Damien sat in a folding chair as an old farmer stood up, talking, pouring out his heart. A dozen chairs around a circle, some empty with names on them, all first names, and his own chair from the guest stack in the corner.

“And that’s when I woke up.” The farmer said. “Slumped over a steering wheel, truck busted to shit, alone, in some ditch. And I thought about my kids and how I could be dead right now. Broken wrist, few bruises, but alive and thinking clear. I knew what I had to do. I just didn’t have anyone to pick me up. And I found you guys. 6 weeks sober, praise the Lord.” He nodded, toasting his solo cup of lemonade. About 5 varying intensities of “Amen” whispered through the room. Damien rolled his eyes and stood up, getting another coffee and standing alone as an older woman, tall blonde, heels and a conservative dress approached him.

“Not your cup of tea?” she asked.

“Not my cup of coffee. Coffee is my cup of tea. I just, I dunno. I know I have some kind of problem, missing something or something that’s not supposed to be there. I just don’t see it being God missing from my life that’s the problem. No offense, but either getting sober or medicated seems more likely to fix me. I thought it would be more real, and less…praise the lord shit. No offense."

“No, none taken. The AA groups are all different, and they tend to have a lot of believers, but you can take the message and the ideas, without the higher power. To tell you the truth…I don’t believe in God either. I believe we all have good in us and evil in us, and in different amounts. I believe we make choices and mistakes, and when we’re really ourselves we can make the best choices and the fewest mistakes, and when we’re addicted, we’re not our best self. Don’t write us off just yet because you don’t like the churchy bits. You learn to just smile and nod and hear the person talking and their feelings, not the nonsense. Some people can’t accept that they have their own answers, so they put a voice to it. It helps them. I on the other hand, find peace knowing that voice is me, the real me, not the addict, who I am, a smart rational woman making my own decisions and making good ones, most of the time. Just the other day for example. I wanted a smoke so bad it was killing me. I went for a walk and found a local bar with some incredible blues players, open stage night, and by the time the night was done I was sitting in a smokey bar and so deep in true-self I didn’t even smell the smoke or want to have one. I knew what I wanted.”

“Inner piece?” Damien asked.

“A piece of that blues player.” She whispered, as Damien spit coffee back into his cup. “Oh I know, I’m 63, but you never stop having desires, friend. Some are just toxic and some make you feel alive. So I made a decision that night, I chatted with him, we had some laughs and I decided he wasn’t what I needed. You gotta pick and choose your temptations wisely, or they own you. Now the week before that, I made a different decision at a different place and time, and I got my man. I don’t regret it. It was right, I was thinking clear, and I fucking had fun. Moderation and being clear-headed when you choose when to have fun and when the fun is too problematic, that’s what it’s about. Maybe you can smoke and party and have wild sex, but the bottle is your kryptonite. Maybe the real problem is your job, your wife, or husband, or just your own damn stupid self. Gotta find out what your demon is before you can put your boot on it.

“What if I’m just a stressed out cop who needs psyche meds?” he asked.

“What if? I can't answer that. This is AA, but I assure you, The first A stands for several things. Addicts, not always Alcohol. Your addiction may be that damn job. You got kids? A wife?” she asked.

“No kids…The wife part is, um, still in the air. She left me, but the papers aren’t final. It’s final though. Actually, the job may have been the root of that.” He said, pondering a moment. "Come to think of it, I cheated on her. I’ve never cheated on anyone before. That’s not me. But I did it. Stone sober and working the job, I got paired with this sexy mean thing working late hours on shit I couldn’t trust anyone else with, not even my wife. Open case shit. Cop shit.” He said taking a sip. “I’m not a sex addict. I’m not an alcoholic either, but I lost her, got drunk off my ass over a case…same damn case.”

“Sounds like your drug of choice is your work. Ever thought about working somewhere else?” she asked.

“Nah. This is my turf. I own this territory. Nothing goes down here without me getting my teeth into it.”

“Well, there’s the problem. Your temptation isn’t the sex or the alcohol, it’s that badge. Is that badge your weapon, your tool, or do you belong to it. Is it your identity, your crutch, your problem?”

“I suppose I could just say I can quit any time I want to, but I don’t want to because there’s crime to solve, and that just lights up that little Ah-ha bulb don’t it?”

“Certainly makes you think. Let me ask you something, Officer…Smith. Are you a good cop?”

“Yea, I always get my man. Just like you.”

“That’s not the question. I didn’t ask if you were a successful cop, or if you took down your quota. Are you a GOOD cop?” she asked.

“You mean do I abuse the badge or follow it like my little church cross? I think I do a good job. The problem may be that the department doesn’t want a good cop, they want an obedient cop who listens to orders.” Damien sighed. “Now I kinda wonder if I’m crazy for thinking I’m the only good one left, or if that means I’m not one of the good ones at all. I could certainly be worse. Hell the worst ones tend to get the best positions and promotions.”

