The Last Church

by Richard Lee

  Steve looked over and smiled at the priest. “Ten minutes, any longer and I dock your pay.”

  Sarcastically, she said, “You’re a great guy, Steve.”

  “I know.”

  She shook her head and returned to Father Michael, who had amazingly found himself a table.

  “A gift from God, is it, Father?” she asked jokingly.

  He answered with a confused look.

  Samantha pulled a chair from under the table and sat down. “You always manage to find yourself a table.”

  “Oh.” His cheeks pulled up into large dimples coated with a hazing of red. “Yes, yes. I see what you mean. Those two rather large men offered the table to me.” He nodded his head towards the bar where two large black men nodded back to him. One wore a gold cross on the outside of his tee shirt.

  Samantha looked over. She knew them, but not by name. They were also regulars, but never cordial before. To Father Michael, she said, “Maybe they’re gaining points for the after-life.”

  He laughed at her joke but it was nervous laughter.

  “How did you find me?”

  “Oh, it wasn’t easy. I had no idea what had happened to you after the fire.” It wasn’t a complete lie. “I searched a few places where I thought you’d be, but you weren’t and my description is a little old.”

  Steve lumbered over carrying two glasses of water with ice. He placed the glasses on the table, looked at Sam and checked his watch.

  “Thank you,” Father Michael said.

  “A little whiskey to go with that, Father?” Steve asked.

  “No, thank you. I only drink the Blood of Christ.”

  Samantha laughed. Steve didn’t.

  Still laughing, she slapped the table. “You asked for that,” she said. Her eyes squinted from the grin spreading across her face.

  “You got seven minutes,” Steve said. He abruptly turned and left.

  “Father, you crack me up sometimes.”

  “You crack me up? It means, to make you laugh?”

  She smiled. “Something like that, Father.”

  His face turned serious. “The old language seems to be rapidly gaining favor suddenly.”

  “Trends come and go,” she said. “I mean, look at this place. Most of these people were raised with a mixture of both old and new language. Most libraries around here only have computer text based books, no holo books. So most people would have to understand both. Don’t you agree?”

  Father Michael nodded slowly. Obviously his thoughts were somewhere else.

  “And in this area,” Samantha continued, “nearly everyone prefers the old style. I’ve grown to like it myself, but it did take a while to get used to.”

  Samantha noticed Father Michael’s hard stare. The look was intense. Suddenly he looked tired, not from a lack of sleep (although that would have added to it) but from an emptiness of life, which had suddenly been filled to overflowing. She felt a stirring of worry for an old friend. It probably wasn’t right to call him an old friend, as they had barely spoken. But he was the last of the order and he had sought her out for something and that, in her mind, made him an old friend.

  “Do you remember your time with the Order of the Black Snake?”

  His voice was barely audible over the noise at the bar. The two large black men were yelling at someone Samantha couldn’t see. She didn’t want to take her focus off Father Michael.

  “Yes,” she answered.

  “Do you, or did you, fully understand what the Order was trying to do?”

  “At the time, yes.”

  “What about now?”

  She didn’t expect this question. In fact, she didn’t expect to ever see anyone from the Order ever again. She remembered the time of the fire. It was a memory she did not wish to drag up.

  “Honestly, Father, in the last few years...I don’t know what to believe.”

  He frowned and nodded. His gaze fell to the table. “In that case, you probably wouldn’t be interested in helping me out.”

  “I do have something to take care of, but it can wait. You don’t need to ask for my help. I’d offer it to you.”

  “You might get killed.”

  Samantha smiled. “All the better.” She reached across the table and gently placed her hand on his. “What would you like me to do?”

  “Help me find someone.” His gaze remained at the table.

  “Who?”

  “The person the Order was searching for. He or she has finally arrived.”

  “Surely you’re mistaken, Father. All that ended a long time ago.”

  He looked up. “No, my dear. It remained with me. It has possessed my dreams and taken control of my life. I have felt it coming, but have tried to hide from it. Alas, I cannot do such any longer. The time has arrived.”

  She didn’t know whether to believe him or not.

  Behind her, Samantha heard Telly say goodbye to the Asians. She knew he would be standing in a second to shake their hands and wish them well. Damn, if she had a weapon now she could take him out and be done with it. Not a good idea anyway with Father Michael here. He could get caught in the crossfire.

  Suddenly Father Michael gasped loudly. He was staring down at floor just off to her side.

  Samantha turned and saw what he was looking at. It was a thick leather-covered book with strange writing on it. It reminded her of the Order of the Black Snake’s search. Only the design of the strange letters seemed different. She couldn’t be one hundred percent sure as too many years had passed since she last spied it.

  Her belief in the book returned, with a burning fire in her heart.

  She looked back at Father Michael. He wasn’t looking at the book anymore. He was looking intently at each person in turn hovering around the bar. He seemed to be paying very close attention to women.

  “Father Michael?” she asked, concerns clouding the words.

  “I’m looking for her,” he answered softly.

  “Who?”

  “The woman. If she’s here, then he is close by.”

  Samantha remained silent and watched him search. After a few moments, she started looking also, but didn’t know who she was looking for.

