a beat, Geoff asked, "Do I hear a hint of remorse in your voice, oh profiteer of schadenfreude?"

"No, exhaustion. I’ve been on the road eight hours you inconsiderate fuck."

"Blame the feds for putting Deom out in the middle of nowhere. I tried my best to find a better way."

"Oh you do care," Herbert mockingly retorted.

"Hey, you’d better appreciate me. An author is only as good as his agent."

"And an agent is only worth as much as his client."

"Which isn’t much if you screw this one up."

"Relax and have some faith in me."

"When I see the sales, then I’ll relax. Until then, you do what you do best. And remember-"

"Check in."

"Right."

"Will do." Herbert gave a salute before flipping off his earpiece, silently continuing on into the sun blasted wastes, the sands of the eroding hills powdering his windshield. There was little to speak of traveling that unending strip of cracked black asphalt save the shattered stone columns that dominated the skyline like jagged teeth. The heavens were a light pink, beneath which everything was bleached, lifeless, and dead. With that wistful thought, Herbert spotted an ironic sign in the shimmering heat.

The Oasis, a garish rundown motel, neared. Painted in flaking faded pastels with hunched wooden posts supporting a sagging roof shedding tiles, it was a one story shithole for adulterers and the rare passer-by with a sprinkling of cars littering the gravel parking lot. Across from it was a trucker’s diner, the smell of fried food seeping in through the car’s wheezing aircon. Herbert let his eyes drift back to the motel as he slowed down.

Turning into the drive, Herbert grinded to a stop in front of the office. When he opened the car door it was like a boiler exploded, a wave of scorching arid breath nearly scalding him raw. He steadied himself against the fiery air and stepped out, the gravel crunching beneath his shoes. Already sweating, he rounded the car and headed toward the office.

A bell jingled overhead when he entered the dim room. To his chagrin, it wasn’t much cooler inside. Approaching the counter, he spied a register on one side and a collection of keys on the wall to the back. Beside the keys was a curtained off doorway. No one came to greet him in the gloom.

"Hello?" Herbert called. He rapped his knuckles on the scored wood hoping to get a response from the back.

The manager reluctantly emerged, a lard ass whose t-shirt was a tie-dye of myriad stains of varying color. Herbert’s nostrils twitched at the foul odor of the man. Balding with a ratty tail tied in the back, the manager’s bulbous scabbed nose drew one’s attention away from his beady black eyes.

"I need a room," Herbert finally stated.

"How, uh, long will you be with us?" the manager asked as he ran a hand across his forehead leaving a black streak.

"I’m...not quite sure."

The manager gave him a funny expression. "What’s your business around here?"

Herbert leaned forward on the counter. "Paying someone a visit," he said with a wink.

The manager pursed his chapped lips and nodded. "Ok. Well, the room is thirty a night. There’s air-conditioning…" He noticed the doubt on Herbert’s face. "I know it’s hot in here. I was in the back trying to fix the aircon." He raised his greasy hands as proof. "As you can see, I’m losing. Anyway, there’s air and a television. Single bed...you alone, right? Reeza hasn’t gotten to you yet has she?"

Herbert cocked his head. "Reeza?"

The manager hooted. "If you haven’t met her yet, you will. Just remember, double wrap, if you get my sayin’.”

"Charming. About that room?"

"Yeah. Ok, so will that be cash or credit?"

"Cash." Herbert pulled his wallet out, withdrawing several bills. "I’ll pay for a week and we’ll go from there."

"Will do."

"Oh, one more thing. Not to knock the area, but please tell me there is somewhere to get a drink around here."

"Sorry. We’re a dry town," the manager replied, snatching the cash from Herbert’s hand and walking over to the register.

"There’s a town out there?" Herbert thumbed over his shoulder, a little surprised.

"I know there ain’t much of us but there’s still enough. If you’re hungry-"

"I saw the diner," Herbert cut him off.

"Right." The register clanged as it spit out its bottom drawer. The manager dropped the cash in and slammed the drawer shut. "You’ll be in room fourteen." He grabbed a key off the wall and handed it to Herbert. "Hope you enjoy your stay."

"I’m hoping so too." Herbert took the key and exited the office, soon pulling his car around to his room. He climbed out and made his way to that pitted green door with the faded number fourteen bolted to it. Opening the door, a musty smell crept out. Herbert shook his head and turned around. He let air the room out, returning with his luggage seconds later which he tossed on the bed.

He flipped the light switch and regretted doing so. The wallpaper was gaudy, a mixture of lime and tangerine, leprously peeling in places. Herbert didn’t have the courage to brave the bathroom. Hopefully the toilet wasn’t just a hole in the floor.

"Thirty dollars is too much," Herbert muttered, slamming the door behind him as he left.

Looking down at his watch he saw that he had around an hour and a half to spare until his appointment with the warden. He might as well check out the local cuisine. He prayed it wasn’t road kill.

***

Steadily it rose on the horizon like a sentinel, a fortress internally under siege. Casting a malignant shadow across the wastes, the prison came to dominate the road ahead, looming oppressively above him with its high stone walls darkening the land.

Herbert stopped at the gate, tapping his fingers on the wheel as he waited. A guard approached the driver’s side window, one hand firmly on the butt of his pistol. Herbert rolled his window down with trepidation.

“Help you, sir?” the guard asked in a clipped tone, inspecting the inside of the vehicle through metallic shades.

“I have an appointment with the warden.”

“Name?”

“Herbert Kraft.” The guard nodded, his attention now directed down the road from which Herbert came. “Don’t you have a clipboard or something?”

“What for?” the guard asked absently.

“Well, how else do you know when someone is coming?”

