The Accidental Hero (2 page)

Didn’t matter.

He didn’t need much sleep anyway,
because the adrenaline rush from offing a target was enough to keep
him buzzed for the entire day. Cold sweat dripped from his white
In-N-Out cup, which was filled mostly with ice. That annoyed Big
Pete, but he realized that was the way it was everywhere; at Burger
King, McDonalds, Wendy’s….life. The bigger the cup, the more ice
you got. You never got as much sweet Pepsi as the supersized cup
promised. And yet, he still ordered the largest cup, every time.
Good thing he ordered a milkshake too. What the hell, right? It was
hot as hell and he’d probably lose all the weight by sweating it
out.

This time, there was so much
condensation—probably because it was so damned humid tonight—that
he wondered if his cup was actually leaking. He lifted it up and
looked underneath.

Odd.

Something was printed on the
bottom.

John 3:16

Yeah, yeah.
For God so loved the stinkin’ world that he gave
his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him shall have
everlasting life.
He’d memorized this
verse as a kid in Sunday School so many times he was sick of it.
Later, John 3:16 was nothing more than that crazy man who used to
hold up that sign in the baseball games.

“
Burger joint run by
fanatics.”

Something troubled him,
though—couldn’t tell just what. The night before he murders a
preacher, then he sees a Bible verse. He thought of Mom, how she
raised him alone after Dad died of a heart attack. She used to take
him to Sunday school at that old Baptist church and he’d try to
annoy the preacher by looking right at him during a sermon and
picking his nose.

Big Pete laughed at the
memory.

He hated preachers.

Especially Pastor Ken Lowry. He was
married but always flirted with Ma, he was always up to no good.
Nothing made Big Pete happier than when Pastor Ken got arrested for
embezzling money from his own church, and got caught in an affair
with his secretary.

Hypocrites.

All hypocrites.

It made tomorrow that much
easier.

Just then, a flash of black passed
before his eyes. If you know Big Pete, you know it’d take a lot to
startle him. But Pete gasped, and jumped back. His chair tipped
over and hit the ground. Freezing ice and whatever was left of his
Pepsi splashed onto his lap. “Dammit, Whiskas!”

Eyes reflecting and glowing in the
dark, Whiskas, his black Persan cat had leapt up onto the table and
was nosing around through the wrapper of his half-eaten
cheeseburger.

“
Shoo!” Big Pete waved his
hand at her, but she knew better. She just looked at him all,
why-are-you-waving-your-hand-around? and started to chew on the
cheeseburger. “Aw, all right. Go ahead. Wasn’t that hungry
anyway.”

Rubbing her soft fur, he
admired her ability to just go and take what she wanted. She didn’t
believe in asking permission or forgiveness.
Just like me.
He picked up his
chocolate milk shake—no way he’d let Whiskas have any of that—and
just out of curiosity took a look under it. Sure enough, another
damned Bible verse!

Revelation 3:20

A trickle of static electricity ran up
and down his spine, to his extremities, and through his scalp. What
was with these people at In-N-Out? And why, after all these years,
was he suddenly noticing these verses—the night before…?

Pete pulled out his iPhone and googled
the verse. Like a heavy blanket, dread fell over him. It
read:

Behold, I stand at the
door, and knock: if any man hears my voice, and opens the door, I
will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with
me.

“
Gimme a break!” He slid
his iPhone back into his pocket and didn’t give it another thought.
He had a job to do, a reputation to protect. No one, not even God
was going to get in his way.

