The screen goes dark.
The following scripture appears:
“And I saw the woman drunken with the blood of the saints, and with the blood of the martyrs of Jesus: and when I saw her, I wondered with great admiration.” {Revelation 17:6}
“This is 95.7 FM, WWVM,” the voice on the radio fades into the beat of electronic drums and synthesizer as Eddy Grant’s “BOY!” loudly leads into yet another loud “BOY!” Every city has one, an avenue where whatever you are seeking can be found. In Collinsport it is Ogden Avenue.
“Now in the streets there is violence. And-and a lots of work to be done.”
The black infinity cruses slowly beneath the hazy illumination of the sodium streetlights, as various pedestrians, striding along the sidewalk, watch the car with interest; as well as a few very suspicious loiters, lounging in the darken shadows. Nocturnal entrepreneurs. Dispensers of sex and heroin. Oxy, and other opiates. And of course, rather potent marijuana.
“And then we’ll take it higher.”
The car pulls to a halt.
A curious streetwalker glances over but can’t see anything within, owing to the tinted windows, which is the same as the other car, the black Lexus which sits about twenty feet ahead of the Infinity. She had already tried propositioning the Lexus – knocking on the window, which when it slid down revealed a driver and a well-dressed, ash blond man sitting in the rear. Her attention drawn to the scar. “I am sure what you are offering is truly riveting, but I am waiting for someone. Perhaps next time.” He said with a smile.
Although his smile indicated differently – as did the window sliding back up.
She watches now with growing suspicion: the two cars. Both obviously out of place idling on Ogden Avenue. Especially since she suspects the second car, like the first, is not part of the normal street clientele. In fact, across the street they have attracted the attention of the ever-cautious Ezekiel Randall as well. Out here on Ogden one didn’t need wireless, there was a communication signal far stronger, which had most of the regular street traffickers staying well back into the dark shadows or their usual hide-ways, being that Ezekiel Randall, only rarely made a visit to Ogden Avenue, and was here this evening in order to pay a less that hospitable call on Broderick Horn, the night manager of the Night Sky Motel. And having concluded his uncomfortable business meeting with Horn, he has stopped beside his own dark automobile, his interest apparently piqued as well by the idling cars.
Everyone was aware that the cars were not anything local – but, they may well have been federal. And so, Jo kept a wary eye – in case anything was about to go down. With Randall on the street, she more than anything did not want to be a witness, and she certainly didn’t want to be unlucky by-stander in a drive-by.
The motor of the Infinity stops.
As the door opens, Jo lifts a curious brow and shifts her weight to her right hip, as she watches a tall nun step out of the car. A rather unusual nun. Tall. Sans a coif, strikingly blonde, and rather dangerous looking, as she stands, her eyes, concealed behind what appears to be some-kind-of-expensive sunglasses, something that looks as if they were tailor made, certainly not anything you would buy say at a Lenscrafters, because the frames and oval lenses are like nothing she’s ever seen. What is that copper or brass? Most likely something way more expensive. Who knows just how much cash on hand them sisters have from all that money they’ve collected up for Jesus? And didn’t he like toss all them all-night financial service reps out on their asses from some kind of temple or something like that, and like just how much money does Jesus have, Jo’s thinking – fairly certain that’s what Randall is thinking too. And everybody knows it ain’t like they aren’t above the law in them cathedrals. Got their own kingdom and power. A king they call a Pope. Steal what they want. Fuck what they want. Ask for forgiveness later and just keep right on a sinnin’ while lookin’ down on all those out here on the street doing the same damned thing. Jo, hip-shot staring at the nun – thinks she’s just too damned good looking and not even wearing the black hood thing. Yeah, they might have to wear them penguin uniforms, but based on those glasses they sure know how to accessorize. Fuck, bet she’s even wearing some thin black lace panties and a matching bra underneath that habit.
Make a whole lot of money on this street, that’s for sure.
But, there’s something in the way she’s seemingly sizing up the street, the sidewalk. Even behind them fancy designer glasses, her eyes intense and calculating. Jo’s seen this look far too many times before and knew to take cover.
The nun begins walking around the Infinity toward the idling Lexus.
“Hey, Sister, you looking for something?” Jo calls out as she approaches, “I mean, you and me, we could like maybe have some communion tonight ” Jo suggests, “You know—I like to speak in tongues.”
The nun glances at her but says nothing as she steps over to back of the Lexus, her hand reaching for the latch of the passenger door. She gives Jo a long look and then over hood of the car glances across the street to Ezekiel Randall, before she opens the door and with a sweeping hand under her to adjust the long skirt, she sits down and closes the door cutting off the sounds of Ogden Avenue.
“Inquisitor Claret!” Professor Frost, warningly smiles, greeting her as he watches her settling into the seat beside him, “I must say—of all of Catherine’s menagerie, of operatives, I find you to be by far, the most fascinating. I mean—the Papal Inquisition!”
She looks at him, saying nothing.
“What was that 1230 – no, 1233.”
He smiles, ““I find it amazing. What little people know about history? I dare say, if you were to ask, say any one of them—” And with a wave of his hand, he motions to indicate, beyond the window of his car, Ogden Avenue’s nocturnal pedestrians, all of which are trying their best to appear not at all as interested as they truly are about the presence of their automobiles. “About the Inquisition. They would all say the Spanish Inquisition. Whereas, the Episcopal Inquisition—much less the Papal one, not so much.”
