The morning dew covers the windows on a local dock diner that resonates with the decor of a surfer’s pit stop. The aged wooden trim of the building gives it a piratical feel. A large wooden sign creeks showing a pirate under a full moon with his moon showing.
St. Peter and St. James walk into the Full Moon and the sign creaks. In the corner of the room is the Disciple, sitting in a booth. Dolores, a waitress, smiles at the two men, and they point in the direction of where the Disciple is currently sitting.
“Thanks Dolores,” St. Peter says with a wink and a smile in Dolores’s direction. The Disciple stands and shakes both of their hands. “What are we eating, my man?” St. Peter says.
“I just got us some coffee. I didn’t quite know what you guys wanted,” the Disciple says as he shakes while sipping his coffee. “I have to run to the bathroom real quick,” he continues.
St. James smiles hesitantly at him and watches as he walks to the bathroom. St. Peter pulls out the envelope from God, and hands it to St. James. St. Peter take a sip of his coffee.
As St. Peter stirs in more sugar into his coffee, St. James opens the letter.
The Disciple looks over his shoulder at the two Saints at the table. He grabs the pay phone, pulls out a business card with the name John Samuels, FBI agent on it. The phone rings and John Samuels picks up.
“Hello, this is Detective Samuels.”
“This is Matt. I did as you said and they’re here, now come and book them. I want my life back.”
“Listen, we have nothing on these guys that will stick yet, bud. I mean no one’s talking. All the evidence is in your hands. You make a move and get these guys caught in the act, and as we discussed, you’re a free man.”
“Are you fucking kidding me here? They’re onto me, I know it. I have a bad feeling about all this.”
The Disciple wipes some perspiration from his forehead, and looks back at the two Saints at the table. “Look, I think they have something at the dock on the Super Bowl, but they haven’t let me know shit yet.”
“There we go, that’s a start! Now relax and take a deep breath, and leave the detective work to us. Get the hard evidence and you get your life back. We’ll monitor the docks on the Super Bowl.”
“Fuck…” the Disciple takes a deep breath. “Okay…” he says as he hangs up the phone.
St. James finishes reading the letter and wipes the sweat from his brow. He exhales and looks at St. Peter. “Heavy right? You think you can handle it?” St. Peter says as St. James picks up the salt on the table.
“What am I supposed to do, put salt in his coffee and hope his blood pressure will rise? I’m not sure I can do this.” St. James says as St. Peter shakes his head with laughter.
“It’s not up to you anymore. It’s part of the job man,” St. Peter says as he sits back in the booth with a smiles. “I love watching a young man pop his cherry.”
“You people are crazy.”
St. Peter leans in toward St. James with an almost seductive smile. “You people? God’s trying to vet you bro. Your dad would be proud,” St. Peter says and points to the barcode tattoo on St. James’s wrist. “You fell down the rabbit hole man. The only way out is through the other side. Now just be patient and stay calm, the opportunity will present itself.”
St. Peter puts his coffee down, and looks at the Disciple walking back to the table. The Disciple sits and looks at both men in silence. “Is everything ok fellas?” the Disciple asks as both the Saints smile hesitantly.
“Fine.” St. James says.
Dolores brings more coffee to the table and fills the men’s cups. St. Peter winks at her with a smile. “I was wondering if you could get me in on the Super Bowl this weekend?” the Disciple asks. A silent pause as Dolores walks away from the table. St. Peter cracks his knuckles and stretches his neck.
“Aaah. 49ers got the spread. Perhaps I can talk to God and we can see if we can get you in. How was the meeting?” St. Peter asks as a confused look strikes the Disciples face. “The bathroom, man. Did you wash your hands?” St. James says.
The Disciple gives a hesitant smile. “Oh… Yeah yeah.”
St. Peter waves for the check and Dolores drops it on the table. “Thanks hun,” St. Peter says as he pulls out his money clip and pays.
The sun’s orange hue reflects across the calm morning ocean waters. The Disciple stops, takes a deep breath and looks at the picturesque view. He looks over his shoulder at St. James.
“Is God really good?” the Disciple asks.
“Man I’m sorry, but I apparently don’t know God very well,” St. James says.
St. Peter pats them both on the shoulders and they climb aboard the Happy Trails. “Blow jobs later boys. We have to meet another Disciple out there too,” he says, trying to hurry the men to get in the boat. St. James starts the boat and they slowly pull away from the dock.
Sister Maria places her hand on God’s office door. She pauses and softly knocks. On the other side of the door she can hear God say, “Come in..”
She walks in the room and is greeted by God with a smile and him gesturing for her to sit in front of his desk.
“Thank you for taking the time to meet me. Can I get you anything? A glass of ice water perhaps?” God asks as he continues to put his hands out in a gentlemanly manner for her to sit in front of his desk. Sister Maria takes a seat and smiles at the offering.
“No I’m good, but thank you for the offer. What was it that you needed, or what can I do?” she asks.
God sits at his desk with his hands interlaced. His desk is immaculately clean and that matches his appearance, with nothing out of place.
“You’ve been a faithful employee for some time now. I needed to ask you, what did you think of St. James?” God asks as Sister Maria shrugs her shoulders.
“Honestly, I see a lot of his father in him, he seems to have come a long way, and he’s a great addition to the team, but…” Sister Maria drops her head into her hand, trying not to convey emotion. “He needs to know what happened to his father,” she says.
“I will take care of what the boy believes. For now, can you get close to him?” God says as he shuffles papers at his desk opening a file that is for an impending job on the horizon. “Also, I’ve decided that you will share the same rate with St. James for the upcoming operation.”
Sister Maria lets out a gasp of air and sits back in her chair furrowing her brow. “Are you kidding me? I went to Stanford, and I should be getting the same rate as St. Peter,” Sister Maria says as she stands and walks toward the door. “With all due respect, I’m out of here.” Sister Maria opens the door.
