"I had a convert one time in Lebanon tell me about this dream she had before coming to church. This Muslim refugee told me that she had a dream that Jesus had told her to go to Lebanon and then a short time later she was speaking in tongues as the spirit gave her utterance and serves the Lord to this day. If the Lord can bring saints from war torn Syria then He can bring saints to you!" —Brother A

Esperanza Ciela

I was surprised that the little city of Nike had a taxi surface that'd take me all the way to Adnah. Nike was the biggest and pretty much the only city in the area but was tiny compared to Houston or Corpus Christi with only thirty thousand people. Southern Texas geography-wise was mostly flatlands and meadows. Or did they call them prairies down here? After doing a bit of research I was worried when I found out that a rock studio's news team had dubbed Nike as the most boring city in Texas. The taxi stopped on a dirt path jutting off the blacktop roads of Adnah. Cordelia Apartments and RV Park was behind the Wildwood Apartments. The park was a collection of rent houses built by some old lady for her to rent out. My friend had said that I could move in with her if I ever needed to. The old lady's setup was rather smart, she'd save her retirement with the income from the rent.

I paid the taxi and walked up the gravel path. Rolling my briefcase over loose stones and knocking on the larger house's door in the back of the lot it seemed like the landlord wasn't home. My dog tags jingled at my neck and I stretched my bad hand in its brace. The smell of mown grass floated about on the air. My friend told me that she lived here. This has to be the place, but there's like no place to apply for a room and certainly no receptionist to help a floundering out-of-state guest like me. No one has had a word with my friend for two weeks, the landlord had to know where she went.

The buzz of a weed-eater came out from around the corner of the house. From my peripheral vision, it looked like a young man was using it but once I focused on the man I realized he wasn't young at all. The Caucasian was fifty or sixty, and looked very fit for his age. When he met my gaze I recognized his blind eye and a few implications it brought. It wouldn't be mean for me to assume that this guy was a boxer or even kickboxer. By the way he stood, his physique, and the eye I felt like he was still doing it on the side. He seemed startled when he saw me, despite his possibly iffy appearance his voice was soft and friendly.

"Hello there ma'am! I didn't see you."

Hmmm, polite. He wiped the sweat from his bald held as I asked him where my friend was over the sound of the weed-eater. Not hearing me, he cut the machine off and I repeated the question.

"Oh her? She was evicted like two weeks ago."

I was NOT wanting to hear that...

Despite myself I smiled, trying my best to be friendly saying, "Excuse me?"

"Yeah, me and a friend of mine helped move her out. Put her stuff by the road."

Taking a deep breath I asked, "Do you know where she went?"

"Hmmm, one sec." He yelled out towards the other side of the house, "Hey! Richie!"

When that blonde haired guy came around the corner with those pecs and green eyes I about fell over. His face was military serious though, and his white wife-beater had a few grass stains on the cotton. He was standing over a waist-high picket fence; the cliché white washed wood hiding his pants and shoes.

"Yes sensei?"

I knew the old guy had something up his sleeve...

"Do you remember that one chick from two months back?"

"The girl picking fights with my baby momma? How could I forget?"

...and I should have know that this boy was taken. The good looking ones always are. Then what he just said registered in my head. I also remembered being drunk when I was talking to her about two weeks ago but I wasn't going to tell these guys that. I asked,

"Wait, she was causing drama?!"

Silent, the blonde bore his eyes into me like a drill sergeant and it was slowly beginning to irk me to no end. The older gentleman cleared his throat, saying,

"Let's not worry about that. The past is the past. So, Richy?"

He left the question open ended to which Richy replied, "Nah, I don't know where she is. Probably went to Houston... or jail. Was a big weed head."

"The judge here is notorious for being hardcore." The older gentleman explained, "A guy came in from Houston in-and-out, in-and-out for burglary. When he got caught in Adnah? Well..." he couldn't help but smirk, "we won't be seeing him for ten or twenty years."

Oh no, nonononono! I held it in, thanked the two men and walked back up the path until I was out of sight and earshot. Somewhat alone I screamed and cussed before trying to call my parents. They were successful landscapers from Santa Ana, trimming trees for hotshots and movie stars living in the Bay Area. However, they probably don't even know that I left; I bet they're trying to parade for the secession of Jefferson again or something. Regardless, my phone kept losing signal.

"Ugh, this is hella bad!" I exclaimed.

As I continued to try and call someone—anyone I heard a little car putter behind me and saw what I assumed was a 1999 Isuzu Rodeo pull up beside me. The older man from earlier rolled down the window and asked,

"Hey, you looked like you needed some help. Do you need a ride?"

I scrutinized his gesture for a moment.

"Ride? With a stranger?"

"It's the same concept as a taxi or Uber."

"What about your boy?" I asked, flicking my head towards Richy's former direction.

"His son was sassing with mom. He'll finish up for me."

I thought a long moment before a sigh.

"How much?"

"Don't worry about it."

"Really?"

"Yeah! I gotcha."

I made an uneasy gesture and then decided.

"Anything funny and I'll kill you."

"Throw your bag in back." He said, unfazed.

Once I was inside we started down the road in silence. That didn't last long, after we turned the corner and hit the highway he asked,

"What branch?"

"Army." I droned, not wanting to elaborate. He took the hint and nodded awkwardly; tilting his head to the side to compensate for his blind eye as he drove.

"That's good, that'll get you a bit of respect in town. I'm assuming you need a place to stay?"

I nodded, but then noticed that I was on his blind side and said, "Yeah."

I asked him a few questions about himself and he was still non threatening and spoke in a soft manner. He told me that his name was Mason and that he was using his retirement on running a little self-defense dojo of sorts. When he wasn't doing that the landlord had cut him a deal for him to be a handyman or he worked at a gas station. It kinda surprised me, now I'm constantly wondering how many people in random corner stores have been black belt martial artists in the past. Definitely wouldn't want to be the idiot to rob his store.

Mason was kind enough to show me around the town and take me to all of the apartments currently renting in town. A newer complex was charging nine-hundred; I would need a solid fifteen-dollar per hour job to hold off anything like that by myself. I can't believe that my friend was so stupid. What was she thinking?! This isn't Southern California, this was Jefferson on roids when it came to the possession of drugs. Shaking my head as I thought Mason asked me,

"You hungry? I have some friends at a local restaurant that might know some people who could be renting."

I wasn't really hungry, but at this point I was desperate for a place I could stay.

"Is your landlord renting?"

"Sorry, she's full."

With a sigh I let him take me to the 'biggest' food place in town: Whataburger. After all, he's taken me to half a dozen different places in town; I think I can trust him for a little while longer. Walking inside a jovial voice greeted,

"Welcome to Whata-" the young man at the counter stopped mid sentence and was slim, didn't seem religiously athletic like Richy or Mason, but his eyes and the way he looked at me brought a smile to my face. I almost busted out laughing actually, the smitten look on his face was priceless. Then there was the glasses, brown eyes, orange longe-sleeve and pleated slacks. Reading his 'William' name tag and looking him over for a second I'd say he was...

He was...

Eh, he was a five-outta-ten.

Then he smiled. Ooh, dimples and straight teeth, maybe six-outta-ten.