The preacher sat in his alcove, surrounded by both candlelight and lamplight. Crucifixes adorned the walls. He was doing this month's bookkeeping. Who would have thought doing the Lord's work would have been so profitable.  Ah, that Miguel Sanchez had been a most generous donor. Didn't look the part, though. Looked more like a sinner, with his scars and tattoos. You never can tell, though. A not half-bad contribution from that Ryan Davis, though. He seemed like a more respectable man, with his skinny build, oxford shirt and glasses, like many of the parishioners at the church he used to go to, St. Andrew's. But that was for the weak and backsliding sinners, turn the other cheek, and all that malarkey.  "Vengeance is mine sayeth the Lord," was more the preacher's style. But now Davis had seen the light and joined his church.  Now his sinful wife had been dealt with. So were those who were trying to frame Sanchez.

A shy-seeming young woman who could not have been more than twenty years old entered the room. She was skinny, wearing a long white sheaf and sandals. Her wispy hair was loosely pinned up in a French twist, and she had a waifish, baby-faced appearance.  "Father?". she inquired timidly. "Yes, Sister Phoebe," the preacher responded. "I have some more mail for you.".  The preacher happily opened the envelope containing the check from Miguel Sanchez' representative.  Further generosity.  "Also, there are some men to see you. They say they represent Supreme Holiness."  "Will I ever achieve Supreme Holiness?" "Not right away, my child". "How can I begin?, she queried. "Return to the garden you love so well, and continue your prayers."  Obediently, Phoebe slipped away.

Four large-sized men entered the room. They were wellbuilt and tough-lookng like Sanchez, but they wore silk shirts, and if they ever had any markings like scars or tattoos, they had been removed by surgical means. They nodded at the preacher. "Greetings, my brothers," he exclaimed. "Good work you have done, dealing with the Sanchez case, and with that adulterous Davis woman. There is a couch in her office. I tell you she might as well have a sign up saying "Open for sin".

"What's next?" the men asked, practically in unison. "Why", the preacher said, "Let us join hands".  "And to pray."