by K T Rose
Techy plopped down on the bale in the front row next to Billy, the douche.
Jessica snickered but her face went straight when she felt eyes on her.
She looked over to find Hazel staring. Her finger pointed sharply at the bale next to Mr. Keys, who sat left of Billy. In front of them, sitting crossed-legged on the cement floor, were four children she hadn’t met before.
Jessica frowned and cocked her head. Why’d she need to sit down? And even worse, why’d she have to be in the front? So much for keeping your head down.
Jessica shook her head as Father Paul sipped on a bottle of water and slid dark, thick-framed glasses over his eyes.
Hazel mouthed ‘now.’
Jessica rolled her eyes and trudged up front. She flopped down on the bale and glared over her shoulder at Hazel, whose eyes were on Father Paul.
“Right,” Father Paul went on. “My apologies, everyone, for not having a meeting in a while. With everyone’s busy schedules, it’s been hard to find a good time.”
What? Father Paul made the schedules. Jessica raised a brow.
“First, I’d like to say good job to Ms. Orleans, Sister Green, and Patty for their planning. The buy went smoothly, and we will be moving out to Nebraska one month from today.”
Everyone clapped and cheered.
“Come on up, ladies.”
Patty, the woman who Sister Green had been talking to earlier, in the second row, stepped up first. Her shaken, pale, crinkled hands covered her mouth as if she’d just hit the lotto.
Father Paul motioned for Billy to come forward. He tussled with a leather suitcase and set it on the table. Father Paul popped the golden latches and pulled out a stack of money. Jessica’s eyes bulged. She’d never seen that much money before. Not in real life at least.
Father Paul pulled a ring from his pocket. Its stone shimmered a deep lime color, bouncing sunlight off all sides. Patty gasped. “For me?” she asked in a small frail voice.
“Yes. A peridot for my August baby.”
It fit on her left index finger flawlessly. “Thank you so much,” she exclaimed. Tears seeped over her eyes as she went in for a hug.
Shortly after, Sister Green and Ms. Orleans, a curvy woman with thick lips, and long thick black hair, went up and accepted their prizes along with a hug from Father Paul. Sister Green, his April sweetheart, got a diamond and Ms. Orleans, his December love, got sapphire.
The women sat down, pleased with their new jewelry as they held it up in the light and showed it off for the crowd to see.
Everyone clapped and cheered.
“Congratulations ladies. You deserve it.” Father Paul looked down at the podium and wrote something.
“Next note. Some of you may have seen a new face around here. Especially you, Sister Green, since she’s spent her first three weeks working at the bodega.” He looked over at Jessica and she shrunk in her seat. “This beautiful young woman has graced us with her lovely presence and promised to take on Marla’s role as Key Recruiter. She’ll be starting her position very soon. Welcome, Olive.”
“Hello, Olive,” the crowd droned. Their synchronism was off-putting at most. It was like being trapped in a Twilight Zone episode, where everyone was brainwashed into being accepting.
Stay in your lane. She smiled and waved.
“Stand, Olive. Let everyone see you. I’m pretty sure our youngest have been curious about the new girl. Isn’t that right, kids?” He looked down to the children sitting cross-legged on the ground before him. They nodded and smiled.
“Why don’t you little ones stand and introduce yourselves. I’m sure the adults have already had the pressure.”
He pointed at the boy McGee had been reeling into before the meeting. “Stand up. Tell her your name and how old you are.”
He stood. “My name is—”
“Uh, uh,” Father Paul interrupted. “You look at the person you’re talking to.”
The boy turned to face her. “Sorry. My name is Nutty and I’m nine years old.” Nutty put his small hands in the pockets at the fronts of his jeans and rocked back and forth on the heels of his Karate Turtle tennis shoes. His hoodie matched, with turtle characters waving nun chucks and swords.
“How long have you been with me, Nutty?”
“Since I was—” Nutty counted on his fingertips then he held up three fingers. The crowd clapped and the adults in the front row gave him ‘good job’ nudges, especially Techy.
