“I didn’t do what you’d have wanted, maybe,” he said, “but it was right. You can try beating on me if you want, but that won’t make keeping folks hooked on drugs a good thing. And these people you’re messing with, now, they’re not the sort of folks a girl like you should be… you know… messing with.”

Since she didn’t respond, he figured he’d gotten the moral high ground after all. It didn’t seem to have all the weight he’d hoped for. She muttered something, paused at the foot of the stairs, her eyes narrowed and calculating.

“I need the money,” she said. “I’ve got a few hours to make a run for it.”

“You’ve accepted the protection of the church,” he said, feeling a little better for being back on-script. “We’ll take care of you, but that means no more lying and playing fast and loose with the truth. I didn’t go to the police and you should see…”

“If you’d gone to the cops, I’d be dead already. I need the money, Father.”

She was looking at him now with a deathly calm. Her face was bruised, her mouth thin and bloodless. She’d never looked less like a child.

“Come on, then,” he sighed and walked up the stairs.

Quasiman was sweeping the aisles and between the pews, his hunched back moving irregularly as bits of him vanished and reappeared. Father Henry nodded to him as he walked up the pulpit and took out the duffel bag. Gina snatched it from him and slung it over her shoulder.

“Thanks,” she said and strode for the main doors. Father Henry sat down and watched her go, rubbing his sore ear.

It wasn’t how he’d seen things going. He’d had a scenario in mind where Gina would have been safe, where maybe he’d bring a little light into her life. A little hope. A chance, maybe, for salvation. Instead, the most he could really hope for was the existential appreciation of a city’s worth of drug addicts thanking him for thinning down the supply. He was out of his depths in Jokertown. That was all.

“Father Henry?”

Quasiman stood before him, broom in hand. He wore an expression of concern.

“Yes?”

Quasiman beamed.

“I thought I remembered you,” he said, and vanished. Father Henry shook his head and levered himself back up to his feet just as Gina came back down the aisle. Her face was ashen, her footsteps unsteady.

A blocky man in a black coat walked beside her, carrying the duffel bag full of money. He also had a gun to her neck.

The priest stood up with a wobble, his face going paler. Joey felt something like pleasure and dug the barrel into the girl’s neck. She flinched.

“Well now,” the priest said, tugging at his collar. “And how can I help you, son?”

“Get in the back. Now!”

The priest grinned nervously like Joey’d said something clever, turned and trotted toward the back. Joey pushed the girl ahead of him, enjoying the way she stumbled. Joey really felt like he was getting back his stride.

The priest led the way down a flight of stairs to a little kitchen. Joey kept his back to the wall, his gun trained on the two of them. Without letting the barrel waver, he threw the duffel bag on the table.

“That’s the money,” he said. “So that’s a good start. Now all you gotta do to keep breathing is give me the shit.”

“Well now,” the priest began, “you see that might could pose a bit of…”

“It’s not here,” the girl snapped.

“Okay. So where is it?” Joey demanded, moving a step toward them. The priest flushed pink and looked away, shaking his head like he was talking to himself. The girl kept her eyes locked on his.

“It’s coming. My partner Jade, she’s supposed to be here with it any minute.”

The priest shot a look at her, eyebrows raised.

“Then I guess we’ll wait for Jade,” Joey said, grinning cruelly. He stepped close to them now. The priest was already flinching away in expectation of a blow. “If there ain’t no one here soon, though, I’m gonna start getting bored. And then I’m gonna start cutting off fingers.”

He walked backward slowly, a deep satisfaction flowing through him. He was back. For the first time since the fucking arrow, he was really back. It was like riding a bicycle. Just get a couple civilians shitting themselves scared, and it was like his body knew what to do. He had the money, it looked like he could maybe get the drugs. That’d show Mazzucchelli. Shit, that’d show all of them.

Close enough to start celebrating, he figured. He took the bottle out from his pocket and opened it one-handed. The priest raised his eyebrows.

“Good trick, opening them child-proof things like that,” the priest said. “Takes some practice.”

“You shut the fuck up,” Joey said.

“No offense. No offense.”

Joey glared as he sidestepped to the sink and tapped out two bright pink pills onto the counter. The priest was watching with an odd expression as he poured a glass of water with his left hand. Joey scowled, radiating menace as he popped the fag-pink pills into his mouth. He had to take his eyes off the pair for a second when he drank.

As the water washed the pills down, a strange warmth spread in his throat. Panic hit him and he was across to the priest, the barrel of the gun pressed between the fat man’s eyes, before he knew he’d moved.

“What the fuck’s wrong with the fucking water?” he demanded.

The priest managed a wan smile and shook his head.

“It’s got something in it. I can feel it. Like taking a drink.”

“Oh,” the priest said. “That’s not the water, son. That’ll happen sometimes with narcotics. Pain killers especially. The capsule cracks a little on the way down. That is darvon, isn’t it? I always though it was a lovely color.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Joey said. The pills were warm in his gut, and the pleasant, loose sensation spreading to his arms and legs. He took another cautious sip of the water. It didn’t taste weird at all, didn’t make his throat feel hot.

“Try it, if you’d like,” the priest said. “You can just crack one open and wash down a touch of the powder. It does the same.”

“If you’re fucking with me…” Joey said, but he took out another pill, cracking it between his fingertips, and popped it into his mouth. It was viciously bitter, but when he drank the water, the warm feeling came again. It had an aftertaste like grapes. He licked his lips. The priest smiled and seemed to relax.

“Shit,” Joey said. “How’d you know about that?”

“My friends and I were known to sample some narcotics in our younger days. Before I took the cloth. Since then I’ve spent a certain amount of my time ministering to folks who shared my peculiar form of weakness. I’m Father Henry Obst, by the way. I’m filling in for Father Squid for a couple weeks while he’s away. This here’s Gina. She’s accepted the protection of the Church.”

“Yeah,” Joey said, sarcastically. “And how’s that going for her?”

“I recall the first time I took codeine,” Father Henry said. He was leaning back now, the air of fear almost entirely gone. “I was just a young thing back then. Grade school. Before I drew… well, anyway. My mama gave it to me in cough syrup. That was legal back when I was a pup.”

“Oh yeah?”

“It was a lovely feeling. Now I do have to say that you don’t seem the sort of fella to indulge, though. Not when you’re on the job as it were. I assume it’s for medical needs?”

Joey nodded. His tongue felt a little thick, but the warmth in his gut was relaxing and calm. He was in a perfectly calm place. He was in control. He was good. Hell, he was perfect. “Fucker shot me with an arrow,” he said. “Months ago. Scar tissue’s all messed up with the nerves.”

“Ah,” Father Henry said, nodding sympathetically. “Must be a trial for you.”

“Yeah.”

They were silent for a few minutes-Joey wasn’t sure exactly how many. Time seemed to be doing something weird.

“I recall when I myself was in terrible pain,” the priest said, reflectively. “It wasn’t physical, mostly, but terrible all the same. I could turn… that is… well, wine was a staple of my diet as a young man. Anyway, it took me some time before I understood I was an addict. I’d lost a great deal that was very dear to me.”