Page 75 of Sinful Crimes for the Artistically Inclined
It was empty. Not a thing out of the ordinary to be seen, other than smashed glass. He examined the front again, then with an irritated sigh, using a clean handkerchief, he pushed any remaining glass from the seat to the floor, and soon heard Joe and Althea approaching. “That had better not be plain salt.”
“Pasta sauce and cheese flavour.”
She launched a bag of chips at him, which he caught, then turned over in his hands with extreme satisfaction, before raising an eyebrow at Joe. “She’s staying.”
Joe stood tall in appalled revulsion. “You are joking. It’s a travesty!”
Percy’s lips broke into a full smile. “So, you don’t want to share?”
“No, I don’t want to share! That’s disgusting. Whose idea was that?”
“He can’t help it,” Percy said to Althea, making his way back to the driver’s seat. “He was born like this. No taste. By the way, would you like to be my personal assistant?”
Joe might have spat his own chips, had Althea not replied in time, “No,” with a loud scoff.
“Probably a wise decision,” Percy said. “Come sit up front with me anyway. We’ll share.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
THE HELPING HAND (OF DEATH)
They were about five minutes into the next leg of the journey when Percy wondered aloud, “Althea, how did you end up in Tripoli? Working for Cleo?”
She crunched a few more chips, regarding him quizzically. “No. You first. What are you guys, anyway? Some sort of MI5? CIA? Special ops type thing?”
Percy gave a small chuckle. “I’m an art historian.”
Althea glared back at him. “It’s going to be like that, is it?”
“No, truly,” said Percy. “It’s a more exciting career than you might think.”
Her grimace showed her clear disrespect for the answer, and she decided to try Joe instead. “And you? You’re going to keep this priest thing up?”
“I am a priest,” Joe replied, pulling at his pant-leg that seemed to be caught on something, though he couldn’t see what. “It’s not as exciting as his ‘career’. Plus, I’m supposed to be on holiday.”
“You can’t expect me to believe you’re a priest,” she said, throwing a weighty nod Percy’s way. “ACatholicpriest? That’s not allowed. I know that’s not allowed.”
“No,” said Joe, colouring deeply. “But I am still a priest.”
Percy let out a soft scoff in the front. “You’re notreallya priest, though, are you?”
“Of course I’m really a priest. What exactly do you mean by that?”
A tense air ensued as Percy thought over his next response. “I just mean… you’re not like the others. With all the whole God rhetoric.”
“‘God rhetoric’?” came the louder than necessary voice. “Percy, I’m a priest. I talk to people in church every Sunday. I take confession, I give last rites, I do all the priest things.”
“Yes, but…” He knew he should stop. But he was Percy. “You don’t really believe all that nonsense…”
“All that nonsense?” Joe verily gasped. “All what nonsense? Have we met? Did you not realise until just now that I am actually a priest?”
“Yeah, but…” He definitely should have held his tongue, but the tension had been growing in his hot atheist body for a while now. “I’m just saying. You had a choice, to carry on doing all the God things, or come with me… And you chose me…”
“What? I didn’t choose you over God! Is that what you think? That you’re so hot I threw over my whole belief system for you?”
Boyfriends should always be jealous. Yet it sits a little differently to be the jealous party. It had happened to Percy perhaps three times in his entire life, and as he felt it creeping up again, he only became more unsettled. “You chose me because you believe inmenow, isn’t that right?”
“No, that’s not right at all. Not like you’re making it sound. I did choose to be with you, and I do believe in you, but that’s not?—”
