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“There are several. Do you have a favorite?”
“Yeah. But you don’t know it.”
“Relax,” he says. “You look like you’re going to the dentist to have a cavity filled. I promise you, it doesn’t hurt.”
“It better not.”
Traven reaches for the sin-eater snacks, but I get there first.
He says, his smile gentler now, “It’s going to be all right. I promise you.”
“I know. Sit down and hold out your hands.”
“Why?”
“Shut up, Father, and do what you’re told.”
He sits with his hands out.
“You look like Oliver Twist,” I say.
“I feel a little foolish.”
“It’s going to get worse.”
I put the bread on his upturned hands, sprinkle on the holy water, and salt.
“What are you doing?” he says. “This isn’t a game.”
“I’m not playing. So shut up.”
I put a hand on his shoulder and recite the only thing close to a prayer I can think of: the lyrics to Johnny Cash’s “Rusty Cage.”
When I’m done, I shove the bread in my mouth and chew. It’s dry. I’d kill for some Aqua Regia, but I’d even take flounder juice right now. When I finally manage to swallow the last of it, I take a swig of holy water to wash it down.
“There. Done,” I say. “You’re absolved.”
He looks up at me.
“Why did you do that?”
“Whatever you’ve done down here, including with the Magistrate, it’s gone now.”
He sits there, looking stunned.
“I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”
“Someone around here has to get to Heaven, and it sure as hell isn’t going to be me.”
“You’re wrong,” he says. “You’re a good man.”
“I’m a good man who’s late getting back. Take care of yourself.”
He reaches out and grabs my hands between both of his.
“We’ll come through this. We’ve made it through worse.”
“Make me a list of worse and I’ll let you know if I agree.”
