Chapter 1
The Three Omegas were sitting at a booth in a pub in the mountains of Eastern Kentucky. They were drinking their favorite brew, Polygamy Porter (whose motto is or should be 'Bet you can't drink just one!'), and discussing logistics for their next campaign. Omega One (the eldest of the Omegas) said:
"Where do we go from here? We've pretty much tapped out the Eastern Seaboard and we've been banned from west of the Mississippi."
Omega Jr or OJ (the youngest) replied: "How about Canada?"
Omega 1A (the second oldest): "No way. I haven't spent six months working on my tan in Florida to lose it in three days north of the border."
OO (Omega One) took a sip from his PP, then looked thoughtful before replying, "Only one place left really."
1A and OJ waited in silence knowing that OO would soon fill in the blank.
"The Celestial City."
My name is Nick Neercassel and I'm a Theological Private Eye, i.e., I work for God. The pay is meager, the hours are long, but I can't complain about the retirement benefits. They're probably the best in the business. I get my marching orders via my CCP (Celestial Cell Phone) from Third Heaven Central (THC). The latest went a little bit like the following:
"Nick here."
"God Morning, Nick. We've got an assignment for you."
"I'm listening."
"The Three Omegas are at a crossroads. They've played out all their options."
"Even the one they called 'Guerrillas for God - Living off the Land.'? I kind of liked that one. It was catchy."
"We did too and it was entertaining to watch them in action. But the same old problem cropped up. The ratios weren't working in their favor. As you know from your Gospel Fiscalology classes at the Pond of Fire Academy, to be financially solvent a pseudo-evangelist needs at least a 10.73 to 1 (cash cow supporter to pseudo-evangelist) ratio. The 'Guerillas' idea was only operating at a 4.99 to 1 ratio."
"So what exactly is my assignment?"
"Go find the Omegas and give them some advice."
"What kind of advice?"
"Give up the God business and get real jobs."
"But they won't listen."
"We know."
"The Celestial City!" 1A and OJ cried out in unison. "You can't mean that, OO! Going there is literally, though not figuratively, impossible."
"Now, brothers in the Lord, think about it. We do the impossible all the time. For instance, just last week 1A wrote 24 books in one 24 hour period."
"That's true." 1A said proudly but humbly.
OO continued, "And you, OJ, how about those 6000 actual hours about the 'Real, True, Authentic, Genuine Gospel' you recorded in less than 6000 actual hours?"
"What can I say?" OJ beamed back at the other two. "Doing the impossible would appear to be what the Three Omegas are all about!"
"Now we're talking." OO raised his glass of PP, "Celestial City - here we come!"
As it so happened, I was in the vicinity of the Three Omegas when the call came from THC. I had been visiting an old friend who resided in the charming Appalachian town of Paintsville, Kentucky. Using my ever reliable GPS (God Positioning System), I soon discovered that the pub the Omegas were then meeting in was only twenty-five minutes from Paintsville.
I got there in thirty. I made a five minute stop at Butcher Holler to pay homage to one of the greats of country music, Miss Loretta Lynn:
"Well I was born the coal miner's daughter in a cabin on a hill in Butcher Holler/ We were poor but we had love that's the one thing that daddy made sure of/ He shoveled coal to make a poor man's dollar..."
The pub was nothing special. I walked up to the bar and asked the bartender for an OM (Old Mountaineer). I then looked around and attempted to spot the Three Omegas. They were nowhere in sight.
I described them to the bartender. He said they had left about seven minutes earlier. (I had some explaining to do to THC. It wouldn't be easy because they were fans of Tammy Wynette).
I asked the bartender, "Did they depart in high spirits?"
He replied, "Oh, yes; both literally and figuratively."
I finished the OM and headed out the door. This assignment might turn out to be a little tougher than I had first envisioned.
Chapter 5
The Omegas had hopped into their Omegamobile (a 1967 Volkswagen van) and headed south.
"Where're we headed, OO?" OJ asked.
"Mt. Mitchell. The highest point in the Eastern United States."
"I don't remember Mt. Mitchell being officially recognized as a 'Stairway to Heaven'." IA's tone, if not outright sarcastic, was on the verge of being so.
OO smiled in response. "Oh, ye of little faith. Of course Mt. Mitchell is not a 'Stairway to Heaven'. We're just going there as a ruse to get Neercassel off our tail."
"Neercassel!", cried out OJ, "what's that TPE up to now?"
"As he would say, he's just doing his job."
"I hope you have a good plan up your sleeve, OO."
"I do."
Chapter 6
The conversation with THC had gone pretty much the way I expected. The consensus there was that Tammy Wynette's 'Stand By Your Man' was a superior country song to 'Coal Miner's Daughter.' After my goof, I wasn't in any position to argue.
Where had the Omegas gone? That was the burning question. A good TPE looks for clues anywhere he can find them. In this case, my best bet was to talk to a member of the indigenous population. Just outside the pub stood such a fellow. I addressed him. "Sir, did you happen to notice an old VW van pull out of here in the last thirty mintues?" THC had earlier sent me info on the Omegamobile.
