Chapter 7

"Yes, he certainly is expecting you, Brother Peter," I recovered quickly from the sense of impending doom that had engulfed me when I first heard the name. "Come on in. You must be tired, huh?"

"Not really," he said jovially. "It's only a two-hour drive from Minnesota."

"Of course," I agreed, hustling him in. "Still, you should probably visit your room first. You know, get settled, unpack your things?"

He had a gym bag with him, probably full of underwear and socks. Probably not a lot of unpacking was going to be needed. But he good-naturedly let me push him along to my room.

"Here you go," I said, ushering him inside.

"Are you sure?" he asked, eyeing the rumpled bedding as I shut the door behind us. "This looks like it's already occupied."

"Oh, no, we kicked him out this morning," I said as I stepped into the bathroom. "Housekeeping will be along shortly. But no sense waiting for them. Just let me fix the toilet here; Brother Tomás said it's been running at night. I'm gonna just take the lid off and — yeah, I think I see the problem here. All right, pal, take off the rope."

He was a little surprised to see me pointing a pistol at him. I was a little surprised to be doing it.

"My belt?" he asked.

"Whatever," I said. "Take it off. Come on; chop, chop."

He took off the belt-rope thing that cinched his robe around his waist and then, at my command, took off the robe as well, leaving him in his boxer shorts. I had him lay down on his stomach and carefully tied his hands behind his back, and then secured him to the bed.

"I don't know what you think you're doing, Brother Peter," he began self-righteously.

"Oh, shut the fuck up," I said. "I'm so goddamn tired of you monks. I guess I'm gonna have to gag you, though, aren't I?"

The walls in that place were paper-thin — I could hear my next-door neighbor, Brother James, moaning every night as he jerked off — so I tore off a strip of his robe and fashioned a crude gag.

"Have a nice stay here!" I wished him as I stuffed the gun and my cell phone in the pocket of my robe and hurried back to "the door." Slipping through, I turned around and changed the combination — a relatively simple task once I'd located the "Change Combination" key after my visit with Carrie. With gun back in hand, I slipped into the control room, where Brother Kevin was directing Brother Dominic in the next video. Stealing up behind him, I reached down and flipped off his microphone.

"What the — " Brother Kevin stopped when he saw the gun.

"Come on, up," I gestured him out of his seat and pushed him through the door onto the soundstage. Brother Dominic had just pulled out of his co-star, a tall woman with long, dark hair and a nice ass who was bent over a desk in a classroom setting. Brother Tomás was standing just offstage, enjoying the performance. I pushed Brother Kevin onto the stage.

"All right, assholes, freeze," I said.

They froze.

"Brother Peter," Tomás's eyes narrowed into small little slits.

"Actually, Brother Peter's tied up at the moment," I said. "And if you refer to me as your brother again, I'll shoot you for that alone."

"Master!" Carrie looked up from her desk and gave me a big smile.

"Go to the other stage," I told her, "and tell Cary and Samuel that if they're not here in 30 seconds, I'm gonna start shooting. Tell them Brother Tomás is first. If they do anything other than follow you, give a scream."

I pointed the gun at him to emphasize my order, and she hopped up and ran next door. Cary and Samuel were used to taking orders, even from naked brunettes, and followed her back into the room.

"Who are you supposed to be?" I asked Carrie as I took in her naked form.

"A teacher?" she said. "Ms. Dodge?"

Now it was my eyes that were narrowing.

"And who are you supposed to be?" I asked Dominic.

"Um, Stewart Simmons?" he offered tentatively. "Quarterback of the Hardwood High School football team?"

"Asshole," I muttered, letting loose a shot in his direction. He screamed and dropped to the ground. Huh. I guess the gun didn't kick back as much as Andy thought it would. Well, they could fix that kind of injury; besides, it was big enough that he wouldn't notice if they had to cut part of it out and splice the remaining bits together.

"The rest of you," I ordered. "Take off your robes."