That night, he tossed and turned in
cold, wet sheets, even though the fan blew right at him.

~~~

The hit was to go down at Pastor
Rick’s own church during their Friday night revival meeting. A
revival meeting? Seriously? But yeah, that’s what the sign said
outside their church. Only, it wasn’t a church building, it was a
renovated movie theater. Used to be an Edward’s Cinema.

Big Pete meant to show up like he was
a member of their congregation, but right away felt overdressed
wearing a blue suit, a blue tie, and polished black shoes. He even
went to a Christian bookstore, bought himself a big-old Bible and
carried it with him as he entered the church.

“
Hey, man!” someone called
out. Big Pete turned around and this short black dude was smiling
so big, you’d think he was his best friend from High School or
something. He came right over, looked up and shook his hand. “How
you doing, my man? Good to see you!”

Pete forced a smile. See, it’d been
forever since he’d even set foot inside a church, so he had no clue
how he should act. “Uh---Hallelujah! Jesus saves!”

The greeter’s smile looked like it
wanted to fade, but stayed frozen there for the sake of being
polite. Then he reached up patted Pete on the shoulder. “Right on,
bro. Right on. Welcome!”

“
Amen.” Pete’s ears were
burning. Jeez, he’d lost count of how many people he’d knocked off,
some with his bare hands, and here he was, sweating like a naked
man covered in honey surrounded by a swarm of flesh-eating fire
ants.

The greeter was still shaking his
hand. With every pump, the Glock inside Pete’s breast pocket shook
and bumped against his ribs. “I—I’m just gonna go find a seat.
Anything in the front?”

“
You bet.”

“
Pastor Rick speaking
today?”

“
Of course, who
else?”

“
Just checking.”

“
Aight.”

“
Later.” It would be
simple. Pete saw the emergency exit sign just a few feet from the
front of the stage. From there, he’d make his escape into the
parking lot, after he’d done the deed.

The door.

Behold, I stand at the
door and knock.

Big Pete didn’t like being distracted
by those Bible verses, minutes before he took out a preacher in
cold blood. He shook it off like a mosquito sucking blood from his
neck.

The red carpeted aisle to the front of
the auditorium seemed to go on forever. Where was that smell of
candles, dust, and peeling varnish? What about steeples, pews,
stained glass? This wasn’t church like he knew it. This was
weird.

So many smiling faces, hands to shake
before he reached the front row. Pete had never felt so
uncomfortable on a hit before, not even taking out gang leaders in
the toughest parts of South Central L.A. This just didn’t feel
right.

But it was never about the feelings.
It was always about the job. The reputation he had to uphold. Be
professional. Do your job and split.

Finally, he reached the front
row.

Empty, thank God. (Oh,
wait.)

Had to be the front row, because there
would not be enough time to get up in the middle of the service,
get close enough to fire the gun, and then cut out of the building
into the parking lot for his escape.

Bill and Tom’s prissy little faces
kept coming up in his mind. It repulsed him that he was getting
paid by bottom-feeding scum like them. But they’d found him by way
of referral from Morgenstern, one of his best clients, so he
couldn’t turn them down. That might hurt his reputation.

The service began and instead of a
pipe organ, a robed choir, and a choirmaster, a band came out.
Guitars, drums, keyboard and vocals. They started playing some
pretty good tunes, despite the cheesy, religious, “I love you,
Jesus” lyrics projected on the screen.

But in order to blend in, Pete had to
sing the words, clap his hands, and lift them up to the Lord when
the band leader prompted. Then the entire congregation vamped on
one phrase. Over and over.

“
I surrender all to you,
Jesus.”

Hating every moment cuz he felt like a
hypocrite, Pete put his hands up and shut his eyes just like
everyone around him and sang:

I surrender all to you,
Jesus

I surrender all

I surrender all to you,
Jesus

I surrender all to
you

Where was that damned Pastor? They’d
been singing and carrying on for at least half an hour.

“
All right,” said the
worship leader (the lead singer with the Taylor guitar), “I want
you to put your hands on your heart and repeat after
me.”

Everyone did so.

When Big Pete did, he felt the Glock,
cold and hard, pressing against his chest. Everyone repeated after
the worship leader: “Thank you, Lord. You’re the God of second
chances. Thank you that no matter how far I’ve strayed, no matter
what I’ve done in my past, you accept me. You forgive me. You make
all things new!”

Even as Big Pete said the words, which
he refused to allow through the concrete around his heart,
something was happening. He didn’t know what it was exactly, but it
was a mixture of sadness, anger, relief, worry.

The worship leader started to vamp on
that phrase.

You make all things new,
Jesus.

You make all things
new.

The faces of the many people he’d
killed came to his mind, the lives of people he’d snuffed
out—innocent or not. Never before had he realized the gnawing
feeling in his gut. But it was there. Oh man, was it there. For the
first time in his life, he admitted to himself that he’d been
wrong.

Where was that pastor?

The congregation started to sing,
“What can wash away my sins? Nothing but the blood of
Jesus…”

That was the song Mama used to sing to
him during those awful nights after Daddy passed and little Petey
was too scared to sleep alone. Daddy had always put him to bed,
read him stories, and often fell asleep clear till the morning next
to him.

Daddy was Superman, Spiderman,
Ironman. Daddy was the kind of man Petey always dreamed of
becoming. But that dream died when Daddy died.

And only now did he
understand.

He’d been blaming God for that his
whole life. He’d made all these terrible choices just to show God
that if He was going to take Daddy away, then Pete didn’t want
anything to do with a lousy god like that.

The entire congregation entered a time
of silent prayer. The keyboard played lush, sustained chords that
floated like white silk over a flowing river of peace. The worship
leader started to improvise, making up a song on the spot with the
words from the old hymn, “Though your sins be as scarlet, they
shall be as white as snow.

With his hands lifted up, his eyes
closed tight, Pete felt a warm presence surround him. He had
expected his one and only encounter with the Almighty to be at
judgment day. An angry God would judge him unworthy and throw him
into the fiery lakes of Hell, and Pete…Big Pete would go down,
shaking a his fist.

But it was nothing like that now. He
felt…loved. Accepted.

Forgiven.

Warm tears streamed down his
face.

Just then, an older, deeper voice came
over the speakers as the soft, heavenly music continued to flow.
“This is a holy moment, church. Let’s just stay in the place a few
more minutes.”

Pete opened his eyes.

Up on the stage stood
Pastor Rick. A modest looking gray-haired man. In the back of
Pete’s mind, a distant voice whispered,
Take him out now. Do it fast, or it’s all over for
you.

But that same voice that he had come
to depend on, that had guided him to murder dozens of people
throughout his career as an assassin, now seemed like some kind of
alien voice; cold, dark, dangerous.

Pastor Rick started to speak. “How can
God ever forgive me, you ask, when I’ve done this, or that? But I
say to you, there is nothing God cannot do. And you know what? He
wants to forgive you. He gave his only begotten Son for you.
There’s someone out there right now who is ready to come in from
the rain.”

He wasn’t looking directly at Pete,
but his words pierced his chest like a sword. It was all Pete could
do to choke back a sob.

“
This is what Jesus said,
‘
Behold, I stand at the door, and knock:
if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him,
and will sup with him, and he with me.’
”

Pete looked straight at the Pastor.
All the years of pain that had boiled to the surface faded away
like steam. He had a chance to do the right thing.

Kill him now. This is just
a mind game.

The pastor now was looking in Pete’s
direction. “If anyone wants to come home, God has his arms open
wide for you. He’s waiting to receive you like the prodigal son. If
that’s you, I want you to come up to the altar. We’d like to pray
with you.”