If you wished to be cynical about it, as cults went, it was pretty clever. It took elements of Christianity and combined them with elements of the burgeoning UFO culture, whose epicentres were Nevada and Area 51. There was a dash of righteous environmental apocalypse terror thrown in and a splash of government paranoia, and it was all mixed up to give people something new, something filled with hope and, crucially, something far enough out there that the main religions left it the hell alone.
Despite what she told people she did for a living, Dionne was not actually a religious person. She had joined the Sisters because she was looking for somewhere she could do good. Bernadette, Teresa, Dorothy and, she was pretty sure, Assumpta were all actual nuns. She had a sincere respect for that. In fact, she respected anyone else’s beliefs. It was a big wild world, and everything she had seen of it left her no closer to any kind of understanding. If you found that in any religion, she had no problem with it.
No, her problem with the Celestial Church of New Hope wasn’t one of intolerance for another religion. It was much more fundamental. She knew for a fact that the whole thing was one massive con, designed to part the gullible from their money.
The reason she knew that was simple: the whole thing had been her idea.
Chapter Thirteen
Bunny shifted himself around in the moulded plastic seat, trying to get comfortable.
“Shitting Nora! These seats are not designed with the human arse in mind.”
Cuts, sitting opposite him at the long table, looked up from inspecting his tray of breakfast. “Sorry for your trouble, princess. They ain’t designed for your comfort. The primary concern was making sure there would be no way they could be ripped up in a riot.”
A pale, red-headed guy sitting three seats down chirped up, “Eighty-seven percent of all prison riots happen in the cafeteria area.”
Cuts nodded. “That there is Stats. You can probably guess the origins of the name.”
“Thirty-nine percent of road accidents in the Burbank area are caused by people eating while driving.”
Bunny nodded at him. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Cuts looked back down at his food and spoke softly, “Best not to talk to Stats too much. It tends to get him over-excited. Incidentally, he just makes up the numbers.”
“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall inherit the Earth.” This came from the guy who Bunny had met the night before, the one who was apparently convinced he was Jesus.
“I thought it was the meek?” asked Bunny, which earned a groan from Cuts.
“What was that, my son?”
Bunny raised his voice. “I said, I thought it was the meek who inherited the Earth? I thought the peacemakers were blessed because they were to be called the children of God? I’m not terrible religious or anything, but I’d a Christian Brothers education, and they’ve a tendency to batter stuff into you.”
Jesus looked at Bunny in a very unforgiving way and then ignored him entirely, putting all of his focus on his meal.
The guy with one arm, sitting opposite him, gave a sneering giggle. “Supposed to be Jesus, don’t even know what’s in the damn Bible.”
Jesus looked up angrily. “I will not be spoken to like that by a self-pleasuring deviant.”
Harsh, who had been masticating ferociously, swallowed. “A fifth-rate Jesus impersonator and a one-armed jerk-off battling it out. This is like watching two lepers arm-wrestle.”
“You aren’t watching nothing, you blind old fart.”
Cuts grabbed Harsh’s hand before he could throw the plastic spoon he was holding.
“Alright, everybody settle down. I’m not having another incident that causes the whole landing to lose yard privileges for a week. Everyone shut up and eat your damn breakfast.”
This was met with some grumbling and Stats piped up, “Sixty-four percent of gynaecologists say breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”
“Why would …?” started Cuts, before changing his mind. “You know what, never mind.”
Harsh mumbled something and then put on his headphones.
Cuts looked across at Bunny. “In the interest of moving the conversation on, we should probably do some intros.”
Bunny raised his hand to the other men on the table in acknowledgement. “Howerya. I’m Bunny. Bunny Rourke.”
“Stupid name,” mumbled the self-proclaimed son of God, earning a look from Cuts.
Harsh was ignoring everybody to focus on his food, so Cuts moved on down the table. “To the left of Harsh is Not-deaf Tony.”
The large man with hooded eyelids and a shaven head gave Bunny an almost imperceptible nod.
“Not-deaf Tony?” asked Bunny.
“We used to have a deaf Tony and he was here first. Not-deaf Tony – or NDT for short – has a lot of issues, but none of them make for a snappy name. Moving on, there’s Stats, who you met.”
“Abigail is the third most popular girl’s name in Washington state.”
“… and beside him is Jesus. And that’s Rocky, there on the end.”
Rocky was the man whom Bunny had seen the night before, sitting on the floor rocking back and forth. He was doing it now, only less so. Swaying to and fro as he ate tiny mouthfuls of his meal. He didn’t look up.
“Opposite him is Christmas.” A man with three alarming scars criss-crossing his face waved cheerfully and shouted the word “Christmas” three times. “Then there’s Handy, who— Damn it, Handy, what did we say about keeping the hand above the table at all times?”
“I got a note from a doctor.”
Cuts lowered his voice to a hiss and leaned forward. “There are killers around us on every table who don’t give a
