Preacher (The Untouchables MC 5)

I’d done a little searching in the parsonage before making the call. There was another drawer full of unopened medical bills in the dining room. I guess at some point, Paul had taken a page from my book and just said ‘fuck it.’

“You’re working in a church? With normal people?” Cain asked, his voice sounding strangled.

I sighed heavily.

“Yes.”

Silence.

I jerked my ear away from the phone as Cain’s booming laughter filled the courtyard. I’d never heard him laugh that hard. I’d never heard anyone laugh that hard.

To tell the truth, it was pretty funny.

“Have your fun, you fuck. Then help me find my friend.”

“The church hasn’t fallen down yet? Struck by lightening? Plague of locusts?”

“No. But I give my first sermon on Sunday, so there’s still time.”

He was still chuckling as he asked me rapid-fire questions about the type of cancer Paul had (lung), his habits (not many), and friends and family (none to speak of other than the good people of his church).

“I don’t want him dying alone,” I said at the end of the conversation. “Even if he doesn’t want to be found, I need to know he’s not alone.”

“Got it. I might send someone down there to ask around.”

“I have a spare room.”

“Any chance Paul would have access to a fake ID?”

“I doubt it, but anything is possible.”

“Good. Trace will get on this. If he took public trans, there’s going to be a record. That should point us in the right direction.”

“Thanks, man. I owe you for this.”

“Oh, trust me, you have already paid me back in entertainment.”

I made a sour face. I knew I was never going to hear the end of this. But again, I got the joke.

I was filthy and disreputable. I was not fit company for regular folk. And yet here I was, doing my best to steer the congregation. I was about to, anyway.

“I’m sorry about your friend,” Cain added.

“Thanks, man. Appreciate this.”

I hung up and put out my stogie, trying hard to ignore Cynthia as I went back inside the office. It was too hard to look without leering like a filthy old man, even if that’s what I was. I had to at least try not to be a revolting pig who wanted to do profane things to her on her desk. And my desk. The floor. The supply closet. Hell, I’d take her in the church if she’d let me.

I’d take her on the altar.

I didn’t even have to fuck her. I just wanted to look and touch and taste. Lord knew, I wanted to taste that honey-colored skin just to see if it tasted as sweet as it looked.

I glanced upward with a shrug of apology to the big guy in the sky. God knew I was no liar. I might be filthy minded and immoral, but I was no liar.

I sat behind the desk, letting my eyes slide inevitably toward the beauty sitting in the small room just outside my open double doors. There was no use in fighting it. I was going to stare. She was typing furiously, intent on the screen.

I should have known she had spider senses.

She spoke without looking up from her work.

“There’s a white noise machine by the door. Paul turns it on when someone comes in.”

“If someone comes in,” I said dryly, not expecting any takers.

But they did. My first case was a shy housewife who was unhappy in her marriage, even though she deeply loved her husband. The man was borderline abusive, but not physically. I gave her a couple of things to try when his temper was high. Mostly, ignoring him when he acted like an ass and rewarding good behavior. If it didn’t work, we would talk again.

I didn’t want to tell her to leave the man just yet, but it was a close thing. I had practically tasted the words on my lips. No woman deserved to be berated day in and day out. But I knew a lot of women were.

I believed that people could learn to be better. You just couldn’t give them endless chances.

A couple of older people came in just to talk and introduce themselves. They didn’t have so much a spiritual crisis but more a weariness and a hope for more for their neighborhood.

I was busier than I thought. So much so that two hours had passed before I saw a real lull.

The evening classes were going to start in an hour when there was a soft knock at the door. I looked up to see Marcus waiting shyly. I saw Cynthia discreetly pack up her bag and make herself scarce.

“Come in, Marcus.”

He nodded and took the seat across from me. He looked at me. I looked at him. Nobody spoke.

“What can I do for you?” I asked.

“I seen something. Something people shouldn’t be doing. I don’t like it. But I don’t want to be a snitch.”