Marker of Faith

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 20

John and Rattle sat in the corner booth deep in conversation until there was nothing left to say. There was so much to digest. What was the hum -- was it real or was Rattle's booze soaked mind imagining it? No, John knew it had to be real. What about Dave? What would make him take his own life? What about Lem? That was a total mystery, an uncomfortable reality that John witnessed first hand, and it was tied to the gruesome murders around town; the murders of holy men.

They sat in silence until the waitress finally showed up with their food. It was lukewarm, like the coffee, having sat under the warming lights for who knows how long, but John let it go.

What a petty little bitch you are, he thought as she slopped the plates onto the table. It took her two trips, and when she returned the second time, Roddy was trailing behind her with a grin on his face, ogling her skimpy uniform. The waitress bumped into him as she turned away from the table, sneering at his faltering smile.

"What?" she snapped.

"Ouch," Roddy retorted, holding his fingers up in the sign of the cross at her. She looked at John and Rattle briefly, and then stomped away. Roddy watched her walk away and made a kissing noise at her back side.

"Assholes!" she said loudly.

Roddy laughed harder and faced the table, his gaze settling on John. "So, where's the snow?" he asked, the laughter ebbing to a just faint smile. Rattle chuckled through a mouth full of roast beef.

"Ask him." John nodded towards Rattle and scooted over as Roddy flopped down in the booth next to him. Roddy had dark circles under his eyes and he looked like he hadn't shaved in days; he looked like John.

"Hmm, I guess it was a location joke -- you had to be there. Here's the report," Roddy said, sliding a thick file towards John as he grabbed a cup and the pot of coffee. "Coffee's cold," he whined as he poured.

"Our lovely server is a bit pissy -- she doesn't come around much," John said with a mocking wave to the waitress. She sneered and turned away immediately.

So much for customer service.

"Yeah, but she's got a nice ass!" Roddy laughed. "Bitter face, better buns." He winked, not even a little embarrassed by his behavior.

John stared back down at the table and let his mind wander. His world was spinning out of control -- his best friend had eaten his own gun, the body count was rising, and it seemed that Rod Serling was back from the grave and setting up The Twilight Zone here in John's front yard. Nothing like this ever happened in Portsmouth, ever. Well, until now. John shook his head and stared at the file in front of him. In the periphery he heard Rodriguez and Rattle getting acquainted; a few bursts in Spanish and then laughter. It soothed him.

A feeling came over John and it took a minute for him to realize what it was: Security. Imagine that. The company of a hobo and a snarky coroner is comforting. John let out a little laugh and Roddy nudged him with his elbow.

"You gonna take a look at that?" Roddy asked, pointing at the file. "Or do I need to read it you?"

"I just had a peaceful moment," John muttered, putting a tentative hand on the autopsy report.

"Oh, that." Roddy smiled. "I got a pair of snow shoes from Rattle here." He chuckled, trying to ease John's tension.

John took a deep breath and flipped open the file. The crime scene photos slid out sideways onto the table in a grim display. John quickly shoved them under the folder. Don't need to see those again, he thought and started to scan through the report. As he read, the corners of his mouth creased into a frown. He looked over at Roddy with a horrified look on his face.