interrogation. “It was a job, and I was good at it.”
“You did it for money, correct?”
“Yes.”
“And what do you think are the motivations of evil?”
“I never thought about that. I guess lots of motivations—power, money…”
“No, only one: revenge. It is the one true source of evil in the world. All other motivations—power, money, lust—they’re mere variations. Revenge. It’s what Satan taught mankind. It’s his sole motive: getting back at God. You plied your trade to get back at the economic inequities in your life, correct?”
“Revenge against higher forces,” he whispered. “It’s the same motive behind Satan’s attempt to overthrow God. It’s what Satan did to get back once ousted from heaven. It’s still what he does, filling the world with evil in vengeance against God. If you believe in God, my son, belief in Satan is only a half step away. He’s as real as you and I.”
All Roman could think to say was, “Okay.”
“Would you like to reinstate your soul with God?”
“That’s why I’m here.”
“Would you like to reconcile your life of sin with God, to make up for your transgressions?”
“If I can, yeah.”
“You can, but you must believe completely. And if you have any doubt in God’s love and forgiveness, you must ask yourself if your disbelief is worth forfeiting eternal life in paradise. And that’s what hell is—never waking up, being dead forever and not knowing it. But for those who believe, heaven is living forever in the eternal awareness of God’s love.”
Roman was losing him. “Okay.”
“And you are wrong about evil being solely the acts of man. The greatest evil is the handiwork of Satan— Satan, the Great Deceiver. Satan, who leads man astray. Satan, whose greatest trick was convincing the world that he doesn’t exist. Satan, who stands in the way of your own salvation.”
Now the guy was going off on a tangent.
“Do you know about Saint Michael?”
“No.”
“Saint Michael was the perfect Christian soldier, the archangel of God who led forces against the darkness of evil led by Satan. He is the defender of God and the protection of the Holy Catholic Church.”
“Uh-huh.” Roman wished the guy would give him his Hail Marys and let him leave.
“Your being here is not an accident. God sent you to earn your way to salvation by following the path of Saint Michael through the darkness into the eternal light of heaven.”
“I’m not sure what you’re telling me.”
“I’m telling you that a mission of salvation is before you.”
“What mission?”
“To be a warrior for the Lord God Almighty, Mr. Pace.”
“That’s not important.”
Roman wondered if maybe a security camera outside the church had recorded his license plate and they had somehow had access to the RMV database.
“What is important is that you accept this mission to redeem yourself in defense of the Lord Jesus Christ.”
More silence filled the booth. “What are you asking me?”
“To ply your trade in the name of the Lord.”
It must have taken the better part of a minute for Roman to absorb what the man was saying. “You want me to whack Satan?”
“No, one of Satan’s doormen. Someone who’s blasphemed against the Lord God Almighty.”
“This is crazy. Who are you? How do you know me?”
“None of that’s important.” Then the small door at the base of the grille slid back and the priest’s hand slid through a plain brown envelope that was as thick as a brick. “Please open it.”
Roman did. Inside was $15,000 in three banded five-grand packs of hundred-dollar bills.
“This is yours, and so is salvation should you accept this mission.”
Roman looked at the money, feeling the heft. He placed the pack on the sill between them. He still could not see the priest’s face—if he was a priest. “This isn’t what I came for.”
“I’m sure, but your coming was a godsend.”
“That’s a lot of money,” he said, feeling his resolve slip. “So, what exactly did he do?”
“He and his associates are offending the Lord in the worst possible way.”
Roman muffled a chuckle with a
“Blasphemy against the Holy Spirit. And God is asking you to be His warrior and is offering you a second chance at life eternal.”
“Right.” As a result of all his years of contract killing, Roman had lost the capacity for surprise, but this was a first—hired by a priest to be a hit man for the Lord.
He had a dozen questions, but in private contract work you didn’t ask why someone had to be whacked. The hit was strictly business. But he was intrigued. He was also cautious. “How do I know this isn’t some kind of setup, you have a recorder in there taking it all in?”
“It’s not a setup, and nobody is recording this exchange. Besides, you have confessed to no specific killing— so there’s nothing that has incriminated you.”
Roman hadn’t confessed to any killing. He looked at the packs of bills. “Let’s say I decide to do this, I’ll need information and stuff.”
A second, thinner envelope appeared atop the packet of money. Then that was topped by a cell phone. “Full instructions as well as a cell phone to call with your report.”
“Whether or not you believe in the devil, you have been called to the highest service of the Lord to defeat him. You have been chosen to soldier for the Lord, and in so doing earning your way back to Him. Do you accept this mission?”
Roman looked at the fat wad of hundreds and the cell phone waiting for him. He could not determine if the guy was serious or nuts. “You haven’t told me who you are. I don’t know what the hell I’m dealing with here.”
“You’re dealing with a servant of the Lord who will remain anonymous.”
“And this guy is really bad?”
“In the eyes of God, the worst.”
Roman picked up the envelope of bills, and in his head he heard the words of the psalm in his mother’s voice:
“Fine,” Roman said, and pocketed the envelopes and phone.
“May the Lord bless you in this mission. May He show you the lighted path back home and grant you eternal life.”
“Thank you, Father,” Roman said, and left the confession booth and walked out of the church and into the warm glow of the morning sun.
Even if the mission stuff was all bullshit and Father X was wired, there was $15,000 in the envelope, and Roman had said nothing to take to the cops.
