Sinners and Saints

Sinners and Saints Chapter 46 - Whipping Post

“So, I’m supposed to unlock Jesus and kidnap Bob Marley and get them both to approve Drake’s annulment?” I snort. 

“Apparently so,” Clark laughs, “Do you even know where they are?” 

“Jesus is in my supply closet,” I tell him, “Bob Marley is in the 1981 part of the line.  Way – way back there.” 

“The Son of God is in your supply closet?” he chortles, “I think there’s a country-lyric there somewhere.” 

“Will you please be serious?” I slap his arm, “First of all, these letters are all written in Spanish.  I don’t think there was a Spanish language when Jesus was alive – and I seriously doubt Rasta-Bob knew it either.” 

“I can’t do that,” Clark shakes his head, “I’m pushing the line already.” 

“So who can?” I ask him, “They’re all bi’s.  I can ask them to translate them again.” 

“Wouldn’t work, Claire-Beth,” he tells me, “Bob may have been literate, but the Son of God wasn’t.  He was just a poor stone-mason, after all.” 

“I thought he was a carpenter.” 

“Mis-translation,” Clark shrugs, “Anyway, he wouldn’t get it.” 

“Then we’re back at square one again,” I deflate. 

“A seraph could translate all of these into any form of communication necessary,” he grins, “Don’t happen to know any off the top of your head?”

I dial David’s number. 

“Hello?” I hear him dimly through the background of pumping bass. 

“David – it’s Claire Saint,” I yell into the phone. 

“Who?” he asks, “Hold on a minute.” 

I wait until multiple doors slam and the noise gets dialed back significantly. 

“So sorry,” he tells me and that accent – that freaking accent – has me curling my toes again, “Who is this?” 

“Claire Saint,” I tell him again, “We met up in Tokyo a while back.” 

“Ah, my wing massager,” he chuckles, “I’ve thought about you often, fy nghariad,” he continues and my knees go weak.  I really hoped it was a one-time thing, “Where are you?” 

“Miami,” I try not to whimper, “Where are you?” 

“Dusseldorf,” he tells me, “About to launch an album release.  What can I do for you?” 

I try very hard not to think of what he can do for me.  Or to me. 

“I need a huge favor,” I tell him, “An all-languages translation of three documents.  Verbal – preferably.” 

“I can do that, my lovely Claire,” he purrs into the phone and I have to sit on the bed, “What will you do for me?  Will you sing for me again?  I nearly pulled your alto-growls out of you last time.  I’d love to hear if your range has expanded.” 

“Well, um,” I have to take the phone away from my ear for a second and breathe, “You can run me through my scales, I guess, but that other stuff?  I – er – I’m going to have to pass this time.” 

“And why would that be, cariad?” he asks me with a chuckle that has me squeezing my thighs together. 

“I’m with someone.  Well, we’re not together at the moment, but we’re trying to be,” I start babbling, “It’s complicated.  Anyway,” I take another shaky breath, “You’ll figure it out when you see the letters.  Will you do it, David?”