But before I was able to grip the knob and pull the door open, Giselle called out to me from across the office, “What happened to them?” She paused as I threw a look at her over my shoulder, and she must’ve seen something hidden on my face, for right then, she added in a whisper, “What did you do to them?”
It took someone wearing a mask to know one; I guess that was true.
“That,” I said, “is between a man and his God, don’t you think?” There was so much more I could’ve said, but I left it at that, opening the door and pushing out. Just as I thought, Zander waited with his arms crossed, and the moment he saw me appear, his expression soured. I started for the stairs, but before I took any steps down, I looked back at him. “Watch over her, Zander. If there’s one thing this city has taught me, it’s that danger lurks around every corner. You can’t trust anyone.”
Zander opened his mouth to say something to me, but he said nothing, in the end. He simply watched me go, which was fine enough. My advice could go both ways, though. Giselle shouldn’t trust anybody… including me.
As I left the house, as I went back to my church, I couldn’t quite get my mind off her. How she’d looked, the way she’d tried to act as though nothing mattered to her. Now that I knew she had blood on those hands, I couldn’t help but think of her differently. There was a stark difference between someone who let the world hurt them and never tried to right the wrongs and someone who did what they had to.
In this world, if you didn’t do what you had to, you were already lost. The world demanded pain and sacrifice, and if you were not willing, it would simply take it from you, regardless.
I made it back to the church. I had to do a little redecorating, especially where the two men had bled all over. The front of the church smelled of bleach, but I was confident that smell would dissipate enough by the time the next mass came around. Got rid of some carpets; I’d have to order some new ones to replace them.
And as for the body… well, I had my ways.
I headed through the back of the church, reaching in my pocket for my keys. I pushed into the backroom, a lone door sitting on the far side. It was a door that remained locked at all times. Within a minute, I had it unlocked and headed downstairs—but not before I threw the lock behind me. Could never be too careful.
I heard no sounds as I walked down the old, creaky stairs. I’d done a little renovating, but not the stairwell itself. More so to the innermost room of the basement. I passed my bed, my bathroom—the places I tucked myself away in when I was not playing as the priest to Cypress, when I wasn’t patiently listening to the sins of its populace and telling them to say three Hail Mary prayers if they wanted God to forgive them.
There was another room that was locked, and I knew exactly what I’d find when I went inside: the second thug, tied to a chair. Still unconscious, he’d looked a lot better just a few hours ago, certainly. I’d bandaged up his hand, what was left of it, but I did not clean the blood off his face or his clothes. A small refrigerator sat in the corner, an old thing from the eighties that was still running. A table sat just beside it, a stool along with it.
I went to sit in the stool, heaving a small sigh as I did so. His leather jacket lay on the table before me, blocking the instruments underneath. I’d torn off the green snake patch to study it a little better, but the patch itself had no details that would point me to whoever this Atlas was.
A man who went by a nickname rather than his real name did not bode well. It’d been a long time since I’d gone up against someone whose face was hidden in the shadows, but it wasn’t the first time.
I couldn’t say how long it was until I heard the man groaning, beginning to stir, but it was a while. I spun on my stool, watching, waiting. If I could patiently listen to a certain member of the congregation always confess to me about how she fancied her pool boy even though she was married week after week, I could wait for him to wake up.
His eyes struggled to open, and he began to pull at the straps holding his arms back. The change happened just like that. His grogginess disappeared, and his eyelids shot open. Suddenly, he yanked at the straps with an eagerness I could only admire. He must not feel it yet.
“You’re in there good,” I told him, causing his head to snap in my direction. I reached behind me, beneath his jacket, pulling out his gun. “I still cannot believe you and your friend thought it would be a good idea to walk into my church with these things.” I got up, moving to stand beside him, the shiny gun still in my hand.
“What the fuck is this?” the man hissed out. “Where am I?” His voice grew in intensity, and I could tell he was seconds from shouting at me.
“Oh, by all means, feel free to scream.” The hand with the gun gestured to the ceiling. “No one will hear you, though. I would not keep you here if someone from the outside world would be able to hear your screams.”
He glared at me, and I could tell I’d insulted him by talking about screaming. Call me crazy, but I didn’t think this man needed to worry about honor or anything like that.
“But back to this,” I said, holding the gun between us, letting its silver metal sparkle in the light. It was a clean piece, I had to give him that. Not the kind of gun you’d think a street thug would have… but he and his friend weren’t your typical thug. “Did your boss give you this? I can’t imagine someone like you could ever get a gun legally.”
He frowned at me, bearing his teeth much like an animal. “Atlas is going to find you, and he’s going to fuck you up, priest.” Considering his current circumstance, he was quite adamant and fierce about it, as if he really believed it.
“Not if I find him, first,” I said. “Who is Atlas? For someone with such…” I looked him up and down. “… adamant followers, he keeps a low profile.” I’d made a few calls to the police department where Giselle and her father had come from—it didn’t take much to find out where they’d moved. His business, if you could call it that, was still stationed back there. They’d moved here solely for the Black Hand position.
The man smiled, though it was a little twisted. “Fuck you, man. You ain’t gonna find out shit, and I sure as fuck ain’t gonna tell you dick.” He sounded so sure of himself; it was actually kind of amusing. This little prick had no idea, but he would very soon.
I went back to the table, setting down his gun. “I told you before I don’t like guns. I think they’re a sign of brutality, and most often used as a threat.” My hand picked up something else on the side of his jacket, and its handle felt as if it was molded for me.
“I don’t give a shit what you—” Any other words he might’ve spoken died in his throat when I returned to his side, holding a knife whose blade was damn near eight inches long, its steel sharpened to a beautiful edge.
“I much prefer knives,” I told him, holding that knife inches before his face so he could see his reflection in it. “You don’t wield a knife as a threat. It’s a promise.” I set the tip of the knife on his cheek, dragging it down. Not cutting deep, but enough to make him bleed. “If you think you and your Atlas are the first ones I’ve gone against, let me tell you something.”
He held in a grimace when I pulled the knife’s tip off his cheek. His grogginess and the adrenaline pumping through his system would give way shortly to his new reality.
Now it was my turn to stare at my reflection in the shiny steel. “When I was a young man, searching for purpose, I was sent on a mission to a rather poor community. They didn’t have much, but what they did have was a healthy fear of a man they called el diablo, the devil. He was a drug lord. Had a whole crew of people under his protection, and sometimes they’d steal from the community. They’d hurt them. Kill them. Rape them. They didn’t ask for my help, but they didn’t have to.”
The man’s eyes were on me, the fresh cut on his cheek oozing blood down to his chin. It had started to drip to his collarbone, on top of his raggedy t-shirt. He said nothing, which was good. I hated interruptions.
“One by one, I took care of his crew, and then I took care of him. When I had him tied up, much like you are right now, he still didn’t accept reality. He told me his men would come for him, that he would kill me once he got out. I kept telling him all of his men were dead, but he didn’t believe me. Men with assault weapons, all falling to the shadows—in this case, to a man with a knife.”