She continues to look at him in silence.
“What I find even more amazing is what people will do in the name of religion.” He continues to study her, “Take Gregory IX. For him it was all about heretics and cats. Do you know, and I am certain that you do—the man not only believed in Satan, but he truly believed that he could incarnate himself in the form of a black cat.” He smiles, “It is truly astounding to think that perhaps one of the causes of the plague that so ravaged Europe was the act of an ailurophobe. The unintended consequence of his Vox in Roma.” And he cuts a glance out his window to watch as Ezekiel Randall steps off the sidewalk and tries nonchalantly to stroll across Ogden Avenue. “Cats and Cathars and Albigensians. Really, I don’t know which he detested more. But, to give credit where credit is due, it all really began with Innocent the 3rd who started the episcopal courts. Which brings us to St. Dominic . . . and I must say, if you have not heard Van Morrison’s St. Dominic’s Preview—you should. It is truly a masterpiece.”
And suddenly he stops talking, his fingers having pressed the button to allow his window to slide down as Ezekiel Randall steps up to the passenger window of the idling Lexus—just as Randall prepares to knock on the glass.
“You looking for something or just lost?” Randall places a hand upon the hood of the car, leaning forward to glance from man with the scar, then to the nun.
“No. I think I found it,” Professor Frost says as he reveals the Mark XIX Desert Eagle.
Randall lifts an eyebrow.
“You’re Ezekiel Randall. And your brother is William Randall.”
Ezekiel’s expression darkens. “And that has to do with what?”
“It seems we have a mutual interest.“ Frost tells him, “Your brother is currently providing special deliveries to the Collinsport Historical Society. To be more specific, he is delivering morphine and oxycodone to Joslyn Todd.”
“Well, I am not my brother’s keeper.” Ezekiel glances to the Desert Eagle mentally calculating the odds of whether or not he can draw his own colt before the man in the car could react – but then there was the driver to consider. And what of the Nun? “But, having said that, I do have my brother’s back.”
Professor Frost smiles, “One should always take care of family. But I am not at all interested in the extra-curricular activities Miss Todd is transacting out of the Historical Society, nor for that matter your brother’s transit services. My interest is purely in obtaining information. In particular, information concerning Mina Wolff. Whom your brother may very well know as Wilhelmina Hund.”
“I don’t know any Hund or Wolff.”
Professor Frost gives him that quick smile of his, “Beautiful. Not to take anything away from my companion. Blonde. German. An exquisite combination, I find. As I said, your brother may very well know her, or, he soon will. Wolff is looking for very similar services in clandestine transit. What I want to know, is if and when he does make contact, where is he making the deliveries.”
“Like I said—“
“You are not your brother’s keeper,“ The Professor completes the sentence for Randall rather sardonically, “You told me. But it would be mutually beneficial, if your sibling relationship were to take a more proactive turn, and I were able to obtain the information I am looking for.” Frost looks into the rear-view mirror of the Lexus in order to make eye-contact with his diver;—”István.”
The driver’s window lowers and the chauffeur holds out an envelope.
Ezekiel Randall turns his attention from the man in the rear of the automobile to look at the hand and envelope extended through the window. Randall glances down the street and then gives Ogden Avenue a more circumspect inspection before he reaches out and relieves the chauffer of the proffered envelope.
A furtive look inside reveals a quantity of one-hundred-dollar bills.
“Wilhelmina Hund?” He asks.
“Yes.” The Professor looks up at him, “And I would recommend extreme caution, Mr. Randall. She is far more dangerous than she is beautiful.”
“Okay—so, maybe I have a talk with William; and maybe you and the sister might want to go over to the wharf and find a nice, quiet bench to have this little tête-à- tête.” Ezekiel Randall suggests, “This time of night? The moonlight on the water is really very relaxing. Whereas here on Ogden—well, let’s just say unpleasant things are known to happen.”
The Professor pressed the switch for the electric window and it slides upward.
“Firearms?” Inquisitor Cunégonde Claret remarks.
He looks over at her, “When in Rome.” He puts the weapon away and looks over at her, “And so, where were we? Oh, yes, your mother. Having been saved from the persecution of the Albigensian heresy, I cannot fathom, why you would have become an Inquisitor? Perhaps you can enlighten me.”
She sits silently, looking beyond him, through the window, as Randall stands for a moment, then, looking at the envelope, walks back across the street.
“No— Well, I guess that is a story for another time.“
‘You did not ask me here to discuss the story of my life.” There is more than merely the hint of a French accent to her lilting voice, as she continues to look out the window. “What is it you which to discuss.”
“More’s the pity. I am certain your life’s story is quite fascinating. I understand you’ve been in contact with a certain Mr. Strake.” The casual tone of his voice changing to register now more than a hint of annoyance
She says nothing and turns to look at him.
He returns the look, coldly, “Yes, I know. You prefer to be the inquisitor. But, my dear, that was another time. And another place. And sadly, you no longer work for the Pope. Instead, you work for her.”
“I work for whom I please.”
“Normally, our interests coincide. But at the moment, there are various fractions vying for, shall we say, leverage.
“Precisely.” She agrees.
“And yet, Catherine has seen fit to involve Strake.”
“I do not see that is of any concern.”
“No?” He asks her, “Sending Strake to Nicole Collins has consequences.”
End scene —End of Episode