A New Age Chapter 3: Redemptions Beginning

Please read chapters 1 and 2.

A man receives unfathomable power.

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Copyright 2022, Coyote Howard.

Roland drove up into the east end of town as that’s where Christian, now Kristy, had told him this “Big G” was.

It occurred to him that he had no idea what he was doing. Not really. He’d never done more than a social hit of pot, let alone harder drugs like cocaine or heroin, as Big G was probably dealing. Roland had asked Kristy and she’d offered up Big G as one who did, and he had nothing else to go on.

He was driven forward though by the words of Kayla at his apartment. She’d cut him to his core, her truths pummeling his conscience and threatening to overwhelm him.

Would he feel differently if he hadn’t allowed her to yell at him? Would he be blissfully ignorant?

He shook his head slightly as he drove into town proper. It didn’t matter. He’d done what he’d done.

“You’re a sick fuck Roland,” he said, the self-loathing tone dripping off his voice.

He turned on to 5th St and anxiety gripped him. The realization yet again that he had no idea what he’d do when he got there was creeping in on him, and his fear was presenting itself as he gripped the wheel more tightly.

All that were going through his mind were questions:

5th and Gerald? That’s not very specific.

What if they had guns?

What if they killed him before he could speak?

What if they didn’t have cash?

What would he do with the cash once he had it?

How would he protect himself from all this? There’s bound to be blow back.

The answer came in the form of resolve, as he came up to Leonard Ave and crossed it. He saw a girl on the corner, and while she was dressed in slim fitting jeans and a dingy white halter top, these hung off her body in an unhealthy way. He got a glimpse of her made up face from his seat, and her sunken, hopeless eyes didn’t look alive, they merely looked at the world.

“Fuck it,” Roland said to himself, pulled his 2002 Accord up to the curb and got out.

He walked to her, and it only got worse.

She was white. Had dirty, greasy, sandy blonde hair that was slack and touched her shoulders. She was tan, probably from standing on this corner, or others like it, all summer long. She had on Walmart-cheap, dirty white shoes. And her empty eyes looked at him as he came up to her.

“I order you to do as I say, but still act like yourself. You will not try to alert anyone. You will not try to run away. You will answer all my questions. Understand?”

“Yes master,” she answered meekly.

He blinked, and took a breath.

“Why’d you call me that?” he asked her, putting his hands on his hips.

“Mr. H says that’s what the boys like. And if I don’t he hurts me,” she said, barely looking up at him.

His temper flared.

“Where’s this Mr.