Nick Neercassel: A Mid-Heaven Gathering

DON'T LOOK DOWN

How do you plan for an unplanned event? Well, if you're a Class II TPE and a ten year veteran, you don't. When it happens it happens. Still, some of us will use any excuse to meet and drink OM (Old Mid-Heaven). So that's why I'm at the latest unplanned Mid-Heaven Gathering. I'll attend a few of the lectures, pretend I'm listening, and then head for the Third Heaven Cafeteria kiosk on Cloud Nine. Some of the rookie TPEs may even actually take notes.

Hi, I'm Nick Neercassel and I'm a Theological Private Eye (TPE), i.e., I work for the Head Honcho of Heaven. The pay stinks, the hours are longgggg..., but there are perks. Such as attending these Mid-Heaven Gatherings.

Now you may ask, where exactly is Mid-Heaven? Well, friend, it's wherever you want it to be (see title of lecture below). It can be below ground, above ground, or even on the ground. The location isn't as important as the attitude and if you're looking for altitude, you might just find it. This latest Gathering just happens to be 12.2 miles above the Earth and let me tell you something, the view is outstanding, no matter in which direction you're looking (though I don't recommend looking down).

The lecture series sounded more interesting than usual. Here are a few examples to wet your whistle:

WHAT'S IN YOUR WULLET? THE NEWEST TRENDS IN WULLET TECHNOLOGY

SPIRIT-BASED TECHNOLOGY: IT'S WHEREVER YOU WANT IT TO BE

WHAT'S NEXT? PUTTING YOUR TPE EXPERIENCE TO WORK IN THE AFTERLIFE

YOUR SIN MAY BE PAID UP BUT YOU STILL HAVE A BILL AT THIRD HEAVEN CAFETERIA. TALK TO ONE OF OUR ASSOCIATES ABOUT AN INSTALLMENT PLAN. NO INTEREST CHARGED DUE TO USURY LAWS FOUND IN OLD TESTAMENT THAT ARE SURPRISINGLY STILL IN FORCE

WHERE DO YOU GO FROM HERE? DON'T ASK

A TPE CREDIT CARD: DON'T LEAVE EARTH WITHOUT IT

EONS. SCHMEONS. YOU'RE ONLY AS GOOD AS YOUR LAST ONE

I had some time to kill so I decided to wander around the lobby where some exhibitors were hawking their wares.

The first one I came to was one was with several large bottles of Welch's Grape Juice on the table. The pretty young lady standing behind the table asked, "Why don't you take a sip? You're not a red wine man, are you?"

"No, as a matter of fact, I'm very fond of Welch's Grape Juice. I usually keep a bottle of it back in the fridge at home."

"You not only look smart, you are smart."

The next table was set up for none other than Aztec Publishing Concern, and much to my surprise it was none other than Omega Jr. (OJ) manning it.

OJ actually seem relieved to see me.

"Hey, Mr. TPE, how you doing?"

"Not bad, OJ, how about you? Where are the other two Omegas?"

"That's a good question, Mr.TPE. I fell asleep at a tent revival in Cincinnati, and when I woke up the tent was gone as well as OO (Omega One) and 1A (Omega 1A)."

"How did you hook up with Aztec?"

"My second cousin first removed works for them and set me up for an interview. Apparently I did pretty well. They said I had a 'soul of a missionary'."

"Well, I'm happy for you, OJ. By the way, do you speak Aztec?"

"No, but who does?"

I wandered a little farther down the lobby where I got to the one lecture I'd been wanting to hear for over twenty years:

WHO WAS REALLY STEERING PILATE'S SHIP?

THE END

Nick Neercassel: Theofiction

Road Chatter

I had given Jaime Marco, my new literary agent, my celestial cell phone number. A couple of weeks had passed since we met at the Big Rock on Texas Farm Road 21124 and I was expecting the call.

"Nick here."

"Hello Nick, it's Jaime."

"What you got for me?" I was hoping he would get straight to the point. I could get in trouble with the guys upstairs if my celestial was tied up for too long.

"Texalina Press is interested in publishing your next book." Hmm, Texalina Press. Fairly well-known and somewhat prestigious firm. I think they were located in Pascagoula, Mississippi.

"Sounds good. What are the terms?"

"Well, there's a bit of a complication." Oh, oh. Why are there always complications?

"Like what?"

"Well, they're saying theological non-fiction is not that popular right now among the reading public. Theological fiction or theofiction as they like to call it is the hot button item on the current reading menu. They think there might be a little too much verisimilitude in your stories and wonder if you could spice them up a little."

"No way! I tell like it is and like it was."

