Juke had no problem with Jesus Christ. In fact, he tried, successfully, to divorce himself from all religious affiliation ninety-nine percent of the time. His only real religion was results. In whatever form they took. Be they by methods of voodoo, prayer, animal sacrifice, or just plain good juju. Juke Edwards would have rain danced his way to eternal damnation if it meant miraculously transforming a silk handkerchief into a dove on command. His first try dabbling in the black arts had occurred somewhere in South America at the age of twelve.

One of the local street gangs had a fierce hatred for the occupying Catholic Church to the point that they truly believed themselves “Devil Worshippers,” or at the very least, true disciples of discord. He had been caught by a man who wore a black robe wit...

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