  “What does she look like?”

  Father Michael took a while to reply. “I can’t really describe her. But I will know her when I see her.”

  “I’m going to need a bit more than that if I’m going to help you, Father.”

  “All I can give you,” he said, having finished his search, “is that she is beautiful, has dark hair almost shoulder length, clear skin and erotic eyes.”

  “Erotic eyes?” she asked bewildered. “What are they?”

  He looked past her, watching a man carry the book past.

  “That’s Telly,” she said. “He’s the business I have to take care of.”

  “That doesn’t sound like waitress talk.”

  Samantha leaned on the table. Quietly, she said, “It’s a cover.”

  Father Michael nodded in understanding, although he looked completely lost. Changing the subject back to his main concern, he said, “By erotic eyes, I meant...” He searched for the right word. “Alluring is possibly the best I can give.”

  “You were aroused by her?”

  “Not in the way you mean. In the dream, she was licking blood off a dagger. I should say, she was licking blood off the dagger. There was a lot of blood, running off it and on to her. Her look showed absolute pleasure in her actions.”

  “The dagger from Hell,” she muttered.

  “A tad melodramatic, but yes. The dagger from Hell.” Father Michael shifted in his chair. “But more than that. The look she gave me...” He shivered. “It was as if she was looking right at me. Like she could see me watching her in the dream.”

  “What kind of look, Father?”

  “Unbridled wanting.”

  Samantha leaned back in her chair and folded her hands in her lap. She sighed deeply. “Father, I haven’t the faintest idea how I’m supposed
to find her.”

  Father Michael nodded.

  “I mean, where do I start? Usually the clients have a location and a better description. Failing that, there’s always a brain-dream image scan. But I know you’re totally against all that.”

  “Indeed. But I fear I may have mixed my words up before.”

  “How so?”

  “I do need you to look for her, but I’m sure that he will find you as soon as he senses your search.”

  “I said I’d help you, Father, but I don’t want to be used as bait.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of doing that to you, dear.” His voice rose slightly. “But look around you. Can’t you see what happening?”

  “Tell me what I’m missing.”

  “This is probably not the place.”

  Samantha returned to an upright sitting position. “Take a look around you, Father. This is the best place in the world.” She spread her arms wide. “No one can or even wants to hear our conversation.”

  Father Michael was looking behind her again. She turned the instant someone tapped her on the shoulder. She faced Telly. He didn’t look in the best of moods. Now, if only she had a knife, it would be quick and easy to dispose of him.

  Telly leaned towards her ear. “Steve says you’ve taken five minutes longer than he gave you for a powwow with the priest.”

  “And I’m going to take longer,” she answered.

  Telly smiled. “Take as long as you like,” he said. “And don’t forget to pick up your final paycheck on the way out.”

  “I’m fired?”

  “You can bet your tight little buns you’re fired.”

  Shit. She couldn’t afford to lose this job; it was her only means of getting close to him. He started to walk away when she called out to him, “Telly!”

  He froze in his tracks. Straightened his suit jacket and returned to her. His face was red. “Only one person has ever called me that name.”

  Oops.

  Samantha didn’t know how to react. She stared at him, speechless.

  “Who the hell...” Telly shook his head.

  Father Michael said, “Um, Samantha, we really need to carry on this talk as soon as possible and away from here.”

  She smiled at the priest. He tried his best to save the situation, she thought.

  Telly lifted his hand and snapped his fingers. Within seconds, two heavily armed and muscle built men were at his side.

  “Boss?” they said in unison.

  “Take this lady to my office, close circuit and throw the priest out. Make sure he heads to the teleporter and not anywhere else.”

  The big man to Samantha’s right moved fast. He grabbed Father Michael by the collar and pulled him to his feet. The priest didn’t utter a sound as the bodyguard half carried him to the door.

  “We’ll meet up later, Father,” Samantha called out as the second bodyguard grabbed her by the shoulders and lifted her off the chair.

  She allowed her feet to drop to the floor. She looked back in time to see Father Michael thrown out the door. The bodyguard simply turned and re-entered the bar. He stood by the door with huge bare arms crossed in front of his huge chest.

  “I doubt that,” Telly said with a smile. “No need to be gentle,” he told the bodyguard. “She’s been a bad girl.”

  The bodyguard smiled and repositioned himself. He wrapped one arm around the waist, at the same time hiking her mini skirt far up her thighs. His other arm was across her chest. He picked her up like he would a rolled carpet and carried her towards the closed door of the office.

  A few catcalls followed her path, along with some comments directed at her rear end, but most of the crowd remained quiet.

  Father Michael landed hard on the pavement. A few small stones pierced his palms and left imprints on his knees. His fingers on both hands bent the wrong way and his face hit the curb. Slowly he rolled onto his back.

  He wondered why he wanted to destroy the Anti-Christ when people like this guy were around. Why save them? Didn’t they deserve to die?

  “Are you all right?”

  He looked to his left. “I’ll be all right,” Father Michael answered.

  “Well, let me help you up anyway.” A young man squatted next to him and held out his arms. “Those guys are assholes,” the young man said, helping Father Michael to his feet. “They think they rule the fucking world.”

