What Would Satan Do? Read Free

or more emergency vehicles.
    “I—I don’t understand what—”
    “This!”  Satan grabbed the student by the collar, and flung his free arm out to indicate all of this.  He smiled broadly, but then let go, jerking back at the sound of a distressed cry from the squirrely girl, whose hand he’d apparently been standing on.  He took a moment to kick her and turned back to face the student in the sweater. 
    The young man made a confused, squinty face at the Devil. 
    “Nope,” said Satan, surveying the damage he’d done.  “Not happening.”  He spun, his eyes wide and defiant, and grabbed the young man by the sweater again, this time with more enthusiasm.  “But what if it is?”

Chapter 2.                  Behold: Megachurch
    Pastor William Earl Cadmon stood on the stage of his church and practiced smiling.  He’d just had veneers installed, and felt as if he were shining a spotlight every time he opened his mouth – kind of a toothy Bat Signal.  He flexed his jaw a couple of times and wriggled his lips, doing a pretty good Mr. Ed impression – he’d just have to get used to his new teeth before the service tomorrow.  He closed his lips, pursing them as he did so, turned his head slightly to the left, and made his eyes all action-hero squinty.  There were no cameras on him, but he found it was always best to practice as if there were. 
    The old stadium seemed cozier now – replacing the metal railings and folding chairs with wood paneling and upholstered seats had helped – but it still didn’t seem all that churchy.  He’d have to fix that.  At some point.
    He looked up at the rows and rows of empty seats, and thought about coming here with his Mom back when it was called the Pinnacle Arena to see his father perform with the circus.  It was hard to imagine trapeze artists, lions, and elephants where he now preached the Word of God TM .  Down on the floor – in the “Corinthians” section, rows J, K, and L – was where it had happened.  He pictured the little red car, his dad, and the other clowns – those heartless bastards – and closed his eyes to say a quiet prayer. 
    Bill Cadmon was the pastor of Austin’s Driftwood Fellowship, a non-denominational, evangelical Christian megachurch.  It was the biggest house of worship in the world, if you didn’t count those Korean jerks and their Yoshi-yosho-buttrado-Kung-Pao thing.  Cadmon sure didn’t.  After all, he ran a live, closed-circuit feed to a whole other campus every Sunday.  Plus, his television ministry reached out to over twenty million people in more than one hundred countries every week.  And anyway, they were friggin’ Koreans.  They could just go suck it.
    He stepped down off the stage and walked the aisles, pausing here and there to thumb through stacks of promotional materials piled on the seats – like he did every week.  These days it was just a spot check, but when he’d started, he’d taken a sort of pride in making sure that everything was in order; that each and every person who came in had a copy of the week’s program.  But the church had grown – exploded really – so he’d long since had to delegate that task.  And nowadays, folks got way more than just a program.  They got glossy, full-color brochures advertising all kinds of interesting, faith-based services that the church now offered.  But he still liked to walk the aisles.
    As he worked his way up the lower bowl of the arena, Cadmon thought about what an insane ride it had been over the last few years.  He’d begun expanding his business empire – “ fellowship ,” he reminded himself – with a line of books, taking the catchy phrase, “What would Jesus do?” and turning it into faith-based guidance for daily living.  His most recent book – How Would Jesus Lose Weight? – was at the top of the New York Times Best Seller List, and had been there for six weeks already. 
    More recently, the fellowship had begun