Chapter 10: The Priest

Meeks lets his feet dangle from the open boxcar door. He watches the world cruise slowly by. Beal bounds with animation through the car and he’s telling a story. Meeks does his best to ignore him.

“…five hundred buck is five hundred bucks, right? It ain't like I can't use the money, and so I figured hell, I don't like the guy anyway, right? He frickin' molested a kid in town, right? And he's a frickin' priest! Get that? A Catholic priest! Who the hell wouldn't kill a Catholic priest that molested your kid? So this lady slips me the envelope and I tell her, no problem lady, it's a done deal once you let go of that envelope, and guess what, she lets it go right there in the frickin' Tastee Freeze. Dead serious.”

Meeks rolls his eyes and rubs his temples. “You never shut up.”

“Sorry. So I find the guy in the church, right? And I got this gun. From that uncle I was telling you about. Not from the war, from his closet. And I tell him he's a piece of shit for molesting little boys, right?”

Beal becomes even more animated.

“So I ram the gun right up into his forehead and I tell him he better say his prayers because this lady wants him frickin' dead for what he did to her little boy. Get it? And this priest starts beggin' for his life, only there's no way in hell I'm going to let him live. Right? Right?”

Meeks touches the scar forming on his neck, says nothing.

“Right? You'd kill the guy, right? What would you do? Would you kill the guy?”

Meeks ignores him. Beal presses. He can’t leave it alone.

“You'd kill the guy, right?”

Meeks stands. He takes the gun from his pocket and he points it at Beal.

“So you think you're a killer?”

Beal just stares at the gun. “Hey, you're just playin', right?”

Meeks hardens “You're one tough bastard, aren't you?”

Beal slides back a step.

“Finish your story. Tell me what you did to that priest.”

Beal licks his lips. His frenzied eyes never leave Meeks’ gun.

“Come on, killer. Let's hear it.”

Meeks cocks the gun.

OK, I'm sorry,” Beal says. “I'll leave you alone.”

Meeks lowers the gun. He retakes his seat at the door and he dangles his feet over the edge.

“You didn't answer my question, though,” Beal says.

Meeks just shakes his head at the kid.

“Would you or wouldn't you?”

Meeks says nothing.

“Tell you what?” Beal goes on. “That guy deserved to die. Frickin' molestin' priests. Kill 'em all, I say.”

Meeks rubs his temples. “I need to rest.”

He leans his head against the side of the door and he twirls his silver dollar necklace in his fingers. His eyelids fall.