Page 34 of Sinful Crimes for the Artistically Inclined
“My bar is set pretty low,” Percy muttered.
“What’s your name?” Joe asked.
“James O’Brien.”
“James is a good name,” Joe said. “Do you ever think about what your parents wanted for you when they picked that name?”
“No, not rea?—”
“When they called you by that name, when you were just a little kid. Before you learned anger and hatred…”
James stared off into the mid-distance, past the shattered corpses of his colleagues, not quite to the spot on the wall where the Jesus fell. “I don’t think I’ve ever known a time that wasn’t punctuated with hate, Father. Ever since I was little. My dad beat my mum, he beat me and my sisters. I only ever knew pain and suffering. And starvation. My empty stomach was, at times, my only companion. I left school when I wasjust a lad. I left home and got a job just to get away from it all.”
“That sounds hard.” Joe sat forward, nodding, in full priest mode.
“Oh, aye, they were some difficult times.” James shook his head.
“And that’s why you’ve ended up with these people?”
“That it is. Friends of my dads’ kids.” James had said it with an air of pride, and Joe froze while an odd smile played across Percy’s face. James went on, “When I turned up at home again for the first time in years with some of these boys, that’s the proudest my dad’s ever been. You should have seen his face. The look in his eye. And that, Father, is the first time I felt truly proud of myself.”
Joe shifted uncomfortably. “Father-son relationships are so often difficult. But what of your mother, James? What does she think of all this?”
“My mother?” A tear developed in the man’s left eye. “My mother says these Eastern Europeans are responsible for all our troubles. She says I’m doing the good Lord’s work every time I?—”
Percy choked down a laugh at Joe’s pale face as he cut James off. “God doesn’t want you to do those things.”
“God doesn’t?”
“No. God wants you to be nice to people. I’m a priest and that’s how I know that.”
“That’s not what Father Donnelly says.”
The crisp line of Joe’s jaw hardened. “Father Donnelly has recently been banned from Church meetings.”
James clasped his hand to his chest. “Banned?”
“Yes. I know exactly who you mean and what his views are,” Joe lied, “and the Church doesn’t look kindly on such things.”
“But FatherDonnelly?—”
“Is going straight to Hell,” Joe replied, with impressive conviction. “Now, I’m going to give you a piece of advice that will save your life.”
Percy raised an incredulous eyebrow. “I’d like to hear that.”
Joe frowned at him, then turned back to James and took a deep breath. “You’re going to cut ties with these types of people, and with your family. You’re going to do that from this time and forever. I’ll give you a number.” Joe scrawled some digits on a piece of paper with a pen from his pocket and gave it to the man. “Call them, explain your situation, and they will help you get started on a better life. But here’s the thing: if you do not call that number within three days, I will know, James O’Brien. I will know and I will have you excommunicated.”
His gasp echoed about the high ceiling. “From the Church?”
“From the Church. And that means from Heaven, too. Straight to Hell. God has no time for people like these, but you, James, you still have a chance. And who knows? You do this, you become a good man, and there’s every chance you can save some of your family too.”
“It won’t—” Percy began.
“Shhht!” Joe hissed. Then he painted the smile back on his face and continued calmly, “We’re leaving now. With the picture?—”
“And the money,” said Percy.
“And the money,” said Joe. “See that clock on the wall?”