“Stop!” God raises his voice and Sister Maria turns and shoots him a look of condescension. God points to where her barcode tattoo is on her wrist. “Where do you plan on going that I cannot find you?”
Sister Maria takes her hand off the door handle and looks at God with an emotion that has glassed over her eyes. God stands and walks toward her. “Listen, Sister, it is so hard to find good people that I can trust in this business. I see your passion, and I need you to get close to St. James. Can you do that for me? I will ensure you get more pay in the future,” God says, as each word out of his mouth plays the strings of her soul like a harp. Sister Maria nods and wipes her eyes. “Have a blessed day, Sister,” God says as she walks out the door.
The sun rises in the distance of the international waters and dances off the top of the ocean’s ripples as they hit the side of the boat. St. James slows the engine to a murmur, and St. Peter looks at the Disciple.
“Could you go below and make sure the tumor is ready. God’s guy should of put it in the floorboards,” St. Peter says in a demanding tone of voice. The Disciple looks around in all directions at the empty waters.
“Were is this other Disciple? I have a date later,” the Disciple says.
“Shouldn’t be too long now man. Could you check the cargo?” St. Peter asks, and the Disciple nods in acknowledgement and walks below to the living quarters of the boat. “I have to take a leak anyway,” the Disciple continues in a prideful manner.
The Disciple takes a pee and looks around the living quarters, interior, and under the floorboards of the boat.
St. Peter pulls out a gun from the small of his back. He puts it in front of St. James. “Is there really a tumor on board?” St. James asks.
“There’s no fucking tumor kid. He’s looking for a rat,” St. Peter hands the gun to St. James. He grasps the gun awkwardly as the weight of the metal pulls his arm down.
“We have to keep God’s house clean,” St. Peter says.
“I don’t know if I can, man. I mean this really doesn’t feel right,” St. James says as he stares at the gun in his right hand.
St. Peter grabs a five-gallon jug of chum and slowly pours it over the side. Small fish accumulate around the fresh blood beneath the boat. The Disciple walks up from underneath the cabin of the boat.
“I don’t see where he put the…” the Disciple says as he looks at St. James hesitantly pointing the gun at the Disciple. His hand shakes, and his brow is furrowed. The Disciple puts his hands up and looks at the two Saints.
“What is this, a joke, kid? You’re gonna hurt somebody with that thing.”
“Stop! I’m not kidding man,” St. James says with a sense of conviction.
His hand shakes again as he cocks the gun. St. Peter helps him steady his young hands, and he points the barrel at the Disciple.
“Ok bud. I mean, were all friends here, right? Come on, tell him what I’ve done,” the Disciple says as he gives a pleading and concerned look toward St. Peter. St. Peter turns his back and pours more chum in the ocean.
“The opportunity has presented itself,” St. Peter says to St. James.
The Disciple takes a step toward St. James and pauses. He puts his hands out, pleading for forgiveness from them. “You know they’re lying to you. I knew your father, and his death wasn’t an accident,” the Disciple says as St. James grips the gun tight showing the whites in his knuckles. “What happened?” St. James asks and he turns and looks at St. Peter and then back at the Disciple and then at both of them. “I’ll tell you and you put the gun down,” the Disciple says.
St. James takes a deep breath and lowers the gun. The Disciple looks at St. James with his hands in the air. St. Peter turns to St. James. “You gonna trust a rat?” St. Peter says. St. James looks at both of them and slowly lowers the gun.
“I can’t do this. I’m not a killer,” St. James says as the Disciple lowers his hands, and he lets out a sigh of relief.
“Thank God, kid.”
St. Peter quickly grabs the gun from St. James and shoots the Disciple in the foot. The Disciple jumps up and down emphatically grabbing his foot.
“You shot me! You fuck, you fucking shot me! I can’t believe you shot me,” the Disciple continues on as St. Peter points the gun to St. James’s head.
“You want to be like your father? Well time to step up and be a man,” St. Peter says as he cocks the gun with a smile. “Or perhaps I take the boat back in alone?”
St. James nods and grabs the gun. He looks at the Disciple crying, holding his foot. St. Peter whispers in his ear. “This is what your dad did. This is your family.” St. James listens to St. Peter and he closes his eyes. St. Peter raises his voice. “It’s either him or you now MAN UP!”
St. James’s knuckles are pure white as he slowly squeezes the trigger. The Disciple covers his face, and St. James shoots him in the head.
The Disciple falls limp to the ground with blood splattered on the deck of the boat. St. James stands over the body in shock. He dry heaves at the sight of the dead body and the blood spilling out of his head. St. Peter smiles and pats him on the back. He pokes his finger at the Disciples head.
“Sucker looks like a watermelon after the 4th of July. Come on pal, help me get him overboard, and we can go in,” St. Peter says.
St. James moves the Disciple and his wallet falls out of his pocket. On the front panel is a business card for John Samuels, FBI agent. St. James picks up the card and examines it intensely.
“Fuck the dudes a NARC. I killed a fucking narc. Are you fucking kidding me?” St. James says.
“You did American a service, bud. He was going to rat on us. Now come on get your shit together,” St. Peter says as he pours some chum on the Disciple and they throw him overboard. The sharks quickly pick at him. St. James stares at the body and St. Peter pats him on the back.
“You’re a man now. Makes me remember when I popped my cherry. Good times, man. Good fucking times…” St. Peter says with a shake of his head. He continues to stare at the Disciple float in the ocean. A shark grabs one of his arms and begins to eat at it.
“Don’t worry they’ll swallow him up. Now come on, we have to get to church…” St. Peter says.
End of Second Book Part II
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