The Madness of Mercury by Connie Di Marco

haven’t heard of him? Look at this!” Cheryl handed me a flyer advertising daily services every evening at six o’clock. The page was peppered with Biblical quotations and at the center was a photo of a man in long robes, his arms outstretched as if welcoming his flock. He wore a saintly expression. His hair was combed back into a high pompadour. “While those freaks were picketing the Eye, they were passing these out to everyone on the street.”
    “What do they want? Where did this guy come from?”
    “Crawled out of the swamps of Louisiana apparently. He’s supposed to be a real ordained minister, but it looks more like revival stuff to me. He’s here, he says”—Cheryl’s voice dropped to a mocking tone—“because San Francisco is a hotbed of blasphemy and devil worship.” She slammed a pile of books on the counter. “He’s on television. He’s got that ridiculous show, Prophet TV . They should call it Profit TV, as in ‘send me money.’” She took a deep breath. “He’s raising hell all over town. His followers call themselves the Army of the Prophet and they target anyone who speaks out against them. He’s after the gays, the strip clubs, abortion clinics, occult bookshops like ours, psychics, you name it.” Cheryl hesitated when she saw the expression on my face. “What is it?”
    “A few days ago, the paper printed one of my Zodia responses. A woman wrote because she was worried her mother was planning to sign over her property to some religious group. I just remembered. Could it be the same group?”
    “What did you write to her?”
    “Just the obvious, I guess. Advice to have this church checked out, find a lawyer to deal with the situation. My thought was that the mother was martyring herself. I think I spouted off a bit about scams and false prophets. It wouldn’t be the first time my big mouth got me in hot water. I can go back and check my emails.”
    “Well, now you know why they’re after you. But you’re not the only one, believe me. I’ve got a call in to Gale. She’ll have a fit! The cops chased those psychos off today, but they’ll be back.”
    “Cheryl, this is the twenty-first century. It’s San Francisco. Who would listen to this guy?”
    “Every nut job from Sonoma County to Daly City and beyond, apparently. He’s got a big following. They hold meetings at the old theater on Mason Street, and they fill the house if you can believe it.” Her voice was rising. She was still upset.
    I filled Cheryl in on the details of the emails and the threatening phone call. “I’m sure my personal information was leaked from the newspaper. How else could they know where I live and my home phone number? I don’t advertise. My clientele is strictly word of mouth, and I always know who’s referred whom.”
    “What do they have to say at the paper?”
    “They’ve promised to investigate. But the horse is out of the barn, or whatever the expression is, if they know where I live.”
    “I hate bigots.” Cheryl slammed another pile of books down on the counter.
    I smiled. “I think that’s an oxymoron. But if you’re going to hate any group, why not bigots?” I finished unpacking the last box and dusted off my hands.
    “What are you doing now?” Cheryl asked.
    “I figured I’d stop up the hill to see Dorothy.”
    “Oh,” Cheryl gasped. “I’m so sorry. I totally spaced. Gale called this morning and told me what happened. I was just so caught up with the chaos here, it slipped my mind. Are you sure you want to go back?”
    “I think Dorothy could use the company, and her aunt is a new client. I was checking the aunt’s lunar returns and I promised I’d see her today. But do you need me here? I’d be glad to help out.”
    “No, that’s okay. We’re hardly busy, as you can see. The police promised to check a couple more times before their shift ends. Frankly, it was weird, now that I think of it.” Cheryl stared off into space. “They didn’t seem all that