Perfect priest

"Welcome and...thank you for accepting this... this job offer."

"Well, it's not like I had other important things to do anyway," Roman muttered under his breath while stomping on a red scorpion heading inside a tiny cabin they'd moved into not so long ago.

"Right," his new partner rubbed his hands up and down his arms in an attempt to warm up.  "So, we'll be living here for the next three months studying how to do the job."

"Three months?" Roman inspected the shamble of a cabin, scowling. The thing was held together by rusty nails but mostly faith. "Are you joking?" 

"Look kid, people spend years in university learning how to do a job they'll probably hate for the rest of their lives then get married to a wife who beats them only to earn a shitty salary afterwards."

"That sounded oddly specific."

"Point being three months is fair deal if we're to make zero mistakes on this job."

Roman shook his head in disbelief and started to work on building a fire using left over evenly cut logs and woodchucks from the previous occupants' camping trip. Even if he was a city boy and a total virgin when it came to outdoorsy stuff, there was no doubt his balls were freezing off. To Roman's dismay, the fire was uncooperative and there was smoke. A lot of smoke and coughing.

Glancing over his shoulder to his partner in literal crime, Roman started, "I just realized we don't know each other."

"Good observation." The man walked over to Roman's weak excuse of a fire and scooted him out of the way. "I want it to go on like that."

In just a few minutes, beautiful orange hues crackled, lighting up the small place. Roman pretended his ego hadn't taken a hit at all. He grumbled an unintelligible "thanks" kneeling before the flames to warm his hands.

"You're welcome." Of course the guy was going to gloat about it.

"We'll be living together in this shithole far from worldly existence for three months," Roman stared at the man over the fire, then chuckled. "Won't it be awkward if I kept referring to you as you or that guy from the bridge? Also just in case one of us turns out to be a serial killer on True Crime."

"Death didn't bother you a few hours ago."

Such a fucking prick, Roman thought. "I'd rather know who to haunt if you decide to gut me in my sleep."

"If it helps you sleep at night I'm certainly not a serial killer on True Crime and That guy from the bridge works just fine."

"Well, thanks for that," sarcasm drenched Roman's words. "You should know, That guy from the bridge is a mouthful and besides, it sounds like a terrible title to a loosely inspired homicidal movie."

"Okay then," he turned to unpack his belongings. "Big Lou."

"The name's Roman O'Connor..."

"I clearly said no names." Big Lou interrupted.

"How'd you know that's my real name?"

"Is Roman O'Connor your real name?"

"Yes," Roman, perplexed, looked back at Big Lou as if he should have already known the answer. "I'm an open book. I got nothing to hide."

Big Lou glared at him, not at all content with that response.

"It's not about hiding..." Mid sentence, Big Lou decided to drop the subject, not wanting to alarm Roman by explaining the dangers of sharing his personal details with him. "You know what? Never mind."

After the day they'd had, Big Lou figured he'd let his new partner get some rest this evening then they could start with the serious business tomorrow morning. He kept his eyes on Roman as he got settled in his sleeping bag just a few meters away. Between them, the flames still blazed, it almost looked artistic.

"Earlier, did you say something about a church?" It only had been hours since Roman had slipped inside his sleeping bag but couldn't catch an inkling of sleep. Between thinking about Max and the job, his brain was working on overdrive. "Not sure I heard you quite right 'cause it sounded like you said we're hitting a church and I'm pretty sure it was the adrenaline speaking considering I was suspended at the edge of a 600ft bridge."

"Yes, that's exactly what I said."

Big Lou's words echoed in Roman's mind for several seconds afterward. "Since when do churches have that kind of cash just lying around?" his brow furrowed. "Not gonna lie to you man, but this whole ordeal feels a little bit sketchy. A part of me is telling me I'm going to wake up tomorrow morning with both my kidneys in a shipping cooler off to Monaco to save some rich asshole's heir."

Big Lou couldn't help his laugh. "Jesus Christ, paranoid much?"

"You can't be too sure in the world we live in."

"Our target is St. Francis Xavier Cathedral." Big Lou explained. "I've been keeping a close eye on things for a while and I found out every Wednesday morning at 9 o'clock on the dot, an armored truck leaves the building accompanied by at least three escorts to a private airstrip."

"I'm guessing the armored truck will be carrying cash," Roman grinned. "A shit tone of it."

Big Lou snapped his fingers. "Bingo."

"So we're hitting the truck when it leaves for the airstrip?" Roman's question was muffled with a yawn. "I suppose this is the right time for me to mention I failed my driver's test twice so...anything involving high skilled driving might not work in our favor."

"You're missing out the point," Big Lou informed him. "Our focus is the church and only the church. That's where all the gold is."

"What's the plan then?"

"I thought you'd never ask." Big Lou grinned.

He felt a mixture of satisfaction and glee wash over him. Finally, he was going to be rich.