“That’s my boy,” Techy announced and gave the boy’s short afro a rub. Nutty smiled big, allowing his deep dimples to sink into his deep brown cheeks.
“Alright. Go on,” Father Paul said.
A girl stood. Her hay-colored pigtails sat on either side of her head and her green eyes glistened as she smiled at Jessica. “My name is Shelly and I’m eleven years old. I’ve been with Father Paul for four years.”
The crowd awwed as she lifted the edges of her pink flowery dress and gave a polite bow. She blushed as she sat down, sure to straighten out her bright pink jacket on the ground that she used as a cushion.
“Next.”
A boy with chubby almond cheeks stood and patted hay from his dark jeans and lime hooded sweatshirt. “My name is Tilly,” he said in a childlike voice. “Uh, I’m twelve and I’ve been here for two years.” He looked over at Father Paul as if searching for approval with his doughy brown eyes. Father Paul nodded. Tilly sat back down and with a mild struggle, pulled his pudgy limbs back into position.
A pale, thin girl in a leather jacket and dark leggings stood. “I’m Tate, eleven, five years.” She sat down fast with her wide set, round hazel eyes pouting as if this were a massive inconvenience for her.
“Well done, children,” Father Paul said.
“Thank you, Father Paul,” they said in tandem with a mixture of confident, perky, confused, and downtrodden tones.
“If there was time, I’d have everyone who hadn’t had the chance to meet her step forward and do so now. But we are pressed for time so do it on your own. She lives in the Center across the hall from Hazel.”
He picked up his notebook and wrote something down. Then he looked up at Jessica, who was still standing.
“Olive, dear, you can have a seat.”
She did as she was told. That’s where the name came from. Father Paul. Olive. She was now Olive. She frowned and hated it to herself.
“Before we move onto the last item on the agenda, does anyone have something to add?”
“Um, yes,” McGee said.
“Yes, McGee. What’d you have today?”
McGee stood, rubbing his hands together. “I just want to remind everyone that I’m not the dry cleaner and I am most certainly not a delivery service. I understand that everyone is busy with their tasks. But as Father Paul knows, I stay busy doing everything I can to keep everyone in clean, comfy, beautifully fitting clothes…”
“And I appreciate you just as much as everyone else,” Father Paul said.
People nodded, agreeing.
“That’s all well and fine, Father Paul. Most well and delightful. But what I want to say is,” he hesitated.
“Go on McGee,” Father Paul said. A look of concern shone in his eyes.
“Well…” McGee scratched his wrist. “Please pick up your clothes on the date they are set for pick up. The laundry gets busy and I’m working alone. There is no room for clusters of clean clothes to lay around. Seriously, guys. Please retrieve and claim your clothes on the day you are scheduled.”
Father Paul squinted and laid a damning glare on the crowd. “This, uh...this isn’t the first time you’ve brought this up to the congregation. Now is it?”
“N… no, Father Paul.” McGee swiped a shaken hand over his white curls.
“Last time you brought this up, everyone agreed to your terms. Did they not?”
“Y…yes they did, Father Paul.”
“And we still have people not following the rules?” Father Paul chuckled. “It’s like rules are mean
t to be broken. It’s like you all don’t respect McGee and his wishes.”
The people murmured.
“We do, Father Paul,” Shelly said. She looked over at the nervous mess of a man. “We’re sorry, McGee. We didn’t mean to upset you.”
Patty stood and embraced him. Techy saluted him. The row behind him stood and patted him on the shoulder as if to say ‘well done, you are appreciated.’
“It looks like they are truly indebted to your services, McGee.”
“I… I know, Father Paul. I really do. But I need help in the laundry.”
“I can’t give you any help. The kids are too young to have jobs. Why, what will they do with the money? Play Barbies?”
“N…no, Father Paul. I just…”
“How about this: if you have clothes sitting around for more than an hour after the calling time, you are to burn them at the end of your shift. We’ll make a bonfire out of it. Mercury and Basil will make pulled pork and Mr. Keys will bring wood and Hazel will pick up marshmallows. After the celebration, you will tell the crowd who we are to thank for the lovely clothing donation. Then, I will toss them into the dying fire, bringing it back to life with their fileting body. Or bodies. Do you understand?”
