The priest gave everyone a cup of boiled peanuts and a shot of bourbon. Hutch took one look at it and passed. “I ain’t touching this crap,” he said. Moses dug his fork around in the cup and shrugged. “Better than the shit we ate on the inside.”
Sheriff DuPont raised an eyebrow and glanced at the priest. “You know that no one likes this shit down here, right?”
“More for me then,” the priest said.
Oren sloshed his fork around in the cup and gave up. “I’m gonna go take a nap guys,” he announced. He excused himself from the table and found a shaded corner of the yard. DuPont lifted his bourbon glass and sipped. “So uh, where do you come from priest?”
Peanut juice dripped down his beard and he wiped it away with a cheap napkin. “I’m not sure you’re ready to have that conversation yet, Sheriff.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“It means he doesn’t remember where he comes from,” Moses spoke up.
The priest looked up and glared at Moses. The sheriff’s eyes shifted back and forth between the two men. “You don’t remember?” he asked.
The priest sat down his cup and picked up the bourbon. “What do you know about Judge Castor, Sheriff?”
“Almost nuthin. Except he’s been around forever and he’s always trouble.”
The priest nodded. “That sounds about right. What say you, Mo?”
“How the hell would I know?” Moses spat.
“You seem to be a man that’s been around a while,” the priest said. He casually sipped on his drink. “You never crossed paths with this devil?”
“I only know what the sheriff knows.”
“Uh huh,” the priest shrugged. He downed the bourbon and slapped the glass on the table. “Well Sheriff, to answer your question, the judge and I go way back,” he continued. “At times we was allies. But not no more. And that’s all I can say about that.”
The sheriff drowned his shot of bourbon and then smirked. “Gimme another shot of that, will ya?” he said. He stood up and straightened himself out. “I gotta piss,” he announced. And he excused himself from the room.
Out of earshot, the priest began replenishing everyone’s drinks. Then he looked at Moses. “So I guess Mount Hebron wasn’t the end of your story, huh?”
“The hell you talkin about old fool?”
“C’mon. You’re amongst your own here. How old are you? Two thousand? Three thousand years old?”
Moses guffawed. “Well first off father. You should know the good book better than that. It wasn’t Hebron. It was Mount Nebo.”
“I don’t give a goddamn what it was. Just who the hell are you and why was ya in Mer Rouge?”
“I ain’t nobody, preacher man. A better question is just who the hell are you?”
The priest drowned another shot and then he poured another. “Drink up,” he ordered Moses. “We’re fixin to find some truths this mornin’.”
TO BE CONTINUED…