“Honey, it sounds like either you’re working in the wrong division or you just workin in the wrong occupation. You can't fix a crooked system. You gotta get out of the toxic pit and leave it behind. You can’t just hold your breath and go under, thinking it will change just because you’re floating in there. You’re not that contagious. You’re just a mismatched man butting heads with a bad fit, and one day you keep forcing that key in the wrong lock it’s gonna turn alright, but you won’t break the lock, you’ll just twist yourself to fit it, and get stuck.”

“You’re saying quit being a cop?” he asked.

“I’m sayin quit being a good cop in a bad cop’s territory. There are more of them than you, so you’ll either join them or break under them. You won’t fix them. There are places where a good cop would be appreciated and needed. You’re just in the wrong damn doughnut shop, my friend.”

“Damn. That’s tough shit. I respect the honesty. I know this is supposed to be anonymous and all but, you got a name?”

“Yea I do. Catherine. You don’t need a last name.”

“Damien, no last name either. Who would have thought the odds?” he smiled. “So what do you do for work if you don’t mind me askin?”

“Most people don’t ask, it’s rather outside the lines but people here trust me and you gotta give back a little of that. I worked at the casino. I worked FOR the casino. They owned me. Now I’m retired. I still do a little work, night clubs, private friend groups. You could say I just stopped taking the money for it, and started doing my own thing, same idea, no boss. Luckily I saved up and money isn’t a motivation, just a temptation.”

“What made you quit?”

“Death paid me a visit.” She said darkly.

“Excuse me?” he chuckled.

“Lung cancer. Smoking. Had a man in a room look me coldly in the eyes and said: do you wanna live or die?” she said. “And I realized the stress from the work driving me to chain-smoke might kill me before the cigarettes do. Either way, I was out. I got myself to one of these groups, mutual friend whispered in my ear so to speak, and here I am. Alive past my deadline, and doing great. I don’t expect to live forever, but I expect to keep living till I die, and not work for some shady cheating bastards screwing me over, so I could make money. The cancer was just karma, or coincidence. Ever since then I stay away from the organizations and stick to my own rules, black coffee, some dark silky slide guitar, and the occasional blues player. I even became a sponsor. Got a nice man right now who calls me at weird hours when his demons knock, and he thinks about answering. Good man, bad luck, clean soul. We met at a blues bar, me dealing blackjack in a smokey room and him drunk of his ass looking for trouble. He doesn’t fit with the whole churchy amen stuff either. Got his own way of doin religious things, but he does it, and he does well.”

“What’s his name?” he asked.

“Now we don’t do that here. You can say hi my name is Damien, and I can say, hello I’m Catherine, but we don’t drop names that we don’t own here. That gets you in trouble. You’ll learn, or you won’t. Maybe you’ll say fuck this nonsense and go back to work. Maybe you’ll save the world, or maybe you’ll kill a kid at a traffic stop over a joint just reachin for a wallet.”

“That’s dark. You’re not crazy for saying it, just bold for saying it. Lotta cops end up fucking up more lives than their own. Actually, one of the guys I worked with got himself killed, and you know the sad part? Nobody seems to miss him. Between the shit he let slide, and the shit he bought way above our salary, most of us just bowed a head and said: ain’t that a shame, and what we were all thinking was…finally caught up to his fat ass I guess. Shot 3 times in an alley over a rival gang to the one he was paid off by. I guess they didn’t have as much bribe money, but they had better guns.”

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“And you all knew he was crooked as an alligator’s dick and didn’t bust him. You wonder why I keep implying you are in the wrong doughnut shop, Damien. You don’t seem like a piece of shit.”

“Thanks, I try.”

“So why do you work with them? Why do you work for them, let them tell you what to do and when to take a shit, when you’re the one asking questions and looking for the truth and they’re getting shot in alleys in between gangs they get bribed by?”

“Someone has to stand their ground or the ship goes under.”

“No Damien… sometimes the ship is just sinking, and you’re just sittin there scooping out cups of water instead of getting a raft and saying fuck the boat. Boats sink. Some are not worth saving. Find another boat or stop sailing. Lotta jobs that don’t involve boats. Lotta boats with good bones. Don’t go down with the ship. It’s not your job, Damien. If I were you, I’d put a hole in the bottom of it as I left, and paddle my ass away.”

