BAYOU

shuge

"You're new to the priesthood, aren't you? What's your name again?"

Angel was looking at the girl who admitted to a cruel and unusual murder, only a week ago in that little confession box thingy. The twang in her voice was a dead giveaway.

"Ten Hail Marys," he'd said because he couldn't remember much else about the church lingo.

The staff at the church wasn't offering his proper training, one, because they didn't like his look, and two, because the air condition had kicked the bucket and apparently in the dead summer of Louisiana, that meant services might as well have been broadcasted live from hell. Heat indexes were well over one hundred degrees, no senior citizen was about to get their praise on in that type of stifling mugginess.

Yes, he may have been living in the state of Georgia where he'd had his fair share of insufferable warmth, but nothing could've prepared him for this Louisiana weather. He could agree, the heat was just rude here. Oppressive, really.

So Angel understood it. There were more important matters at hand.

Priesthood had never swayed him like the monkhood, anyway.

"Well, god accepts everyone..." Father Jones had said, having taken one look at him and expressed a small dismay. Almost as if he knew the young man would fail him, or at the least, couldn't be trusted. "And with a name like that, it's only right that I open the doors for you, even if you look like a thug."

Not the first time he'd heard that before. Cover kinda matched the book although "thug" was rather archaic.

The girl at his door cleared her throat, watching him wearily. His name. She wanted to know his name. "It's Angel."

He was sent here by his family, on one of his more tame assignments: scoping out the country for real estate. There wasn't a block in Atlanta they hadn't made their territory so his dad was looking to branch out more, try something different, the cities were getting boring. The country had charm. And Angel, ever the kind soul, would do anything for his family... Especially if he was getting a piece of the revenue.

Funny, the whole family business thing never amused him until recently. He had stepped away from it all, turned his back on the Morenos name to create one for himself. And after he'd done just that, created a name for himself, he came back. With palms open, of course.

Now his dad had him doing busy work, putting him to good use, or whatever it was he said. Please.

In typical fashion, however, Angel was already attracting crazy. His mother thought he could be under the radar if he was deep in church, well, she was wrong.

Only he couldn't tell her that, she strongly believed that her youngest son needed to find some sort of retribution for all of the sins he'd committed because even when his hands were clean, they were still red with blood.

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

He'd been baptized in rivers, purified through fire, per her request. Crazy lady, always dreaming of this enemy, the fateful day he'd meet his match. Worried sick that a loose end from his old days was out to get him.

You better hope you make it out, mijo.

To which he'd answered, Me versus this figment of your imagination? And you think I wouldn't win?

"You don't look like an angel." Cinnamon clove skin, no taller than five six, she had the audacity to speculate his being there as if she shouldn't be in jail right now. "Maybe without all the tattoos on your face."

"Is there a reason you stopped by? With that?" He gestured to the bowl with the lid wrapped in aluminum foil. "Because I'm kinda busy."

"I'm the welcoming committee." Her foot was in the crack of the door so he opened it wider, allowing her permission to enter reluctantly.