Sinners and Saints

Sinners and Saints Chapter 1 - Would I Lie to You

Font by Billy Argel (not Billy Angel, that would be too conveniant) - billyargel@gmail.com for personal use only.  If that pipe dream of actually publishing ever comes my way, it will be changed.  Photo and photoshop by me - keepaustinweird a.k.a. Linda Weir.  This story is a work of fiction and any and all references to places, characters or events are entirely coincidental to to any and all actual real events - past, present or future.  © 2013,  Don't steal, borrow, reference or allude to this work without my previous, written permission.  I will find out and I will stalk you to the end of your days.  You have been warned - I will keep you from getting accepted to college, a job and a potential mate.  Trust me, I have connnections...

Being a Saint is never easy.  That is Saint, as in the last name , not St., as in the title.  Because obviously neither my sister nor I are on any holy roster.  Josephina Joanne is destined to become the crazy cat lady down the street.  Me, Claire Elisabeth, I deal with it with outrageously short hairstyles and overflowing closets. Our problem, "both a blessing and a curse," our father had told us, lies in the fact that we can read our lover's minds during our most intimate moments.  Knowing what, or more to the fact, who, they are thinking about at that time.

It really isn't pleasant.  There are some seriously depraved people out there.

And - by some unbreakable contract crafted long before we were born, we have to tell our Good Father.  I like Father Jonas as much as our arrangement allows.  He never gives off that creepy vibe that some priests and nuns gave me, way back in my childhood when Dad still actually took us to Mass.  But the Father is like us; a pawn in the eternal struggle between Heaven and Hell.  He has superiors to report to, and we are mercenaries.  Heaven's spies.  At least that's what Father Jonas calls us, but then again, he's addicted to Tom Clancy.  Personally, I call us Heaven's whores.  Not virtuous by any means, but it's the truth.

I never know exactly what he does with the information.  I'm not high up enough to know.  But I do know that my information is wanted by more than one side.

Our Dad is another issue.  He was like us.  He worked for the Church too, but raising us alone combined with his job and Mom's death had taken a toll on him by the time I was old enough to understand what was going on.  Mom died when I was two and Jojo was five.  Dad made it until we graduated college and seemed to be at least semi-stable, functioning members of society.  But he refused to talk about Mom.  All he would say was, "She's gone.  That's all you need to know."  There weren't even any pictures or home-movies or cards or love letters or anything from her.  Poof! she died and he got rid of it all.

Then, I was twenty-two and JJ was twenty-five, Poof!  Again.  He's gone.  His suicide note just said that he went to join Mom and knew that we would be fine as long as we had each other and Father Jonas.  It took us nearly a year to settle his estate, combing through everything he had at his house and office.  The house is now Jojo's. I couldn't stay there again and deeded it over to her willingly.  The office is closed and has been renovated into a Christian bookstore.  He was a Private Investigator.  Very fitting, considering he was a whore for Heaven too.  He made money both ways.   Yeah, not exactly the pinnacle of virtue, I know, but he had two kids to support.

Jojo and I even discussed keeping the family business going ourselves, but Dad wouldn't have wanted us to.  He worked hard to send us through college so we had a better chance at leading semi-normal lives than he had.  All the same, though, he taught both of us how to pick a lock and bluff our way into or out of most situations and all the rest of his tricks of the trade when we were still kids.  And I kept his kit when he died. Sentimental reasons, I guess.

All of this goes through my mind as I stare back at the barely-legal kid standing outside the running and locked Porsche at the pump in front of me.  From his clothes and the hint of a nametag on the far-side of his chest, I'm guessing he's a valet that took the car out for a little spin and is now in deep doo-doo.  The clock's ticking and he needs to get it back before he's discovered.