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“appreciate what I might read was nearly…oh so very nearly left unread, the litter of a mangled mind.”
K.B.
*
Fr Malachy, as always the presiding priest, was lighting one Major from the butt of another. I said,
“Nice service.”
“Ah, there’s little you can say about a suicide, little that’s any good anyway.”
Through a cloud of smoke, he glared, said,
“They’re well rid of him.”
“Wow, you bleed with compassion.”
Then his expression changed, a sly glint to his eyes. There’s few more chilling than a sly priest. It’s all that theological backup as weight. He said,
“When I heard an ex-guard topped himself, I thought it was you. Would have laid odds on it.”
“And break my poor mother’s heart?”
He waved me away, but I wasn’t done, asked,
“You still getting ‘contributions’ from her th