Mercury, a blonde heavy-set woman, nodded from her seat next to McGee and Basil, a tall, thin girl with short orange locks who sat next to Mercury, did the same.
“Yes, Father Paul,” McGee cried as he took his seat.
“Good.” Father Paul jotted down more notes on his ink pad.
The barn stood silent. So quiet that Jessica could hear his ink pen scratch the paper’s surface.
“Now, onto the last order of business. Hazel. St. Pete, can you bring Boaty up here please.”
The crowd gasped and looked to the far right of the barn where Boaty had been sitting next to the tractor that leaned against the wall to the right of the open garage door. A look of confusion splayed across his face.
“Blaze, can you bring my bag of tools please and set it on the table?”
“Wait, no!” Boaty screamed as Hazel and St. Pete grabbed either arm and sat him in the chair. His bun loosened and stray pieces of hair fell to the front of his face as he fought against their grip. “What...what’s happening? What did I do?”
Father Paul smiled as he pulled a pair of bolt-cutting pliers from the bag. “What time is curfew for those who are aged fifteen to seventeen that aren’t on guard duty, Boaty?”
“Uh...” His throat shook as St. Pete fastened his wrists to the chair’s arms. Jessica’s breath caught in her throat. “Uh...” he cried as Father Paul drew nearer with the pliers.
“Come on, Boaty. It’s eight o’ clock and you know how I get if I haven’t had Mercury’s blueberry pancakes on a Tuesday morning.”
“Fr..Fr…”
“Use your words. You do know how to talk. That much, I know. You’ve aced Ms. Orleans’s curriculum with the highest marks since the history of this compound. My dear boy, I know you know how to talk and tell time.”
Boaty filched as Father Paul rubbed the pliers against his forehead.
“Ten,” Boaty blurted.
“Unless what?” Father Paul asked.
“Unless it was approved by you and you only, Father Paul.” Boaty shrunk into the chair. His eyes followed the pliers.
“Good. So can you tell me why Billy the Kid claims he saw you out in the dead of night two evenings ago?”
A hushed whisper swept across the room.
“I…I wasn’t.”
“And then he lies to me!” Father Paul’s shout boomed across the barn, shaking Jessica to the core. She watched with the same intent as she had before, eyes glued to the computer screen, waiting for him to strike. But this time the joy was replaced with dread.
“Billy’s a liar!” Boaty protested.
“Oh, is he now? I guess that makes St. Pete a liar too.”
“What?”
“St. Pete?”
“Yeah,” St. Pete grunted through clenched teeth.
“Did you see Boaty out past curfew that night also?”
St. Pete nodded.
“And what was he doing out there? Tell me what you saw.”
“He was drawing on a sheet of paper.”
“Really? Twice a liar, Boaty.” Father Paul smacked his teeth. “You are in deep, my boy.”
Father Paul nodded. After pulling Boaty’s shoes free from his feet, St. Pete held one of Boaty’s legs still and Hazel held onto the other.
“Billy, how does that make you feel to be called a liar by your own brother?”
“Furious,” Billy uttered.
“That freak is not my brother! My brother is dead!” Boaty shouted.
“Hmm.” Father Paul crouched in front of the screaming boy and put the pliers to his big toe. He twisted, sending a sickening crack through the building.
Jessica flinched and looked around. No one else seemed moved as they watched with steely faces.
Boaty screamed when Father Paul moved onto his other foot and broke that big toe also.
As Boaty wailed and let out a painful cry, Father Paul stood up straight and stared at him. “Now I know you miss Mr. French. He was a huge part of my heart just as the others sitting here before you are. You understand that, right?”
Boaty shook his head.
“For you to say that Billy isn’t your brother, why, that’s blasphemy to my name. To the name of the clan. Is that what you want? To break us apart? You don’t think we’re all sad about those we’ve lost? No one can tell a joke like Mr. French—that man brought joy and laughter with his mere presence. He was a brother to all of us and I miss him dearly. Don’t you see that?”