"Now Nick, as your trusted literary agent, I wouldn't be doing 'ALL' (heh, heh, get the joke?) I could to make you successful if I didn't try to convince you that theofiction is the wave of the future as well as the particle of the present. Take for instance, Geofredo Derzen."

"Geofredo who?"

"Derzen, the most popular theofiction writer, as well as most gregarious Bible Scholar, of the current eon." Jaime still tended every once in a while to use Aztec Publishing Concern terminology.

"What's he written?"

"Many, many big sellers. His latest series is 'While Also Thinking About God'."

"Name some of his titles." In all my years I had never heard of this Derzen fellow.

"OK, how about 'How to Stay Free of Investigation by the Feds While Smoking a Havana Cigar and While Also Thinking About God'?"

"Never heard of it."

"Then there's 'The Really Bad Thing about Being Dumb While Also Thinking About God' and it's sequel, 'Geofredo Derzen Goes to the Outhouse While Also Thinking About God'."

The last one sounded familiar.

"And then there's his latest big seller: 'The First Idiot to Write a Book ...'."

"'While Also Thinking about God.'" I finished the title for him. Now that one struck a chord. Some friends in Goodsite had mentioned they had read it and had highly recommended it.

Looks like I had some deciding to do. Is it possible that Nick Neercassel, Theological Private (TPE), i.e., I work for God, where the pay is sub-standard, the hours are never-ending, but the post-season is a blast, could become a successful writer of theofiction?

Only time would tell.

THE END

Nick Neercassel: High Plains TPE

North by Southwest

The meeting with Mr. Marco went well. We talked and partook of a few OMs (Old Manitoba). Ms. Marco preferred Shagah No Pesada. Marco barbecued some mutton and we mixed it with tortillas and hot red peppers. When I left, I had agreed to make Marco my literary agent. I would send him a first draft for perusal in the next few months.

Hello, friends, my name is Nick Neercassel, Theological Private Eye (TPE), i.e., I work for the Cosmic Creator. The pay is lousy, the hours seem eternal, but there really is a pot of gold at the end of the celestial rainbow.

To my chagrin, I couldn't head straight east. The annual Cow Tossing Days in Dime Box were going on and anybody or anything in a 100 mile radius wasn't safe. Collateral damage had taken on a new meaning when that carnage carnival had been initiated. A detour was in order.

So I drifted north a few hundred miles until I was somewhere in the Texas Panhandle. On the way I listened to some old-timey gospel music. I heard one of my favorite gospel singers (now deceased), Kirk Harrilan, sing one of my favorite all time gospel songs:

"I'll see you in the rapture/ now and ever after/ I'll see you in the rapture/ One sweet day..."

So I was in a pretty darn good mood when I drove into East Deadwood, a small town on the high plains of Texas.

At first I thought I might be in a ghost town but evidence of life soon made an appearance in the guise of an ancient horse that held a just as ancient man. The man had whiskers down to his belt and wore a cowboy hat that must have been new back in the 19th century. I asked him:

"Is there a barbershop in town?" I had my missed my regular haircut appointment back in Goodsite when I had suddenly been sent to Alburquerque.

The old man squinted at me at for a while, then pointed down the street. Pointing seemed to take the wind out of him. He managed to pull himself together and then proceeded to ride off into the sunset (or what would be the sunset in a few more hours).

The barbershop was empty except for a middle-aged nervous guy. I didn't know why he was nervous. By design, all TPEs come off as non-threatenting. We intentionally look bland and act even blander. Blending into a crowd is a plus for a TPE.

"Welcome, sir, to the East Deadwood Hair Parlor. How can I help you today?"

"A haircut and a shave."

Things started off well. He had finished cutting my hair and was lathering my face when three burly men walked in.

"Well, lookie here, we got us a stranger in town." For some reason, the barber dropped the shaving brush and scampered into the back of the shop.

I grabbed a towel and wiped the lather off my face. "Howdy, fellas, I know why you're here."

"Huh?"

"You can't fool me. You're the town's welcoming committee and you stopped by to invite me to play a round of Disc Golf with you. Well, dadgummit, I accept." I had noticed the Disc Golf course on my way into town.

A TPE's best defense is always his ingenuity. Disarm the opponent intellectually and you usually don't have to worry about a physical reprisal.

THE END

Nick Neercassel Meets Mr. Marco

Desert Interlude II

I was unable just to simply pass through El Paso. I spent two days there soaking up the sights and chowing down on the local cuisine. I also caught up on some sleep.

Howdy, my name is Nick Neercassel and I'm a Theological Private Eye (TPE), i.e., I'm in the employ of a certain Lord God Almighty. The salary is skimpy, the hours are horrendous, but the 401K is literally paved with gold.