"How are your acting skills, Roman?"

"Hmm, in kindergarten whenever they needed an inanimate object let's say... a tree? I was your guy."

"And your information on Catholic orthodox?"

"None existent." 

"All right let's not panic," Big Lou was muttering, mostly to himself. Then aloud, "When I'm done with you, you'll be perfect. Or close to a perfect priest as you can be." 

And damn if this wasn't one of the craziest things that he's ever had to do in his entire life.

"So the first thing on our list is your priesthood training," Big Lou pointed out. "This is very important, O'Connor, I need you to sell this because that's our only way inside."

All Roman wanted was to be with Max and racking in millions and getting rid of his loan sharks was only one step closer to getting his fiancé back.

"Consider it done."

***

Surprising as it may seem, three months wasn't enough time for a crash course in catholic orthodox and planning a heist on the side.

The priest Roman was supposed to be taking over from had left the church without any notice. So far Big Lou had done a good job implanting Roman's doctored seminary records on the internet in case someone decided to Google him.

When it came to all the other priestly stuff, somehow Roman was going to have to wing it.

St. Francis Xavier was a historic church found on Lake Michigan's North Shore. It had a temple-like façade, with stone pediment and columns, so stately across the street it could be mistaken for a colonial seat of legislature like Federal Hall on Wall Street. But its interior, with an altar of glided pilasters and crystal chandeliers and redolent of incense, displayed a subtle, ornate beauty.

The community was wonderful, honest and wrote each other notes for the simplest things.

Maybe in another life Roman would've considered being a priest. So far he wasn't too bad at the gig. Though the no sex part of it was going to be hard for him. No pun intended.

There was absolutely nothing to worry about. No loan sharks or cops to constantly think about.

Only Father Thomas Bradican, the bishop's sidekick has been what he'd braced for: cold stares and pointed Liturgy readings during meals as though he could see him—see through Roman's bullshit. The bishop though, Bishop Loverde instantly liked him. The man was a golden retriever, all smiles and friendly waves.

When Roman left the vestry, he saw Bishop Loverde waiting for him, his hands folded together and his lips creased in a kind smile.

"Father Roman," he greeted warmly. "Will you walk with me?"

"Of course."

Roman couldn't get over how much had changed.

Three months ago, he was a godless lowlife on the run, and now he was the moral leader of an entire community in Chicago on his way to become a millionaire.

"I was just out on my morning power walk," said Bishop Loverde. "I thought I'd stop by to wish you good luck tomorrow."

"Uh... tomorrow?"

"Sunday. Your first Mass."

"Oh!" Roman said. "Right, big debut."

"Yes, I trust you will give us a service that will uphold the dignified standards of your predecessor."

If he was going to fool the Bishop, Roman had to learn the Liturgy from cover to cover. Turns out the Liturgy wasn't the problem.

It was everything else in between.

Retrieving the vault code was harder than what he and Big Lou had expected. Apparently the bishop was the only one who had the code and playing best buds with the man was Roman's only way to get it. 

Then there was also Father Thomas. The thorn in his flesh.

"You don't happen to have any of those Masses on video, do you?" Roman asked as the bishop turned around to face him with a furrowed brow. "Because I'd kinda want to see how it's done. I mean...how it used to be done."

"You'll figure it out," the bishop laughed merrily, patting him on the shoulder. "Try to be yourself, the people will see you for who you are. Which would be... a young compassionate and progressive leader."

"Hey, thanks, Bishop Loverde." For nothing.

"Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something else."

"And what might that be, exactly?" Roman tensed.

"I'm sure by now you've seen the vault being kept in the vestry," the bishop said. "I know you kids, curious minds."

"Well, it's kinda hard to miss a gigantic titanium steel covering half of the room." Roman chuckled.

"Yeah about that," Bishop Loverde gave him a sharp look. "I might need you to unsee anything that has to do with that vault from today going onwards."

Roman had the audacity to sound confused. "I don't understand."

"The vault does not fucking exist," the bishop spoke in a firmer tone, his expression deadly. "Do you understand now?"

Roman's eyes grew big. He must admit the bishop had shocked him. He'd completely misjudged him for a golden retriever, the bishop was a shark. A ruthless one.

The silence between them spoke volumes until the bishop cleared his throat, voice softer. "You must pardon my French, I didn't mean to startle you."

"Consider me un-startled."

"Good talk then. I shall be on my way."

"Just curious Bishop Loverde," Roman eyed the older man with a tinge of nosiness. "Did the previous priest leave on his own accord or you made him leave for not being able to keep his mouth shut about the money laundering scheme you've got going back there?"

"Word of advice, Roman," the bishop replied oh so casual, walking away. "If you learn how to mind your business you'll be just fine and life will be far much easier for everyone."

"Is that supposed to be a threat?"

"Not really," the bishop's eyes found his unblinking ones. "Just good ol' advice from a friend."