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I hold my hand up in a wave and leave. Once I’m back in my car, I start it up and keep her in my peripheral vision as I pull out.
I can’t help but grin when I see her in my rearview. She can really move when she wants to. Dashing across the parking lot, she almost trips, barely catches herself, and finally jumps into her little Camry to follow me.
“Oh, sweetheart.” I laugh as she keeps that same distance. I suppose she thinks it’s safe. But there’s a reason I’ve never introduced myself or gone over to visit my neighbor. With me, nothing’s safe.
I speed onto the interstate, and she follows. She isn’t giving up this time. She’s tried this before, but she never makes it to the on-ramp. Tonight, though, she’s committed. I let her follow me and go a normal speed to make it easy for her. She keeps up, though she signals with every lane change and even when she justthinksof changing lanes, but doesn’t actually do it. Does she have any idea how fucking adorable she is?
I signal far in advance of the next exit, then turn off onto one of the dark downtown streets. She edges up behind me at a red light, her eyes doing their damndest to see through my midnight tint. I turn and go a few blocks before parking on the street in front of Our Lady of Sorrows.
A faint drizzle falls, chilling the air and slicking the road, but she doesn’t seem bothered. She pulls in a few spots back and turns off her lights. Hunching down in the driver’s seat, she watches me with those big green eyes. I check my weapons once more before getting out and taking the stairs two at a time into the church.
The late Mass drones around me as I slide into one of the back pews. Attendance is sparse. A few widows here and there along with some older men, most of them bent with age and piety.
The door squeaks open behind me and she steps timidly inside.
Now she has to make a decision. She can either sit across the aisle from me or in front of me, but she can’t sit behind me. So it’s either be seen or slink away into the night. The priest is already looking at her, his gaze sharp. Knowing her, she won’t want to be stared at, especially not like that.
I can hear her take a deep breath as she sits primly in the pew to my right. Her scent floats around me. It’s the lotion she wears. She has particular favorites according to the season. They’re arranged neatly on her vanity in the northwest corner of her bedroom. The one she’s wearing now is Marshmallow Pumpkin Spice, and I have to say it’s one of my favorites.
She still wears the cute kitten T-shirt, and I wonder if there’s a bra underneath. One quick look tells me that no, there isn’t, and yes, she’s cold. I adjust my hardening cock and drape one arm over the back of the pew.
I can feel her eyes on me. She does her best to pretend she’s listening to Father Elliot, but she hasn’t heard a single word from his mouth. Instead, her brow has been wrinkled as she tries to figure me out.
I rise when the priest requires. She gets to her feet, too, her head bowed as he finishes the prayers and makes the sign of the cross.
The parishioners fill the aisle, some of them using walkers as they make their way to the front to light a candle.
She doesn’t move.
Neither do I.
Eventually, Father Elliot has shaken everyone’s hand and strides down the aisle to greet me. “Heath. So good to have you in my flock this evening.”
“Thanks, Father.” I give him a respectful nod.
“Come to volunteer for preparing the lunches for tomorrow?”
“Of course.”
He smiles, his wizened face and watery blue eyes showing his age. “Then come along to the kitchen. Maryanne and Linda are already hard at work with Father Levi overseeing. They could use a man like you to help with the heavy lifting.”
I pat him on the elbow as I exit my pew.
Lena’s mouth is wide open as I make my way toward the pulpit, then head right and pass through a door to the classrooms, kitchen, and gathering hall. I pause at one of the stained glass windows and peer through Saint Peter’s heavenly aura as she slinks out into the night. She gives one more look at the church, then walks to her car. Once she’s safely inside and driving away, I pull a blade from my sleeve but keep it tucked away.
“Maryanne.” I smile as I enter the kitchen, and the elderly nun waves me over and gives me a hug. With one arm, I return it.
“So good to see you, young man.”
“Where’s Father Levi?” I look down at her.
“You’ve come?” Her eyes widen as she stares at me. Can she see death in my eyes? She clutches my arm. “You’re here for him? Finally?” She clasps her hands together and whispers a prayer. “I was hoping it was you.”
I put a finger to my lips. The Taletti family is many things--killers, drug dealers, thieves--but when there’s a wolf in their midst, particularly one that preys on children, they hire a man like me to take care of it. I’ve been volunteering at the church for the past few months, gathering evidence and getting to know my mark. I only just turned in my dossier on him this morning. I suppose Maurice Taletti had heard enough from the nuns, seen enough from my report, and decided it was time.
Usually, a bullet in the back of the head is the safest, quickest way to dispose of a man. But this one? The one who thought he could hurt children in the house of God? No. I’m going to do him slow.
Linda, the other nun, points me toward the large walk-in pantry and makes the sign of the cross as I pass. She knows, just as Father Elliot knows, that I’m here for one reason. It’s not to prepare lunches for the shut-ins. It’s to deliver justice.