I left El Paso at around nine on a sunny Friday morning. About twenty-five miles out, I got a call from Third Heaven Central.

"Nick here. What's the assignment?"

"God Morning, Nick. This is Gabe; no assignment; just a message."

"Go ahead, Gabe."

"A guy who calls himself 'The ALL' wants to meet you at the Big Rock on Texas Farm Road 21124."

"Oh, you mean Mr. Marco. He's a literary agent."

"Writing another memoir?"

"I'm considering it. The first one didn't say all I wanted to say."

"I hear you. But why does he call himself 'The ALL'"?

"Oh, that stands for Alpha Literary Liaison."

Gabe then had a flash of memory. "Hey, isn't there a Jamie Marco that works for Aztec Publishing Concern?"

"One and the same." I replied.

"Do you mean Aztec Publishing Concern is publishing your book? Isn't that a conflict of interest?" There was surprise and a hint of outrage in Gabe's voice.

"Not really. Mr. Marco is retired from Aztec. He and his wife are traveling around the country in a RV. To keep himself sharp mentally, he dabbles in the literary agent business. Also, his fees are on the cheap side."

"How did you find about him?"

"He advertises at the OM (Old Miscellaneous) web site. I was ordering a couple of cases when I spotted his ad."

"What did it say?"

"ALL is out of God! Greetings, folks, my name is Jaime Marco, your Alpha Literary Liaison,  and I no longer work for the Aztec Publishing Concern. Yes, I'm out of the God business and find myself totally free to devote my talents to making money for aspiring authors. For a literary agent that puts you first (and whose fees are the cheapest in the business) email me at Jaime_Marco@theALL.com. Jamie Marco, A.L.L., Esquire.

"Pretty snappy. I'm guessing you e-mailed him?"

"Absolutely. As of yesterday, my first book had only sold six units and at $0.99 a unit, you're not talking mucho dinero. So I felt like I needed some help in the marketing department if I want my next book to be a big seller."

"Well, good luck." Gabe sounded genuinely encouraging as he ended the connection.

Big Rock turned out to be only a few hours away. As I approached I noticed a mauve and azure RV parked beside it. An elderly man and woman were sitting in lawn chairs underneath an awning jutting out from the side of the RV. The man stood up and held out his hand.

"Mr. Neercassel, I presume?"

THE END

Nick Neercassel and a Dog Named Grace

Desert Interlude

I seemed to be lost in a wilderness: a wilderness of corrugated cacti and tumbling tumbleweeds. My last case (or should I say pseudo-case) took me all the way to Tuscon, Arizona. Now I was headed back. But back to where?

Hi, my name is Nick Neercassel, Theological Private Eye (TPE), i.e., I work for the Big CEO in the Sky.The pay is measly, the hours are ridiculous, but the retirement package is more than adequate.

I'm leisurely taking the back roads from Tuscon to El Paso. Why be in a hurry to get back home to Goodsite, South Carolina? At any moment, the celestial (i.e., my celestial cell phone; the method by which I get my assignments from Third Heaven Central) could ring and I could be headed in an entirely different direction. But so far so good. The celestial has been silent for a couple of days and I'm finding March weather in the desert to be quite congenial. I'm driving a 67 Mustang convertible. The top is down and the wilderness that surrounds me seems downright hospitable. I'm not really lost but I don't plan to tell anyone I'm not.
I'm in an area untainted by commercial America. Even the road is barely paved and with just a nudge or two from Mother Nature, it could revert to a more primitive form. I decide to listen to the radio. And lo and behold, it's none other than the famous (or is that infamous) radio evangelist,  Sir William Worldwide.

I've never had the good fortune to deal with Reverend Worldwide but some of my fellow TPEs have. All I knew about Worldwide is what I gleaned at our annual TPE get togethers. Worldwide was apparently one of the more effective religious hucksters on the air waves and had managed to so far avoid the more egregious ways of being exposed as a huckster (such as embezzlement, fornication, etc.). If such practices were a part of his routine business dealings, he had found a successful way to conceal them. Only time would tell if he could continue to keep his pockets empty and his pants zipped. I decided to see what old Worldwide was saying today:

"Yes, friends, just remember that saving money won't save you! You need to support this worldwide ministry with your wallet. Let me tell you about a friend of this ministry. His name is Severe Travasar and he puts his money where his mouth is and his mouth is telling people that Reverend William Worldwide will lead them to God. Because of folks like Severe, we can record shows that will reach people all over the world! "


"But it won't be easy, friends. That old tail-buster, Satan himself, is out to get us and he's working fiendishly hard to put a stop to this great work, which I humbly submit, is the most important work being done today on earth. If you don't believe me, just ask my lovely assistant, Veronica. Veronica, what say you?"

