“One by one.And because you didn’t do that, the delivery drivers took your money…mymoney… and had a laugh at your expense.Mark Twain and Edgar Allen Poe are dead authors.Captain Ahab is a fictional character, as are Billy Budd and Oliver Twist.”
Friday considered this carefully, while staring at his shoe.
“You were told you would be rewarded for diligence,” Cox said.“Half your task was done well.Half was not.Therefore, you will receive half of what was promised.”
He withdrew a folded wad of bills.He peeled them apart, counted out a couple, and held them out.
Friday hesitated.“Half?”
“Half,” Cox repeated.“For half the truth.If you want the rest, you’ll have to wait until next Sunday when you can go back and do it again. And don’t let them rag you.”
“How’m I suppose to do that?How’m I gonna knowwho's a real person and who's a… a fractional?"
Cox cast his eyes heavenwards for a second or two, appealing for strength.“Use your instincts.Use your common sense.If the guy’s grinning like the Cheshire Cat, he’s probably teasing you.”
Friday pouted.“That ain’t fair, Reverend.”
Cox’s gaze didn’t waver.“Fairness is a word for the playground.God only cares about justice.”
Friday looked at the money, then at the fire.Finally, he leaned forward, took the bills, and stuffed them into his jacket pocket.His shoulders slumped.
“Don’tthemjustice neither.”
“I’d advise you to shut up right now.”
Avoiding Cox’s glare, Friday’s eyes stuck to the girly posters.A thought struck him.Again, Cox watched it in real-time, moving across the man’s grimy face from the forehead to the eyes to the lips.
“She here yet?That girl?”
“Not yet.She will be, though.”
“She a cop, right?”
“She is more than that,” Cox said.His voice softened, almost tender.“She is my mirror.My adversary.My proof.”
Friday frowned, looked up.“Proof of what?”
“That the Lord’s design is perfect,” Cox said.“I shaped her.Not her body, not her face.But her path.Thirteen years of pain and trial and loss.Thirteen years in which she was tempered, like steel in fire.The girl who began all this is gone.What remains is the instrument I intended.”
Friday shifted on the pew.“Sounds kinda messed up, Reverend.No offence.”
“None taken,” Cox said mildly.“The prophets were always misunderstood by their companions.Moses stammered.Jeremiah wept.Elijah fled into the wilderness.Did you know the Lord sent ravens to feed him?”
Friday shook his head.
“Then you have reading to do,” Cox said.“Knowledge, Man Friday, is the first step to obedience.”
The younger man rubbed his hands together, nervous.“So, uh, what do you want me to do now?”
“Stay here and rest,” Cox said.“Eat.I’ve left food in the sacristy—cans of meat, fish, bread.Enough for a week.Finish the task next Sunday.But this time, think.Observe.Check.”
Friday nodded, eager again, desperate to redeem himself.“Got it.”
“Good.”
Cox stood and picked up a small metal cross from the camping table, table, turning it between his fingers.“Do you remember what day this is?”
“Of course, it’sThunday.”
