“You can’t steal a priest, Eric.”
“Explain Father Coglin, then.”
I opened the trunk. The bundle of rags inside twitched and Mare screamed a little.
“He’s no kid. Ninety-five if he’s a day. Practically a veg. Much more like stealing.”
“What are you gonna do with a priest, Eric?”
“I was thinking lawn ornament.” I closed the trunk. Gently. Father C was an old damn man, he deserved a little respeto.
“Not hardly.” I opened her door. "The things he knows..."
"I'm gonna be an accessory. To kidnapping." She looked back toward the trunk, but got in. "If we're lucky enough to get arrested."
"Petty theft at best." I closed the door behind her.
"Serious talk, baby," Mare said when I got in. "Why?"
"Father C used to be Jimmy Castiglione's confessor, back before the stroke."
"Oh, Eric," she said, all serious and big-eyed, with a hitch in her voice. "This is going to make things so much worse."
"Are you kidding? This is my way out. He calls off the dogs. I drop off Father C."
"It doesn't work like that, sweetie," she said. "You forget where we met?"
As if. Mare had been tending bar for Sonny G. I'd had one Stella and paid with my heart. She was still just as beautiful.
"I know. But he's gonna kill me, Mare. I gotta try something."
"Not this, though."
Maybe she was right. Too late now, though. I'd already made the call.
First fictioning in a while! This was a 250-word Flash challenge over on reddit's /r/writing subreddit. We had to include the things in the title.