Wanted Dead

1

A tattered body  swung from the gallows not too far from the graveyard of the church. Crows picked at the corpse's flesh while Sol Valentine watched from the windowsill, a goblet of rich, red wine in his hand. It was early in the morn, perhaps an hour before the sunrise. The time when the moon began to grow sleepy and the blue of the sky was just beginning to wake.

Sol heard rather than saw the door to the room creak open and click shut. The shadows skittered into the corners as candles were lit. The priest moved about the room in his robes, completely unaware of Sol sitting in the windowsill. Finally, the finely clothed man knelt before the altar and began to mutter to himself quietly.

"Praying for redemption?" Sol raised the goblet of wine to his lips and swallowed the luscious liquid it held. The priest let out a shout and whipped around. As soon as his eyes landed on Sol's hooded figure, he composed himself and narrowed his gaze.

"How did you get in here?" The older man asked sharply. His face was made up of haggard, harsh angles, though his skin was soft and wealthy in color. The priest's eyes were beady and his mouth thin. He carried every inch of his body as if it were a treasure, a beautiful statue to be admired.

"Same as you," Sol shrugged. The priest's gaze lowered to the goblet of wine and his face just barely twitched in annoyance.

"What do you want?" The priest asked. The man rubbed his fingers over his thumbs, as if he were cleaning them of dust or dirt. It seemed pretentious and prideful.

"I got your letter."

Realization donned on the priest's face,"Ahhh, Sol Valentine. Born and raised by gypsies...like a wild animal."

The priest's voice dripped with condescension and his eyes were glazed with condemning disgust. Sol squared his jaw.

"As if you were born from angels."

"God has blessed me, esteemed me higher than men," The priest replied.

"Really? A face like yours and I would have assumed he'd cursed you," Sol quipped. The priest's nostrils flared and his shoulders tensed. His face flamed under the words of disrespect and humiliation.

Sol remained cool,"I can be an asshole too."

"Do not speak such filth in the house of God," The priest harrumphed,"Are you always so insufferable?"

"Only around those I don't like."

The priest let out a slow sigh before relaxing his shoulders. He turned back to the altar and dipped his hands into the basin of holy water that sat atop the table. Sol guzzled down the rest of the wine before leaping from the windowsill and to the floor. He retrieved the letter from his breast pocket and unfolded it.

"I have to admit, I was surprised when I read this, Father Jean-Louis," Sol walked behind the priest and then leaned against the wall.

"I've never had a request like this before," Sol shook his head and chuckled.

"Are you going to finish the job or not?" The priest replied dryly.

"Ah, that depends. I want to know why a man of God would hire an assassin," Sol pointed to the ceiling casually, as if he were gesturing to the presence of God right there above them. The priest's gaze was hard and angry. Sol was taunting him and he knew it.

"Count Galloway is responsible for stealing from God," Father Jean-Louis said bitterly.

"Isn't that God's problem?"

"The count is raising the taxes so much so that no one can give offerings. The church is in ruins. The people of the church are suffering and his selfishness is destroying my flock," The priest explained. Sol studied him. He wore vibrant robes, cream stitched with gold. A red cloak draped over his shoulders. Beautiful rings adorned his fingers and the silver chalices and basins that line the altars looked as if they were a fine price.