Boaty nodded again.
“Good.” Father Paul smiled. “I forgive though. I really do.” He placed a hand where his heart could’ve been, if he had one. He stroked the crying boy’s head with the other hand. He looked at the crowd. “I love all of you. That’s why I protect you. The government will never make you pay another tax dollar. A company won’t toss you out on your ass because of cut-backs. This family will have your back, not shove a knife through it. My love for you all is unconditional, but just like God, I pull out my wrath and place it where it’s most deserved all in the name of fairness.” He rested eyes on Jessica. “I know what’s best.”
“We trust you, Father Paul,” the clan resounded.
“I am everywhere.”
“Watch over us, Father Paul.”
“And I love you.”
“Unconditionally, Father Paul.”
He looked back at the wincing Boaty. “You have one month to be on your feet. If not, I’ll snatch that lying uvula from your throat. If so, well, I’ll get you that model boat you’ve always wanted. Deal?”
Boaty nodded through stammering sobs.
Father Paul looked to the crowd. “Dismissed until we fetch you all for brunch.”
Brunch. Jessica’s belly turned at the thought. Who would want to eat after seeing someone you supposedly loved be tortured? As twisted as it may seem, she could end up in that chair, even still. She was no different than those people on Father Paul’s show. Neither was Sister Green, or the kids, or Hazel or St. Pete. No one was safe from Father Paul’s madness. Her heart lurched. Fuck. What had she gotten into?
As she stood, Hazel approached, chatting with Father Paul.
“Olive, my love, I heard you were doing rather well in the store,” Father Paul said as Hazel scowled at her from his side. “Sister Green has told me all about your work ethic. Do you like it?”
“Sure, it’s fine. Relaxing. Easy work,” she said, trying and failing to avoid his dark eyes. It was like looking into a soulless husk.
“Good.” He turned to Hazel. “Get her ready for the catch tonight.” He looked back at Jessica. “I want to see what she’s made of. Until later, my sweet Olive.”
Father Paul kissed Hazel on the lips and waved St. Pete over to Boaty, where they helped him from the chair.
“Yo
u heard the man,” Hazel said. “Let’s get to it.”
“Where are you taking me?”
“To your real job.”
Chapter Three
“Olive, are you listening to me?”
Jessica fought to keep her eyelids up and her mind on alert. But the pain from her burning scalp and stiffened face would rather her sleep it off right there in the back of the SUV. McGee had her in the chair for four hours as he bleached and dyed her hair from dark to platinum. Then he went to work on her face, peeling skin and layering on blush and foundation.
“Olive,” Hazel said. “You’d better be listening because fucking this up could get you killed.”
“I heard what you said,” Jessica grumbled.
“Really? What’d I say?”
“You said the woman, Yogi or Yoshi…”
“Uni…”
“…or whatever… will be showing up at nine.”
“And?”
“That I need to be sure to give her the poison, not drink it myself,” she recited dully.
“Good. So what city is the house in?”
Jessica stammered then went tongue-tied. Shit. Hazel only mentioned it ten times as she read the map to St. Pete who, himself, sat in the driver seat enjoying the interrogation with low snickers.
“Yeah, I knew you weren’t listening. Wake the fuck up and open your ears. We’re going to Sparta. I bought a house downtown. Your date will be there, expecting a modest blonde who has boatloads of cash. Do you know how to pretend to be modest? Do you even know what that means?”
“Of course I know what it means. I’m not a moron.”
“I don’t think she knows what it means,” St Pete said.
“Can you act?” Hazel asked her.
“Ew, no.” Jessica winced, pulled a hand over her platinum hair, and rubbed her aching scalp. It felt like McGee bleached her skull and not the hair hanging from it.
St. Pete laughed. “How’s the hair-do treating you back there, ol’ Olive?”
“It hurts like hell. It feels like it’s eating my brain.”
“Get all your dumb ass griping out now because if you blow this, I’m killing you and the target,” Hazel said.