Tanner paced back and forth with a half-pint bottle of gin in her coat, tightening the lid and looking nervous and cold. She listened for the voice and eyed the warm building lit with yellow light, both nervous at the idea of people, and the idea of a giant cross staring at her. She tossed the bottle in the dumpster and decided to avoid both. She blew into her mittens to keep her fingers warm as she spotted something that made her even colder, scooting back behind the dumpster for cover.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she asked the darkness. “Well? Is that a sign or something? Nothing? Not a maybe or a no?” she whispered angrily at the sky, as the familiar figure walked along to his car. “I know it’s him, he’s supposed to be fucking off right now, why is he at Mike’s AA group?” she asked nobody or God. “Damien you lying suicidal prick, she said, checking her pocket knife, the rainbow blade barely visible in the parking lot light. “Tell you what, if you won’t talk to me, I’ll just give you the options. I’m sober, I’m trying this crazy shit, and there is my temptation right in the damn parking lot. So if you DON’T want me to kill him…do something or say something, mkay?” she asked with an attitude. “Fine. Stabby gets to play. Fuck with my man, you get to taste the rainbow, bitch. Let’s go.” She said softly, getting hyped up, wishing she had her bottle back now, breathing heavy and hopping in place to get the blood pumping, suddenly jumping as a hand touched her shoulder.

“Missy, are you okay?” asked a friendly voice.

“Oh holy hell you scared the BeJes…jangle out of me.” She said feeling almost guilty about finishing that name, given her location, intentions, and sin of choice.

“You out here all alone in the cold talking to yourself?” he asked, peering into the dumpster and seeing the bottle. “drinking alone?” he asked.

“Oh chill the…heck out, I’m fine. But I think I got the hint I was looking for. Just a little confusing, I’m dealing with some shi-, some shtuff, things and stuff.”

“You don’t look old enough to drink, let alone be out alone at night, freezing. Come on in. The church is warm, we got coffee and even some spare coats if you need one.”

“And people, and rules, and…other stuff.” Tanner argued.

“The lord accepts all, and the people are all leaving. Come on in and get warm, sweetie. You need the shelter as much as the coffee.” He said, leading her in, as she realized she was too cold to walk back to the Van.

“Maybe just long enough to warm up and call my ride. My um…boyfriend recommended one of these places. I snuck out to check it out. Found this card. Found some other things here too.” She said watching Detective Baker’s car roll down the road as the last to leave.

She sipped her coffee and sobered up from the cold as the priest sat with her.

“Your parents must be worried sick. What are you…17?”

“Uh, 16. My parents are dead, I got nobody worried sick. My boyfriend sleeps like the dead, I may have to call him 3 or 4 times if he’s in the bedroom. You mind giving me a ride if he doesn’t pick up. He has a tendency to not answer when he’s in there…studying." She tempted.

“Well, maybe you just need to let him sleep. If he doesn’t care about you, then you can stay here.” He said, placing his hand on her thigh. She jumped up and backed away.

“Dude, I’m 16.” She lied.

“You know running away from home is what lead you astray, down this path. You need guidance and discipline, I can see that now.” He said, looking angry and in a strange way, happy.

“Hey don’t try anything weird, creepo. My boyfriend will kill you.”

“No he won’t. Nobody knows you’re here. You don’t have a boyfriend or anyone to call, hooker. Your kind show up here sometimes looking for God, but here in this house, after the meetings are over, this is MY church, not theirs. My rules. You give that up for drugs and money anyway, whore, but not for obedience. See that’s your problem. No guidance.” He said, standing up and pacing to the door, locking it. “No man in your life to guide you, and no willingness to listen to one when they do. Submitting to the man is how a woman finds her place. And those who spare the rod spoil the child…” he said, picking up one of the brass candleholders like a bat, tapping his open palm. “And spoiled children will fall into sin. Now you found this place for a reason, child.”

“So just to clarify, you’re gonna help me whether I want it or not, and un-spoil me a little if I don’t submit and know my place?” she asked.

“Quick learner, but you look like a stubborn brat who will be trouble. So, are you going to be trouble?” he asked, practically growing horns with the look of lust in his eyes. She looked up at the cross on the wall and smiled darkly.

“Mysterious ways…I’m getting it. Thank you, God, for this fun little twist.” She giggled, flipping the knife open behind her back. “Oh, and I plan to be VERY big trouble.” She said, pointing the gun at his face. “Oh, don’t worry, I don’t plan to shoot you unless you force me to do so. Well…this is a house of prayer, you might wanna get on your knees for this.” She grinned, devilishly.

Mike sat impatiently as his phone rang, and he grabbed it like a gun he was ready to draw for hours.

“Tanner, where are you? Where is the Van?”

“Mike I’m so sorry, I didn’t wanna wake you up, you were in your bullet cave and I have a confession to make. I stole your Van, but for a good cause.”

“Where are you, are you safe?”

“I’m just fine. Never better.” She giggled, white and red makeup covering her face, black lipstick and a hint of a red kimono around her neck as she closed her eyes and sighed happily. “I just woke up and found your little AA card, felt something leading me here, so I just borrowed the van. I met someone friendly, and I really think I understand what you meant now. There is a voice, it’s just hard to hear. But when you ask and really listen, it whispers to you.” She said flipping around the bloody knife.