They complied with remarkable speed, no doubt influenced by the sight of Brother Dominic writhing on the floor. Hell, if he was still writhing, I couldn't have hit him that bad.

"Carrie, change into somebody different," I told her. I couldn't work with Gail Dodge wandering around naked. Carrie picked Sue Waggoner. Big help.

"Get their robes and check the pockets," I ordered her. "Now I want you to go back into the other control room and find a pair of scissors and cut the phone line."

She was back three minutes later.

"All right boys," I said, "back to the door."

We marched back through the control room, where I had Carrie cut that phone line as well, and down the corridor to "the door." Even Dominic was able to make the trip; it was obviously just a flesh wound.

"You're letting them out?" Carrie asked in alarm as we reached the end of the corridor.

"Hell no," I said. "But in case I missed any cell phones, I want a little bit of a head start. Gentleman, against the left wall."

They obediently pressed themselves against the wall, and Carrie and I slid by them to get to the door. I whispered the new combination to her, and she entered it into the keypad.

"Living doll," I reached out for her as the door opened. I stepped out with my doll into a fortunately deserted hallway, and waved goodbye as the soundproof door closed and silenced the shouts from the monks. Brother James came walking down the hallway just then, and as I reached the front door, I told him he had a new neighbor and he needed to be a little quieter at night. I left him blushing there in the hallway as I slipped through the door and made a beeline for the parking lot. By that evening, I was in Ohio. By the next night, I was back in Hardwood.

My parents were a little mystified to see me, and I was more than a little mystified to see them, at least by themselves. The kids, they explained, had gone home with Shelly and Steve after a late-night call from Karen. Karen hadn't been here at all. Perhaps, they suggested, she was already back in Delaware. To be honest, I was a little shook up that my sweetie had apparently lied to me about where she was heading, to the extent that I forgot to take Carrie out of the pocket of my parka and leave her in the closet as I'd intended.

I returned home the next morning no wiser than I was when I'd left Hardwood. And much, much angrier. Karen obviously hadn't been here. And as soon as I got inside the door, I was met with the sight of dead fish and dying plants. Fucking Bentons. I'd left a message on their phone on Christmas Eve, asking one of their daughters — Barbie, Bobbie, Betsy, whichever was the oldest one in high school — to look after the house until I got home. I was really pissed off.

I stormed down my driveway and stormed up the Benton's. Our driveway was about a quarter-mile long, and theirs was easily a half-mile (they lived on the posh side of the street), so by the time I actually got to their house the storm had pretty much abated. I was a little out of breath as I knocked on the door.

"Jason," Bob looked surprised to see me there. He stuck his head out and looked from side to side.

I was surprised to see him there, for that matter. I'd been expecting to find his wife, Melissa. What was Bob doing home on a Monday?

"What exactly has your daughter been doing for the last three weeks?" I demanded.

"I'm sorry?" he asked.

"My fish?" I said. "My plants?"

"Okay," Bob held up a hand. "Can this wait, Jason? I'm a little busy right at the..."

His voice trailed off as my glare deepened. I pushed past him into the house, paying little attention to the man sitting in Bob's La-Z-Boy in the corner of the living room.

"Look," I rounded on Bob as he shut the door. "I spent the last week with a bunch of left-wing Catholic terrorist pornographers. And then I come home to find my fish all dead."

He was staring at me like I'd grown a third head.

"Opus Christe?" the man behind me said in a deep voice. I gave him a quick glance, noticing only that he looked familiar, and then turned back to Bob.

"What do you know about Opus Christe?" I asked him.

"I'm the President of Opus Christe," he said.

"The what?" I asked breathlessly.

"The President," he affirmed. "Didn't you know that's where I worked?"

"Ya know, I knew you were Catholic," I began. "Well, actually, I just knew you had a lot of kids. But I had no idea —"

By then, my anger had returned in spades. I held up my hand and began to tick off the list on my fingers.