The man, who reminded me of Moses, was chewing on some tobacco. He turned his head and spit toward a hairy dog that was snoozing beside him. The dog jumped just in time to avoid the contents of the spit.
"I reckon I did."
"Was it halcyon azure with just a tinge of mauve?"
"What?"
"Was it blue and pink?"
"I reckon."
"What direction did it go in?"
The man turned his head south and spit. This time I jumped.
Chapter 7
"Now tell us about this great plan of yours, OO." 1A spoke from the back seat as he carefully opened a bottle of his favorite medium-priced claret, Thames Chateau Embankment.
Before OO could answer, OJ shoved a glass in 1A's face. "I could use a spot of the red myself."
"Certainly, OJ. We don't want you to feel deprived. It's been at least fifteen minutes since you've had anything alcoholic."
Before an argument could ensue, OO wisely interrupted. "Now, let's not fight. We're not real brothers, just brothers in the Lord, and we're on a mission: to find the Celestial City!"
"But what about Neercassel? How do you plan to ditch him?"
At that moment, OO slowed the van down and pulled into a roadside park. "Jump out, 1A, and start walking."
1A was flabbergasted. "What's this all about, OO?"
"About a half-mile down the road there's a fruit and vegetable stand that is located at the entrance to Mt. Mitchell. Here's ten bucks. Buy some mountain apples and engage the owner in conversation. Tell him you're doing a little hiking. A couple of minutes after you get there we'll slowly pass by and turn onto the Mt. Mitchell road. Make sure you point out the 'hippie' van to the owner. It should be good for a laugh. Exactly five minutes later ask the owner a question about some fruit or vegetable. Position yourself so that when the owner answers you his back is to the entrance road. We'll make an exit onto the main highway at that point. When the van is no longer in sight, bid adieu to the fruit stand and its owner, and began walking down the road in our direction."
"And how far might that be?"
"Not far if you're lucky."
Chapter 8
I didn't have much to go on; only a general direction. I needed some help (an honest TPE is never ashamed to ask for a little help from time to time; as long we don't get too needy). I put a call into THC:
"God Afternoon, Third Heaven Central at your service."
"It's Nick."
"What do you need?"
"I want you to check the 1960's database; specifically under H."
"You mean under Hell?"
"No, under Hippie."
"Our research is much stronger on Hell but if you insist."
"Also, factor in VW Vans when you google."
"We're showing 3,201 Hippie VW vans from the 1960's that are still operable."
"Any of them halcyon azure with an improbable tinge of mauve?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact, one belonged to a Mr. Jim Morrison, who apparently worked for an Southern California door manufacturer."
I told THC I needed to hang up but would call back shortly if I thought of something germane. A few minutes of concentrated thought and I made the return call.
"God Afternoon. Third Heaven Central."
"It's Nick again. I've got an idea. Can you beam a tracer to my Celestial?"
"What kind of tracer?"
"One that detects fify year old marijuana remnants combined with unleaded gasoline."
There was a brief silence. Then, "We checked with St. Thomas (of Edison). He says he can have one developed and operational in about fifteen minutes. In the meantime just start driving."
Chapter 9
The Three Omegas were re-united in the Omegamobile and headed south once again. They were traveling on the beautiful Blue Ridge Parkway but gazing at mountain scenery wasn't foremost in their minds.
"I've been meaning to ask, OO, how did you know Neercassel was trying to find us?" asked 1A.
"I got a phone call from the Aztec Publishing Concern. One of their agents spotted him sight-seeing in Butcher Holler. Fortunately for us the agent was a big Loretta Lynn fan."
OJ started singing a cappella, "How mysterious are the ways of the Lord!"
OJ sang for the next hour. 1A dozed off. Finally, OO exclaimed, "Well, Brothers, here we are!"
OJ and 1A (who rubbed the sleep from his eyes) looked out the van window. On the big sign to their right were the letters: WELCOME TO THE CHEROKEE INDIAN RESERVATION.
OO spoke, "Yes sir, Brothers, it's the Cherokee Indian Reservation aka The Celestial City!"
Chapter 10
The Edison Tracer (he had patented it within the first 10 minutes of building it) worked like a charm and I found myself following a marijuana/gasoline trail. Sure, the marijuana remnants were over fifty years old but the Tracer was so finely tuned it could probably find marijuana older than seventy-five years. And that might come in handy if one of my future cases involved Willie Nelson.
The trail led to a fruit and vegetable stand at the entrance to Mt. Mitchell. The tracer indicated that the Omegas had turned into the entrance but at about 3/4 of a mile down the road the beeping stopped. I didn't know if the tracer had suddenly gone bonkers or if the Omegas had tried to pull a fast one on me. Knowing the Omegas, it was probably the latter.
But I couldn't be sure. The smart thing was to continue up the mountain until I reached the summit. Which I did and by the time I got to the top, night had fallen. I got out of my car to look around. No sign of the Omegas. But for some reason I wasn't disappointed.
The stars were bright that night and somewhere out there in the vastness was the one place for which every human soul yearned: The True Celestial City.
The End
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