If Angels Fall

EIGHTEEN

A cobra with its hood flared and fangs bared coiled around Virgil Shook’s left forearm,while a broken heart engulfed in flames burned on his right. Terror andtorment.

The twin forces of Shook’s life were manifested in thetattoos conjured up by a killer in exchange for sex years ago in a Canadianprison. The cobra’s head swayed gently, ripe to strike as Shook ladled chickensoup for the destitute shambling along the food line at the shelter of Our LadyQueen of Tearful Sorrows Roman Catholic Church on upper Market. Whispers andblessings mingled with clinking cutlery and the tap of hot food dispensed ondonated plates.

If these broken, rotten burdens only knew who theywere blessing. If they only knew who he really was. It was sweet. Shook inhaledthe aroma of his power with that of roasted meat as one by one they came beforehim extending their plates, bowing their heads.

Like them, Shook haunted the city’s streets and cameto the kitchen often. Today he was upping the ante in his game with the priest.Today was Shook’s first as a volunteer. Oh, how he loved it. Here he receivedsanctuary, blessings, and absolution.

He was savoring the irony of it, seeking his confessoramong the crowd when he glimpsed a little treasure. A tiny temptress. Shookgauged the object of his attention. Four years fresh from the womb, he figured.She arrived before him, holding her bowl. He swam in her pure blue eyes,plunged his ladle-deep into the urn. His lips stretched into a predatory grinawakening the scars on his cheeks and revealing a jagged row of prong-liketeeth.

“What’s your name, sunshine?”

“Daisy.”

“Daisy? My I love to pick daisies.”

The little flower giggled. Accepting her bowl, herfingers brushed his. A butterfly’s caress that thawed his blood. Best notflirt, short eyes. So tender. He knew what she craved. So tender. Best flyaway.

Shook bit down on his lip. His migraines were hittingagain.

A brain-rattler had knocked him on his ass last week.The need to love again was overwhelming. It had been nearly a year since thelast time. Since Tanita. Now, Danny Becker’s kidnapping made it dangerous to gohunting. How much longer could he take this? He was tiring of his game with thepriest. He needed to hunt, to prove the city belonged to him. Scanning theshelter, he located Daisy among the far flung tables and indulged in a bold,ravenous stare, assessing the possibilities until he was nudged by thevolunteer beside him.

“You’ve got a customer,” Florence Schafer said meekly.

Shook quickly filled the bowl for an old sod beforehim and was thanked with a “God bless you.” Shook ignored him.

He looked down at Florence, she was familiar. Runninghis eyes over her miniature frame, he could smell her fear. He was curious. Whyhad she acted so strangely when they sent her to help him on the serving line?Not once had she turned to him. Pious little cunt. Maybe he would give her alesson in humility. It would be memorable. If only she knew of his power, knewwho he really was.

There was only one who knew.

From time to time a knowing moment would flickerbetween Shook and the cold, hard eyes of those released from Q. it was thelook: con to con. But even their icy perception was never total. Only thepriest knew, and could not break the seal of the confessional. He absolvedShook of his sins, but could tell no one of his crimes. He was bound by theoath he swore to God.

Shook reveled in tormenting his confessor, reveled inspitting in the face of his God.

Who possesses the real power? Who could take his pickof San Francisco’s lambs, orchestrate the Sunday school teacher’s suicide,baffle the blue meanies and manipulate everyone?

The priest knew exactly who Shook was and he trembledin his knowledge.

“Hello, Florence. Lovely to see you today.”

Shook’s ears pricked up at the sound of FatherMcCreeny’s voice. Ah, he had arrived as expected. Grazing with the flock.Demonstrating his devotion. Standing head and shoulders above the others,dispensing God bless you’s while piling his plate with food.

McCreeny stood before Shook. Emotion drained from hisface and his troubled eyes feigned kindness. At last he said: “God be with you,my son. Bless you for helping us.”

Shook remained silent, taking his time to scoopchicken soup into McCreeny’s bowl, placing it gently in the priest’s hands in amanner suggesting the reverse of the sacrament of communion.

“And God be with you, Father.” Shook smiled widely,showing McCreeny his hideous teeth.