Send to kill

Preacher laughed in disbelief, shaking his head at the accusations flying around him. He took a moment to study the faces of the men around him, then leaned forward, ready to speak.

“Evangelist George?” Preacher said, his voice steady. “I don’t gossip. I know you had a glass of wine before the service.”

It was the truth. George had indeed drunk before church, already concocting a plan to steal the communion wine to sell it. Only Teacher Tommy knew about his scheme.

“You’re planning to steal the church’s red wine for communion, you and Teacher Tommy,” Preacher continued, his tone challenging.

George and Tommy exchanged glances, shock rippling between them. But Preacher wasn’t done.

“In 1985, when you turned twenty-three, God called you as an Evangelist. Your biggest problem? You can’t stop thinking about men. You’re in love with Teacher Tommy—that’s why you masturbate so much.”

A heavy silence fell. This was a secret no one knew, except for Preacher, who casually chewed on a toothpick that had fallen to the ground. George’s face went pale, and fear washed over him.

“Look, Evangelist,” Preacher pressed on, “you are a true Evangelist, no doubt. But you’ve been struggling with your issues for years, covering it up with a marriage and kids. God knows you’re gay. They should never have ordained you.”

Teacher Tommy stared at George with disgust, the truth ringing clear in Preacher’s calm but powerful voice.

“And you, Tommy,” Preacher continued, “you’re the one spreading gossip. You feel guilty, and God never showed me anything about you, but I caught you red-handed at the internet café, watching bestiality porn. You couldn’t get enough of that goat action. When I caught you, you felt guilty and spread stories about me.”

He turned to Evangelist Carl, who looked uneasy. “What’s your deal? You shouldn’t have been ordained either. You still have anger issues. When the Lord showed me you lifting your hands to your wife, it was between you and me. So how did the people find out?”

Carl’s shock deepened as Preacher continued. “Remember your time in jail? How God reduced your fifteen-year sentence to five? That’s the reason for your conversion.”

Carl couldn’t contain himself any longer. “M-O-T-H-E-R F-U-C-K-E-R, you are a true prophet, aren’t you? You piece of shit!”

Preacher glanced at Apostle Jeff, who was uncomfortably quiet. “And you, Jeff—you should be ashamed of yourself. Having sex with the pastor’s wife?”

Pastor Bill chuckled, thinking Preacher was referring to his neighbor, another pastor.

“Not your neighbor, Bill,” Preacher clarified. “And don’t be upset; you did oral sex with one of the brothers in the church too. You’re all a bunch of gay pastors. Why don’t you repent and resign?”

Pastor Bill shook his head, stunned. “I’m truly shocked at what you’re saying, Brother Preacher. Shocked!”

He turned to Apostle Jeff. “Did you sleep with my wife?”

The room fell silent, everyone processing the weight of Preacher’s words. A quarrel erupted among the men, and Preacher saw chaos brewing. He excused himself and left the building, stepping out into the cool air.

Waiting for him was his best friend, Kabaal Ruben, a captain and head detective. Kabaal waved as Preacher approached.

“Preacher! Come on, get in, bro. I’ve been looking for you,” Kabaal said, excitement in his voice.

“Me?” Preacher replied, puzzled.

“Yeah, you! Why not? You’re my bro, my compadre! Get in!”

Preacher climbed into the car, and Kabaal sped off. “Can you remember the last time we saw each other? And now here you are, out of the blue. What’s going on?”

“We need you, man. The force needs a guy like you,” Kabaal said, seriousness creeping into his tone.

“Me? I’m not a police officer,” Preacher protested.

“Still, we need you. Not just anyone—you.”

“What happened? Why would the force need me? Did something happen that even the best detectives can’t solve?”

Kabaal nodded. “You got that right. Even I need God sometimes. We need a true man of God to crack this case.”

“Go on your knees and pray. He’ll answer,” Preacher suggested.

“Yes, we can do that, but I’m afraid we’re not that favored. But you—you are.”

“We all are favored,” Preacher replied, dismissing Kabaal’s comment.

“You know what I mean! We need you.”

“Why me? There are other men of God.”

“You’re the only true God-fearing man I know. Help us, please.”

“Let me hear how bad it is. Are we dealing with the devil?”

“Sort of. We’re dealing with a serial killer. His nickname is the Angel of Death, and he knows his Bible.”

“There’s your hint. Read your Bible more, and maybe you’ll stand a chance,” Preacher said.

“We did,” Kabaal admitted.

“Really?”

“It’s not just about knowing the Bible. We need a prophet or a psychic to catch this guy. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“You guys watch too much The Mentalist. I’ll think about it, but I’ll talk to my Father first. It depends.”

Kabaal dropped him off, and just before leaving, he said, “We really need you, Preacher.”

Preacher pointed skyward. “We’ll see what the Lord says, bro. Take care.”