"Well, allright, Mr. Opus Christe, I said, "then maybe you can explain the kidnapping, and the murder, and the pornography, and the terrorism."

My thumb was hanging there uselessly.

"Oh, yeah, and those steak dinners at the monastery," I finished in triumph. "That's gotta be some sort of sin."

"I assume you recognize the Pope, Jason," Bob gestured to the man behind me. I looked and finally took in the white embroidered robes and the red beanie.

"Pope," I acknowledged him with a wave. "How ya' doin'?"

"You need to kiss his ring," Bob whispered. Well, yes, that would explain why he was holding his hand out to me like that, like a dog who'd just been taught how to shake hands. "And address him as Your Holiness."

The ring, sure. I dropped to one knee and gave the John Paul George Ring-o a smooch, humming "Yesterday" while I did it. My Holiness? I didn't think so. The only holiness I recognized was my editor at Harper Brown Publishing, the one who made sure my check got cut. And even he wasn't above a good cursing if I was in the mood. Maybe we could just talk around the Holiness business.

"His Holiness visited me today in the utmost secret so that we could talk over our differences," Bob said. "I've sent my family away, which is why my daughter is unavailable to explain about your, uh, fish."

"That's okay," I smiled, making myself comfortable on the couch. "This is much more interesting."

"His Holiness was telling me of rumors similar to what you just told me, Jason," Bob explained. "I confess that I'm stunned by the whole thing. Can I get you something to drink?"

I looked over to see at the tall glass on the table beside the Pope. It looked like a Sprite with lime.

"Whatever the Pope's having," I smiled. Bob returned with a similar glass for me and asked me to start at the beginning. I took a healthy gulp — and started coughing.

"What the hell is this?" I gasped.

"Double gin and tonic," Bob said. "Just like His Holiness has. Wasn't that what you wanted?"

"I thought it was a Sprite," I said as I gradually recovered.

The Pope chuckled, and I gave him a dirty look. Finally, I began my story. They had a little trouble with the whole doll thing, so I finally asked them whether they wanted to hear the whole thing or not. I reminded the Pope that I'd always taken the Virgin Birth thing on faith, and I was allowed to continue. I'd gotten up to the good part — the monastery — when we all three looked up at the sound of tires squealing up Bob's driveway.

"You know," Bob said, "it's getting just a little too crowded here. I'm going to take his Holiness down to the den. Can you see if you can get rid of whoever that is, and meet me down there?"

"I'll try," I said. "But if it's those frickin' Jehovah's Witnesses, I could be here a while. Karen — my wife — is the only one I know who can get rid of them."

Both he and the Pope got a good laugh out of that one.

It wasn't Jehovah's Witnesses. I opened the door of the house and watched Julie Pinsky and Andy Richardson get out of the car in mid-argument.

"This is not his house," Julie protested. "His house is across the street."

"Mapquest said turn right, so I turned right," Andy answered her.

"But I've been there hundreds of times," Julie pointed out. "I think I'd know where he lives better than your stupid little palmtop."

"Well, if he doesn't live here, why is he standing there in the doorway?" Andy pointed up at me.

I waved. Julie stopped, seeing me for the first time.

"I don't care," she revved up again as they walked up the sidewalk to the front door. "You can't tell me that Mapquest knows where individual people are."

"It said to turn right," Andy said, as if the argument was over. "And there's Jason in the doorway."

"You two argue like you were married," I kidded them.

Both of them blushed.

"You aren't, are you?" I was stunned. Actually, I really wasn't. Andy had been in love with Julie his whole life, and Julie had obviously been in love with Andy at one point in hers. Sometimes love and hate are just flip sides of the same coin. Besides, once you go from a fucking asshole shithead to an asshole shithead to a plain old shithead, it's really only a matter of time before you start picking out china patterns.

"He only proposed yesterday," Julie murmured. "Can we come in?"

"Sure," I said. "You want a drink? No? Well then, let's join the Pope."