Preacher (The Untouchables MC 5)

I was like a giant gorilla, ready to reach into her window and snatch out the pretty lady in a white dress.

One thing was for sure. She wasn’t walking home alone again. Not as long as I was here. Not ever again, if I had anything to say about it. I’d stay here forever, working in this damn church, just to walk the lady home.

My eyes were still closed, but I smiled when I heard the swish of yet another paper being slid underneath my door. It was early. I was still in bed.

Well, technically, I was still ‘in couch’.

I couldn’t bring myself to take Paul’s bed. And the second bedroom had two twin beds in it, both short enough that my legs would hang off the end. The couch wasn’t bad, either. Big and firm, it was even clean. The damn thing was just under the window, though, and that window let in a lot of light. Light and sound.

Kids going to the school one block over. The church starting to buzz to life. There was a preschool here, too, so lots of adorable squealing. I knew from Paul that the preschool was where Cynthia had first started working. Before she took over the entire operation.

Cynthia was like a little general, running this place with military precision.

I grinned while covering my eyes from the harsh morning light.

I’d sure like her to manage me.

I groaned as I sat up, my body already pissed at me for getting up at this ungodly hour. It wasn’t even close to ten AM. I grumbled to myself as I staggered to the kitchen to make coffee. I usually managed to stay horizontal until at least noon. I was annoyed at how eager I was to start the day. The little lady might not like me, but she was already a good influence.

That might be her only bad trait, I decided. And she wasn’t even doing it on purpose. I doubted she was aware of the whole ‘making me want to be a better man’ thing that was happening. I splashed water on my face and slid into my jeans, tugging a black T-shirt over my head. I poured a cup and stepped outside to smoke my cigar. Coffee and a smoke. That was the way to start the day.

I dragged one of the kitchen chairs into the courtyard and looked around, wondering when the last time I’d seen this side of ten AM was. Other than at the ass end of an all-nighter, of course.

Who the fuck are you fooling, old man?

“Mornin’, Preacher,” chirped Clarice as she hustled through, pausing to give me a flirtatious smile with her precision-painted lips.

“What are you up to?”

“Teaching yoga! You should come!”

I squinted at her, wondering how she got her ornate makeup so perfect at this time of day.

“Did you get up at five AM to make yourself look so pretty?”

She blushed and flapped her hands at me.

“Preacher! You know how to turn a girl’s head!”

I chuckled and waved her off. If only that were true. I had a feeling that if I told Cynthia she was pretty, I would get smacked.

Or maced.

I prayed that pretty girl had mace in her pocket while walking around a neighborhood like this. Not that it was all bad. I’d seen the smiling faces. The people here were good, for the most part. They deserved better than the violence and crime that plagued low income areas like this.

Hell, the locals were starting to grow on me and I’d only been here a few days.

I unfolded Cynthia’s note and read it while I sipped and smoked. This time, it wasn’t a calendar. It was a list, neatly printed out in some sort of word processing program. It was a list that was pretty clearly the bare minimum of ‘shit I have to do’.

Spiritual counseling hours every afternoon in Paul’s office in the annex. Okay. I could do that.

Sermon on Sundays, 10:30 AM. I could speak to the word of God. Not a problem.

Picnics and fundraisers. There were several coming up, apparently. Fine. Okay.

Youth group.

Apparently, Paul and Cynthia ran a youth group together. I’d seen the dance crew, but this was something else. They did outreach projects and stuff. It was after school but before my open office hours. I could do that. I liked kids. And being around Cynthia is never a hardship, I thought with a grin.

At the bottom, she had scrawled the words Please be sober. Well, hell. That did put a bit of a cramp in my style. I scratched my chin, wondering how she had wised up to my ways.

Probably because you sweat tequila when you’re around her, you old dog.

I wandered back inside and poured myself another cup of coffee. I was tempted to spike it with whisky, but the lady had been clear. Not that a shot of whisky would get an old buzzard like me drunk. My liver was pretty much made of titanium at this point.