City Slicker

‘No, no, listen. It’s foolproof. You’ll be a martyr for a few days while they lock you up and then -’  

The carpenter interrupted, ‘What? They’ll just let me out? I’ll be an enemy of the state. No, I’ll be the enemy of two states.’

The other man adjusted his smart clothes, entirely unsuitable for the wide open spaces outside the city.

‘You know they don’t count, the real power just lets The San decide on  - well, you know the sort of stuff. Who can do the banking outside the big place in town, that sort of caper. Ol’ PP didn’t care about that did he? Come on, man, it’s foolproof, I tell you. You’ll be the talk of the town, the country, the empire … The World.

‘Why would I want that?’

‘Why wouldn’t you? Why wouldn’t anybody?’

‘If I agree – and I mean if – I don’t want Peter involved. Get him out of the way, somehow.’

‘Ok, Boss.’

‘I’ve told you about that. I am not the boss.’

He wasn’t a carpenter either, not now. He looked out over the desert landscape. Looking for clues to what he should do. Jude had always been too slick for his own good. That’s why they’d all called him the City Slicker from the very beginning. Always planning, looking for the edge, trying to round off the corners of any square deal. He was useful though. Always looked after the money from all the donations. And there were too many of those. All from the people who could least afford it. His own inclination was to give it all back to them or to those who were worse off still. Jude spent most of his time stopping him.

He looked down at his hands. A workman’s hands, still – three years after he’d last picked up a saw or a plane. Fate would have to decide. What could go wrong? Besides, he was tired. People expected miracles all the time. What kind of man could give them that?

Jude would do what Jude would do. There was nothing for it, but to wait and see how it turned out.

‘Okay, Jude, let’s do it.’

[Iscariot (Hebrew)
איש־קריות can be translated as Man of Cities]