  Father Michael brushed dirt from his clothes.

  “Hell, are you a priest or just dressed to look like one?”

  He smiled. “I’m a fully fledged priest.”

  The young man looked surprised. “Not many of you guys around.”

  “There’s more than you’d think.”

  “Hiding, huh?” The young man dug his hands into his pockets. He wore a baseball cap with the bill pushed low, hiding his eyes. A scar ran from his ear to his neck and disappeared under his shirt. “I’m not surprised,” the young man continued, “with all those fires at churches and that bombing years ago that took out the entire chapel and orphanage. Not to mention that fire a few years back...”

  “Yes, yes,” Father Michael said. “We’ve had some challenges.”

  “Challenges, my ass. Outright attacks more like it.” The young man suddenly looked very closely at the priest. “Shit, Father, you’re bleeding.”

  Father Michael gingerly touched his chin, which felt like it was on fire. He pulled his hand away and saw blood on his finger tips.

  “Come on,” the young man said, taking his arm. “Got a cleaning kit in the cruiser, will fix you right up.”

  Father Michael was reluctant to follow the guy. He was leading him to a darkened area near the back of the bar where many cars were parked.

  “I really do need to get back inside,” he said. “My friend might need my help.” He doubted the words as he spoke them. If Samantha was as good as he remembered, then he should be more worried about the man who fired her.

  At length, he decided to trust this young man. His chin did hurt and this guy seemed friendly enough. “I’m Father Michael. And you are?” he asked.

  The young man was looking toward the parked cars.

  “Nice to meet you, Father Michael.” He stopped walking and held out his hand. “I’m Brandon.”

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  The bodyguard dropped Samantha onto a soft leather couch. She hurriedly readjusted her skirt. Her face was red from embarrassment, but it was changing quickly to anger.

  “Does your mother know you’re an asshole?” she spat.

  The bodyguard laughed. His eyes were moving up and down her legs. Before she adjusted her skirt his eyes were unmoving.

  The office was large. Near the far wall was an oak desk, which looked real. A small table was near the sofa and an ancient transporter stood in the far corner of the room. A pile of paper was scattered on the desk and she couldn’t see a hard light computer or even a visor; two of the most important items needed for any business, even his kind of work. The walls were covered with a fake wood print paper. A large black chair waited behind the desk. A holographic clock was on the wall behind the chair. In it Samantha could see the bar and its patrons. She was surprised. It was the first clock circuit viewer she had even seen. Telly had more money than he knew what to do with. Mind-killer was a hot seller and Samantha was starting to feel edgy.

  A moment later, Telly entered the office.

  “Circuit closed?” he asked.

  The bodyguard tore his eyes away from Samantha. “I’ll do it now, boss.”

  “Tell me when.” Telly walked behind his desk.

  Samantha watched him closely after having moved herself into a sitting position. His stare was hard and cold, but it didn’t cause fear in her as it probably would countless other woman. She had met men like him and some women who liked to terrorize with their eyes first. She discovered over time they were usually looking for a way to start talking and continue to hold the upper hand. She knew it was always best to let them start first. So, she
waited.

  Telly propped his elbows on the desk, linked his fingers and sighed deeply. His eyes never left hers.

  “There’s only one person who ever called me Telly.” He rested his chin on his linked fingers.

  Samantha remained silent and kept her gaze fixed on him.

  Telly said, “A shameless whore of a bitch, Shelly.”

  Samantha showed no reaction, but inside she smiled. Their names rhymed. Wasn’t that just the sweetest thing? Shelly and Telly in a tree...

  “She’s a liar. You must’ve noticed that, Sam.” He unlinked his fingers, crossed his hands across his belly and leaned back in the large leather chair that matched the sofa. “Or is that your real name? Is it Sam?”

  “Short for Samantha.”

  “And what line of work would you be in, Samantha?”

  “I’m a waitress,” she said with a smile.

  Telly frowned.

  “And what line of business are you in?” The smile remained on her lips.

  Telly laughed, it was deep throated and heavy with bass. “You make me laugh,” he said. The smile suddenly disappeared.

  There was a knock at the door.

  “Come,” Samantha said.

  The door did not open.

  “Is it off?” Telly boomed. His face blossomed red with anger.

  From behind the door, “Yes, boss. Took care of it myself.”

  Although his face was red, his lips curled into a tight smile. “At last,” he said, “we’re alone.”

  Samantha smiled. “Indeed we are.”

  “So what did that whore bitch say to you?”

  “What whore bitch would that be?” she replied, matching his tone.

  “Don’t get smart with me, bitch. I’m not the man you want to fuck with.”

  “Fuck with?” she asked. That was an expression she wasn’t familiar with.

  Telly took a few deep breaths to calm down. “What did Shelly tell you?”

  Samantha sat on the edge of the sofa, ready to move the first chance she got. Then she saw the globe. It looked made of brass and was about five inches tall. A nice fit for her hand, she thought. It sat on a small circle table near the wall and had a plaque attached to the bottom. She could barely read it. Joining the world as one, Tard Transporters, Inc.