The guard leered as he looked back at the gate. “People don’t usually choose to come here.” He waved his hand and the gates gradually shrieked open. He turned to Herbert and tilted his shades down revealing his bloodshot eyes. “We tend to become interested in the ones that do.” His smile broadened further carnivorously. “Just follow the path ahead. There’ll be an escort waiting for you.”

“Escort?”

“This is a maximum security facility,” the guard stated, backing away from the car. “Trust me, you don’t want to be alone here.”

***

Herbert waited in the warden’s office staring out a large window to the rear of the room which overlooked the prison yard below. Down there he could see the various convicts milling about the yard, congregating in malignant groups here and there. He couldn’t help but feel like a distant God, gazing down at his abandoned children as they wandered aimlessly in the dark. No, he clinically corrected himself; perhaps bacteria in a petri dish was more apt.

"Watching the roaches I see."

Herbert turned at the warden’s genteel voice. The man sauntered to Herbert’s side, clothed in a cream green suit, smelling of cinnamon. The warden joined him in gazing out at the grounds. "What do you think of them?" he asked, gesturing toward the window.

"Lost souls."

"Truly?" The warden gave him a brief, sidelong glance. "And who led them astray, may I ask?"

"I wish I had an answer."

"Don’t we all. Nothing but problems, these primitives. But society’s problems are my problems." He faced Herbert and extended his hand. The warden’s grip was firm as they shook. "Christopher Joubert, warden of these vermin." He waved his free hand to embellish the phrase.

"Herbert Kraft."

"I know. Please," Joubert released his grip and extended his arm across his desk. "Have a seat." Herbert took up the offer while Joubert remained standing over him. "So you’ve come to pay one of my boys a visit."

"Yes."

"Can I ask why?"

"An interview. A series of interviews, actually. Of course you know I’m here to write a book about him."

Joubert mildly chuckled to himself, his thin moustache twitching. "Well, that should be a short conversation."

Herbert was puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"The man isn’t very talkative. I suppose we should be thankful for that, blasphemous fuck that he is."

"And why is that?"

"Only God knows." Joubert leaned forward on his desk. "He’s full of surprises and been a problem since day one."

"Is he still in general population?"

"Not if I want to keep this place in check."

"Excuse me?"

"We had to put him in solitary shortly after his arrival, and if I have my say, he’ll spend the rest of eternity there."

Herbert frowned. "What happened?"

"He tore his cellmate apart with his bare hands. Oh yes," Joubert stated to his guest’s shock.

"I hadn’t heard of that."

“As I said, he is my problem.” Joubert’s eyes wandered around the room. "That boy has caused all sorts of difficulties." His gaze once again settled on Herbert. "You see, in here the men generally stick together. Pack mentality. Damn Nazis, Niggers, and Spics all forming gangs and cliques. For protection. From us. From themselves. Helps them make my life even more of a living hell. If only it were as simple as man on man. You strip them of their identity, and they find a new one. No, you attack one you might as well attack them all." Joubert turned his nose up at that. "Single-minded fucks the lot of them. Roaches waiting to be crushed. Still, it’s better they turn on one another more than they do on us. Keeps them busy."

"Divide and conquer."

Joubert readjusted his bottom jaw, his voice acquiring an edge. “Yes. Too bad the government didn’t see it that way. You see, I didn’t just get Deom. I got some of his…people as well.”

“You mean his cult.”

“Whatever you want to call them. That spark placed in this tinder…I knew a conflagration was bound to happen. Like Cassandra, my calls went unheeded. And it didn’t take long for Deom to make his move.

"He was originally put with Michael Owens. The cons know him by the nom de guerre ‘Iron’ Mike. A man of prestige among the rabble, he was the leader of the Nubians, a gang of Muslims and blacks. We’re not quite sure what happened. Don’t care either." The warden coldly shrugged. "All I know is what my guards found. What was left anyway. Son of a bitch caused a riot.

"The Nubians wanted blood after one of their own was snuffed." Joubert rolled his eyes. "As they do. Death threats were constant. The Aryans deified the bastard for offing Mike and didn’t take kindly to the Nubians’ threats. There were…incidents. It took a week to get things back to a slow and steady simmer."

"How can something like this happen? This is a maximum security prison."

Joubert’s calm air evaporated. “I have a thousand inmates in here. I can’t watch them all all the time. You catch ‘em. I live with ‘em. That’s why I keep Deom buried in a deep, dark, and secure hole. But even that’s not enough. His damn disciples cause problems of their own. They’ve become a force themselves, converting numerous cons to their side. Fanatics the lot of them. I root out the ring leaders and new ones emerge. They are a cancer in here, constantly stoking every side with their talk of upsetting the order.”

Joubert narrowed his eyes, cracking his thumb’s knuckle as he clenched his fist. “And now you’re here. Can’t say I like it, but your ’friends’ asked real nice." He leaned further forward putting his palms on the desk. "I only have a one condition for your access."

"What’s that?" Herbert asked, biting his tongue.

"Don’t fucking stir things up. You don’t even begin to realize how closely we teeter on the brink here. The last thing I need is chaos. If I start to see problems, you’re out of here. I don’t care who the fuck you are or who the hell you know. This is my fiefdom. I don’t like disorder. Can’t stand ripples in the water."

"No matter how stagnant they are?"

"Are we clear?" Joubert pressed in a commanding voice.

Herbert’s gaze tightened. "Clear."

"Good," Joubert smiled, nodding his head and standing up. He flicked his wrist over to check the time. "Officer Marcus should be on shift now." The warden picked up his phone and punched a button. “Amber. Yes, have Officer Marcus come up here. Thank you, dear.” He replaced the phone and looked down at Herbert. "Your guide will be here shortly."

"Guide?"

"Of course. You’re going down to the pit." Joubert laughed as he thrust his thumb down.

Next Chapter: Katabasis