What was it this time? James set up in bed, pulled up one corner of the mask and looked at the clock, too early for the train, what had woken him up?
It was not until he removed his earplugs and heard the two brother’s heavy breathing and Tommy's attempt at maniacal laughter that he realized he was not alone. He snatched off the mask, “What the...who are you two supposed to be?”
Shawn poked James squarely in the chest with the end of the wooden bat, pushing him back into the bed.
Tommy grabbed the lamp, dangling it's now naked bulb directly over James' face.
“Hey, slow down, there, cowboy! We're asking the questions here. That's a cute little mask you're wearing!” Shawn snickered.
“Yeah, nice, purple, ain't that for sissies?” Tommy laughed.
“Sorry, they were all out of skull and crossbones,” James replied sarcastically, “Oh, was that a question, was I supposed to answer that? I'm a bit confused.”
Tommy attempted a snarl, “So, you think you're funny, hmmm...” James could almost hear gears turning in Tommy's head as he struggled to finish his insult, “funny guy?”
It was Tommy's turn to get poked with the bat,
“Will you shut up numb nuts?”
Tommy reached up with his empty hand and held his mouth closed. His brother always told him it looked stupid, but it helped him to remember when he was being quiet.
“So, preacher man. We heard you threatened to call the cops on a friend of ours,” Shawn said, rubbing his hand along the bat and smacking it into his palm a couple of time for effect. This was going well, Pops would be pleased.
Tommy's fingers slipped, “Yeah, that friend?
He happens to be our little brother.”
Shawn poked Tommy with the bat again, “Shut up, you moron, you were not supposed to mention that!”
Tommy sat the lamp on the floor to rub his shoulder, “Ow! That hurts! You can't tell me what to do. Dad never said you were in charge, Shawn!”
Shawn was losing patience, “Oh, nice! Of course he didn't! He didn't need to, I am always in charge, Tommy!”
“No names, Jerk! If Dad put you in charge, you should have remembered, he always says no names!” Tommy was whining now.
“You used mine first,” Shawn countered, “Now, we're even!”
James sat up in the bed, “You ladies plan on arguing all night, or can I get back to sleep, I got to get up early.”
Shawn shoved James back into the bed, “You shut up. I told you already, we,” he swung the bat back and forth to indicate himself and his brother, knocking first Tommy, then himself, in the head, “are asking all the questions!”
Shawn pulled his mask up to take a better look, as Tommy shone the lamp on James' chest, “You're right, bro! Good job, Tommy, now stand him up and let's get a better look at that!”
They each grabbed James by an arm and hoisted him up and out of the bed. As he stood, James' right arm, looped up and over Shawn's right shoulder and, before the man could react, he tugged the bat from his grip, bringing the fat end, down and left, across the bed, catching Tommy squarely in the jaw, causing him to crumple in a heap, into the bed.
Shawn stepped back, but not fast enough to miss the end of the bat as James adjusted his grip and swung to the right, the sickening crack of bat on scull was the last thing Shawn heard.
James stripped the two men down to their underwear and dragged them out of the house, making sure to lock the chain and putting a chair under the door knob.
James returned to bed, putting his earplugs back in, he pulled the sleep mask over his tired eyes and laid back on the pillow, cradling the bat across his chest, just in case.
As the sun rose, the two Flannigan brothers finally made it to the flower shop on foot, their car keys having been left in the pants James had confiscated the night before. They staggered around to the back where their father lived in an old, white, wood framed farm house that had once been the homestead for this area.
Mickey dragged the boys across the drive and into the back room of the flower shop, “What do you mean knocking on my door like that at five in the morning? You could wake your little brothers, or your mom!”
“Step...” Tommy started to correct the man, but stopped, even he was smart enough to occasionally pick his battles.
“So, what the hell happened to you two, anyway?” Mickey asked, handing them chunks of ice from an icemaker. “That preacher got the best of both of you? So, take your lumps and get over it.”
Tommy spoke up, “That's not all, Pops. This guy ain't right. He hits way too hard to be just a preacher. Tell him the rest Shawn.”
Shawn grinned, then winced as he rubbed ice over the lump on his head, “Dude's got a tattoo on his chest!”
Mickey slammed the top if the icemaker, “ You kidding me? What, I'm supposed to think this is something, 'cause the new preacher got's a little ink?” He laughed, mockingly, “I gotta laugh. The pope his self could have a tattoo these days and no one would even bother to tell him to pull up his pants, so it wouldn't show! Used to be you needed a reputation just to walk into a tattoo parlor. Now? What's the world coming to?”