"I'm saying Sir William that Jesus loves you and he loves me and he loves everybody, especially those who are right now on the phone with one of our credit associates pledging all they can to our great ministry!"

"Oh, so wonderful, Veronica! You bless an old man's heart. Now, friends, there are many doors that we need to open but to open them we need a mess of keys and those keys cost money! Remember, saving your money won't save you! Take it out of that savings account and send it to The Sir William Worldwide Worldwide Ministry..."

I turned off the radio. Sir William was still in fine form.

My tank was still about half full but not knowing how far it was before the next gas station, I decided to stop at a place called Stony's Aztec Gas & Grill. I pulled in by the self-service gas tank, got out of the car and wiped the desert dust off my clothes. I filled up the gas tank with my TPE credit card and then went into Stony's to buy some cold water. Luckily, Stony had my favorite bottled water: OM (Old Milwaukee).

As I was paying for the water, I noticed that the attendent looked familiar. Utilizing my TPE instincts, I asked him, "Are you the Stony of Stony's Aztec Gas & Grill?"


"Who else would I be?"

"You remind me of someone. Have you heard of Aztec Publishing Concern?"

"My brother works there."

"Is your brother Sony Allsurethinger?"

Stony looked at me suspiciously then his eyes opened in recognition. "You must be a Theological Private Eye!"

I laughed. "Guilty as charged. Hi, Stony, my name is Nick Neercassel. Please call me Nick."

"Hello, Nick, what brings you out to boonies? Working on some great theological mystery?"

"No, no cases at the moment. Just finished one in Tuscon. I'm headed back to South Carolina. Hey, didn't you also use to work at the Aztec Publishing Concern?"

Stony's expression suddenly turn sour. "I was Vice-President in charge of translating Chapter 9 of the Book of Hosea from Hebrew to Aztec. About two years ago, I reported to work one morning and discovered that my key no longer opened my office door. When I went to see the President, he informed me I had been transferred to the missionary division."

"Missionary work is important." I tried to sound convincing. I then glanced over Stony's shoulder to the shelf directly behind him. On the shelf were about 25 books, all of them the Aztec New Testament.

Stony wasn't convinced. "I've sold exactly three Aztec New Testaments in the two years I've been here and two of those were to an actor who was on his way to Hollywood and who was scheduled to play Montenzuma in a new movie called 'Montezuma's Revenge.'"

"If you're dissatisfied, why not just quit?"

"The bastards at Aztec did some legal wrangling and cheated me out of my pension fund."

"What did they do with it?"

"They gave it to some religious huckster who goes by the pretentious name of Sir William Worldwide."

Hmmm, looked liked I might be dealing with Worldwide sooner than I thought.

I didn't want to prolong Stony's agony by going over the excruciating details of what had happened to him. I'd just wait and see if Third Heaven Central assigned me to the case. No use filling my head with more religion gone wrong information. My brain could only hold so much at one time. Besides, I was attempting to enjoy a leisurely trip across the southern tier of the United States.

"Well, Stony, it was nice meeting you. Hope your missionary work goes well."

"Yea, sure." was all Stony could muster.

As I walked out of the store, I immediately noticed a black and white Heinz 57 mutt standing tensely beside the driver's side door of the Mustang. As I approached the car, the dog became more and more agitated. It started barking wildly but it wasn't barking at me. It was barking at the car! As you may remember, I had been driving with the convertible top down and when I got to the car instead of opening the door I peered over the side of it. My eyes went huge from fear and amazement. A rattlesnake was coiled in the floor mat area near the brake and the clutch.

Stony had heard the commotion and as he was coming outside I shouted to him. "There's a rattlesnake in my car!"

Stony immediately turned around and hurried back into the store. I thought he might be scurrying to safety but in a few moments he was coming back toward me but this time he was holding a stick that looked to be about ten feet long. At the end of the stick was a grappling hook of some kind. He gingerly lowered the hook toward the snake and after some deft manipulation of the hook he lifted the rattlesnake up into the air. The sight of the snake suspended in the air set the dog off on another round of antic barking. Stony then proceeded to walk behind the store where he disposed of the snake. He was matter of fact about the whole thing. I got the feeling dealing with rattlers was part of his daily experience.

I was overwhelmed with relief and when Stony returned I thanked him profusely.

"Don't thank me, thank the dog."

"Yes, of course, what's his name?"

"It's not a he, it's a she and her name is Grace."

I patted the dog's head. "Thank you, Grace!"

It wasn't the first time I'd been 'Saved by Grace'.

THE END