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corn. I’ll be leaving now.”
    I took the pot of sugar under my other arm, then left.
    But where was I to go next?
    Should Harry interview other Amish in town? If so, click here .
    Should Harry try to find Lulu? If so, click here .
    Should Harry quit this case and take another one about assassination? If so, click here .
    To return to the previous section, click here .

There I was, surrounded by Amish. But I wasn’t going to allow myself to get intimidated by a bunch of tolerant, God-fearing pacifists. Not in my America, the land of Chuck Norris, who is so tough that he wipes his ass with Arnold Schwartzenegger.
    I moved in on the nearest one, the old guy I’d been slapping around, and hit him so hard it knocked out his entire family’s teeth. Then I spun around, kicking another Amos in the chest, knocking him back into the corn where no doubt some creepy Stephen King children would sacrifice him to an unholy monster, maybe.
    The Amish knew the best offense was a good defense, so they fled into the field, hoping to overpower me by retreating. I followed, pushing corn out of my way, coming to a round clearing in the middle of the field. All of the crops were neatly broken, in a giant circle.
    How odd. One might even call it alien.
    “Hey! Anyone there?”
    Whoever wasn’t there didn’t answer.
    I shivered. It was getting dark out. Dark and spooky. I realized that a lot of nocturnal animals came out at night. Some were very scary, like panthers. And piranha.
    Then I saw a bright flash of eerie, green light from above. I squinted up at it. Was it God? Or just some asshole in a helicopter with a search light?
    But I didn’t hear helicopter propellers. Just a strange, otherworldly humming sound.
    Was I having a religious experience in the middle of this cornfield? Maybe God was mad because I’d broken all of his commandments, except that false idol one, but only because I had no idea what it meant. Did people in old times actual pray to idols? What morons. Didn’t they know it was much smarter to pray to an imaginary, ethereal being?
    Then, somehow, through some supernatural miracle, God beamed me up and I was suddenly in heaven, surrounded by angels. Except that heaven looked a lot like a high tech space laboratory, and the angles were little green people with big, bald heads and ray guns.
    “So,” I said, “which one of you ugly guys is Jesus?”
    Then one of the angels zapped me with some sort of heavenly stun laser, paralyzing me.
    “Puny earth human,” he said, “we are Reptiloids from the planet Reptilon in the Reptilish Galaxy. We will first probe you with our uncomfortable butt devices, then force you to fight in intergalactic gladiator games for the amusement of a live, television audience.”
    I squinted at him. “Look, I know I missed church on a few Sundays. Like all of them. But there’s no need to be a dick about it.”
    The little green angels surrounded me, strapped me face-first to a table, and then violated me in ways that I normally paid $39.95 for at my local massage parlor. But there was no happy ending this time. Instead, I was dressed in some sort of cheap, plastic armor and dropped in the middle of a stainless steel coliseum, the rafters filled with thousands of ugly green dudes waving banners that said, “Death to Earthlings” and “This Isn’t Heaven You Dumb Ass.”
    “Enough!” I yelled, my voice all echoey in the arena. “I demand to speak to St. Peter. First of all, I don’t even remember dying. Second of all, I actually don’t believe in God. The whole Intelligent Design argument is moronic. An intelligent designer would have eliminated the need for flossing. And toilet paper. And what’s with kidney stones? What kind of all knowing, all powerful being would…”
    My words trailed off when I saw a gate open and a tyrannosaurus rex stomp out.
    A tyrannosaurus rex ridden by a zombie.
    Acting quickly, I panicked. Panic soon became frantic running around in tight circles