“But you’re not hurt or upset, are you headed back?” he asked.

“If it’s okay, I think I need some alone time to really think now that I’ve sobered up. God has something for me, I need a while to process this. Can I please have some alone time, I’ll bring the van back soon, you don’t need it for a while, do you?”

“Just promise me you’re not doing anything stupid like getting high with some asshole junkie, and you’ll be back by 5 or 6. I worry about you.”

“Aww, I worry about you too, gramps. I’ll be back soon, I just am right in the middle of this breakthrough, and I promise I am stone sober, and I feel amazing. Three hours, tops.”

“Alright, fine. Just be safe and don’t trust anyone. There are creeps out there.”

“Trust me I know, I’ve met a few. Anyway, I’m so glad you’re cool with this, I appreciate the understanding, and I will be back soon, we can get a pizza or something and a movie. I’ll be there by 6, count on it.” she promised, setting her alarm.

“Alright, it’s a date.” He smiled.

“Oh is it now?” she grinned slyly.

“Well, not like that, but…dinner at 6. I’ll see you here. He said hanging up.

“Mike, you are one dense bastard and a tough nut to crack.” She sighed. “Now YOU on the other hand…lot softer.” She said, spinning and twirling her knife. “Like Jello. Must be the marbling, all those communion wafers and wine. You know, if you kept your gluttonous grubby hands on the kinda flesh you get at the store and off the 16-year-olds, we wouldn’t be having this conversation about your marbling. Mike’s right though.” She said, walking past the fat man taped to the chair, covered in cuts and blood. “I really do need to sharpen this thing, or God-forbid, maybe get another knife. I mean, that really sucks for both of us because it means I gotta do a lot more sawing than cutting, and neither of us prefer that. But everything happens for a reason I guess, and you just gotta make due with what ya got. I got a dentist office and a really dull mall-ninja-ass knife. What you gonna do?” she asked as she answered with desperation grunts and muffled jerking. “Oh like you’re gonna break those zipties, Mister Stay-Pufft, those will restrain a 200 pound juicer with a 6 pack and coke in his blood. You’re not leaving that chair in one piece. You’re leaving the chair, but…you know…in increments. Hey you’re lucky, I got places to go, and I gotta do this kinda fast so it’s not like I have all day to kill you, this will be over super fast, like an hour tops. So…hands or feet first? Not gonna answer?” she asked as he sobbed, and she ironically ripped off the tape from his mouth.

“Please let me go. I promise I’ll stop." he begged.

“I believe that. You’re done hurting hookers. The question is just really down to the details. Like if you were honest with how many girls you’ve hurt, and really said you were sorry for each of them. I’ll stab you in the ear. It’s actually painless, you die like instantly. I’ve done it. You’re not my first rodeo. OR you could beg and be stupid and lie and say you never did bla bla, this was a misunderstanding euguuuugh, I’m so innocent. And that’s when I get out the plumbing tools and this takes a lot longer, and you’ll feel it. Like a lot. Pipe cutters, blowtorch, I don’t know what this thing even is, but it’s got like handles and a grindy hole in the middle. Ooh, thread cutter. This cuts threads in pipes, I know this now… probably cuts threads in anything really, anything that fits in here. So…how many girls. Every time you lie I try out a new fun toy, and I’m really just discovering these things. They look fun. Fun for me.” she giggled, clicking the torch.

“6 girls.” He said. “Six girls, all hookers. Some of them were over 18, I swear, I just wanted them to stop sinning and settle down. It’s not so bad, they just wouldn’t listen. I didn’t kill any of them. I let them go…once I realized they weren’t going to understand and stop that nonsense. I just wanted someone. Someone who would do like the book says and obey, act proper.”

“That’s all I wanted to know. No more details. Good boy.”

“You don’t need to kill me. I know I’ve gotten carried away with myself, but I meant the best intentions for all of them. Just…consider forgiveness.” He sighed.

“You really think it’s debatable whether or not I’m gonna let you live? OOOh, honey, I’m a lying little bitch. I’m not even gonna kill you quick. I just wanted to make sure this wasn’t a misunderstanding. No you see, we’re using the tools, all of them. I gotta learn somehow, and experience is the best teacher. There was never any ear-hole thing. I just made that up.” She chuckled. “Nah fuck that. I’m having fun. But I do have to hurry, it’s gonna take an hour to clean up the body so that’s only an hour to play, and I gotta be back by dinner, or Mike’s gonna worry and be sad, and I’ll feel bad for being late and making him worry, and then nobody’s happy. We can’t have that, can we? Alrighty, let’s do the nose first. That just…feels right.” She said, scrunching her nose up and igniting the torch.