Reginald Cook - The Hammer of God

“Donovan! Donovan!” screamed Robert, pulling on the metal where the driver side door used to be.

Thorne checked the other side, screaming their friend’s name at the top of her lungs. Robert dialed 911 on his secure cell phone, rattled off their location, hung up, and managed to pry the mangled wreckage loose enough to see inside. Donovan, his body twisted and covered with blood, looked lifeless. Robert stretched his hand inside and pressed his fingers to Donovan’s blood drenched neck. Stunned, he looked up at Thorne.

“He’s dead.’

“I ’m glad to hear you have Samuel back in your hands,” Cardinal Polletto told Sister Bravo, the phone pressed to his ear. “Give Rinaldo and Dianora my best, and see that they get one hundred thousand dollars for their troubles.”

“There was a casualty,” Sister Bravo informed him. “A body is in need of disposal. It couldn’t be helped.” Cardinal Polletto pondered for a moment. “Give them one hundred fifty thousand instead, and tell them to make sure the body is never found.” Sister Bravo gave her assurances. Cardinal Polletto hung up without a goodbye, relieved.

Samuel was back in their custody, faster than he had expected, but he wasn’t really surprised. Rinaldo did a lot of work for him in the past, and the old man always prided himself on having the tightest network of ears on the street. Barely a fart happened in Rome and he didn’t get wind of it right away.

Cardinal Polletto poured himself a small brandy, downed it, then stared up at his bedroom door on the second floor, and smiled. The phone rang.

“It’s done,” a gruff voice said on the other end.

“Good,” the cardinal told Father Ortega. “Get back here as soon as it’s convenient.” Click. Another brandy, this one larger, and Cardinal Polletto felt himself fully relax. He turned out the light in his den and climbed the stairs to his room, the brandy taking more control, warmth blanketing his body.

Inside his bedroom, a woman, the object of his desire for the past three years, lay naked on top of the covers. Her breasts showed very little sign of her forty plus years, all natural, which he examined himself many times.

The cardinal sat down next to her. She tried to speak, but he placed a finger to her lips, and kissed her deeply. He placed a hand on her thigh and felt the dewy wetness that moistened her skin. She moaned at his touch, and his hardness pressed against his clothing, tight and firm. Her mouth, warm and soft like cotton, slid down to his ear lobe and gently sucked and kissed. This time he moaned.

A heavy-handed knock on the door snapped them out of the momentary foray into carnal bliss.

“Yes,” the cardinal said firmly.

“It’s me,” said Father Ortega. “I just wanted you to know that I’m back.”

“Good,” the cardinal answered. “I’ll speak with you later.” He heard Father Ortega’s bedroom door close and turned his attention back to his mistress.

“I don’t think he likes me,” she said.

“True,” said Cardinal Polletto, “but he doesn’t like anyone.” They laughed. He stood and peeled away his clothing. His body long, withered from the years, was still firm in the right place. He gently pushed her back and hovered over her body, kissing her breasts and stomach. She took his manhood in both hands, and stroked it like a fine antique, which made him purr. She knew exactly what he liked.

“Now, be a good boy and give mommy what she wants,” she asked, sly and sultry.

“I’m not ready,” he told her, more an order than an answer.

She slapped him hard and fast across his face. “I said give to me now!”

Rage swelled in the cardinal. “I recommend you not do that again,” he said, through gritted teeth.

This time the slap cupped his ear, which popped at impact. Tears welled-up in his eyes. His bottom lip quivered.

“Don’t make me ask again,” she sneered, in complete command.

The cardinal struggled to regain control, his member harder, and opened his mouth to speak. This time, she dug her fingers into his back, and he plunged inside her, whimpering like a child.

“That’s it,” she said, as he pumped. “Harder!” she ordered, digging her nails deeper into his back.

“Ahhhh!” he cried out. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” His pleading and full surrender seemed only to egg her on. She cursed in his ear, calling him names born from the pit of hell. He bit his lip, about to cum. She sensed it and ordered him not to.

“I can’t hold it!” he shouted.

“I’ll beat your ass if you do,” she answered, slapping him again.

The cardinal heard faint pounding. He couldn’t hold it and came hard, tears running down his cheeks, and snot running from his nose. She laughed, and on cue, both of them drenched in sweat, quaked in a simultaneous orgasm.

The pounding grew louder.

“Your Eminence,” called Father Ortega, “someone’s at the door.”

“Who is it?” he gasped.

“It’s Robert Veil and his partner.”

Cardinal Polletto caught his breath. “You better get dressed,” he told Alison Napier, who already had half her clothes on.

“I can’t let them find me here,” she said, panicked. “If Donovan gets wind, I…”

The cardinal walked over and stared her in the eye. “Donovan is dead,” he told her.

Alison swallowed hard. “How? When?”

“Tonight,” he told her, “right before I came upstairs.” Alison’s hands shook as she tried to fasten the buttons on her blouse.

He took both her hands.

“We talked about this,” he said. “I told you it might be necessary.”

“I know, but it’s still a shock. I thought you’d warn me before you killed him.”

Cardinal Polletto wiped her eyes and kissed her forehead. “Does it really matter?” He smiled, stroking her cheek. “One day I’ll be Pope, and you’ll be Queen. Let’s keep our eyes on the goal, on us.” Alison stood up straight, renewed, buttoned her blouse and gathered her things. “What about Robert and Thorne?” The cardinal opened the bedroom door, still nude. “Tell Mr. Veil I’m unavailable,” he told Father Ortega, who didn’t seem the slightest bit startled by Cardinal Polletto in the buff. “Mrs. Napier’s car is in the garage in back, so we’re safe. Inform them that I’m in prayer, and that I’ll receive them in the morning.” The priest nodded and left. Cardinal Polletto closed the door.

Alison checked her cell phone, which had been on silent. “They’ve been trying to reach me,” she said, frantic.

He stroked her hair. “Don’t worry.” He took her phone and battered it on the dresser, breaking it in pieces. “Tell them you lost it. We’ll come up with the rest of the story.”

Alison smiled, walked over and kissed him. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he lied. “We’ll be together forever.” Alison beamed

Cardinal Polletto led her to the bed and they sat. “Now here’s what I want you to do.”

R obert and Thorne’s recollection of the accident, at least what they agreed to tell police, changed. The new version involved two vehicles, one a Ford Excursion, the other a two-ton Silverado. They decided that the authorities would only get in the way, and that finding Donovan’s killers was best left up to them. So they sent the police in another direction.

“Both trucks hit Donavon simultaneously and left the scene in a hurry, with damage to their front ends,” Robert told them. “And no, we didn’t get a license plate number.”

“The truck was red, the Excursion black,” Thorne added. “It happened so fast we didn’t get a look at the drivers.” The police eyed them with suspicion. Robert didn’t give a shit.