Tommy wiggled his jaw to see if it was broken,
“Shawn says it's jailhouse art, Pops.”
“And? You know how many good men we lost to Jesus while they was in the can?” Mickey was disgusted.
Shawn looked his father in the eye, “Dad, this one? Was fresh. Six months, tops.”
Mickey looked up and glanced between the two boys, who appeared pleased with themselves, “Now, that, is a useful piece of information. Wonder what his game is?”
Tommy laughed, “ That's what Shawn said, only he said it, I wonder what he's up to, with an icepack on his face, so it sounded funny, like Iwunnawhaheupdo? Ha!” Tommy laughed.
Mickey and Shawn responded in unison, “Shut up Tommy!”
Mickey was pacing now, sniffing the air, the boys could see a scheme brewing, “What church did you say he was with?”
Shawn shrugged, and squinted, trying to remember what the sign had said on the building next to the parsonage, but his head hurt too badly, “I don't know, rolling something?”
Mickey snapped his fingers, and walked quickly to a bulletin board over a cluttered desk, “I got it, I got it!” he ran his finger around the board until it landed on a note pinned to the board, it read, “Barabbas Project Fund Raising Dinner centerpieces. Rolling Oaks Community Church.”
“This is it, I knew something big was cooking. This guy knows something and we are getting in on it.”
If you are anything like me, there are just some days when you need to sleep in and James had needed one for a while. Unfortunately, he had picked the worst possible morning, with his new boss coming into the office and Susan working very hard to make a good impression.
She looked at her watch again, 9:45, then out the window toward the parsonage. She had called James three times in the last forty-five minutes without answer. A moment later, a rumpled form dashed out of the parsonage and across the parking lot, one shoe on, the other under his arm.
As he bolted over the blacktop, his bare foot landed squarely in a huge, ice coated puddle and Susan had to stifle a laugh. Well, he wasn't boring, this new associate pastor.
James entered, with one pants leg soaking wet, a bagel clamped between his teeth, his hair standing on end, one shoe under his right arm and a Louisville Slugger, for some unknown reason, clamped in his right hand.
My dad has a great sense of humor, I can almost see his smile watching this entrance.
“Hey, there he is! You must be Todd. Susan was telling me about how you handled yourself last night.” Ronald Roland said, patting James on the shoulder. He looked at the bat, confused.
James paused, a moment of panic gripped, how could they know? “Last night? You mean....?”
Ronald Roland chuckled, “The rehearsal, the parents, the whole thing. Sounds like you’re getting it pretty easy. My first week in my first pastorate I had to preach two weddings and a funeral. The bride at the first wedding couldn't
stop crying, because the funeral was for the pastor I was replacing.”
James let out a sigh and sat in a chair, pulling a sock over his now blue, foot. He sat the bat against his chair, it fell with a crash and James leapt to his feet to discover it had demolished a floor lamp that had been standing in the corner.
“Oh, my gosh, I broke your lamp, I...” James stood there wondering if this day could get much worse.
“It's Okay, Todd, the darn thing hasn't worked since the Clinton administration.” Susan grabbed a broom and began sweeping up the pieces.
Ronald picked up the bat, “What's with the bat?
Softball season come late this year?”
James took the bat. It’s evidence, he thought to himself, then grinned, “Oh, this? Um, unruly kids, you know?”
He looked up to find both Pastor Roland and Susan looking at him seriously.
“Um, just kidding, HA!” James said.
Pastor Roland's face cracked into a grin, “You're right, he is funny. You really had me going there, but seriously, you know we are running a strictly bat free operation here, right?”
It took James a second to decide that Roland was again, joking, “Bat free, that's a good one.” James smiled.
“Susan was just catching me up to speed. I've got an appointment with the florist about the centerpieces for the pledge collection dinner. My family is down to one car for the moment, would you mind driving me over?” Pastor Roland grabbed a jacket from the back of a chair and slid it on.
“I think it might be you who minds? Do you know what I'm driving at the moment?” James quipped. Pastor Roland looked to Susan, expecting her to grin, in on the joke, but her look confirmed that James was serious.
“Surely it isn't that bad?” Pastor Roland asked.
James smiled, “Come see for yourself.”