Good Works

The first time I saw him was about 10 years ago.  He was on TV.  Some religious infomercial.  I remember it so well because of the busty blonde with him.  She didn’t say anything, didn’t do much; she just stood there by his side.  Just the perfect hint of Christian cleavage, I thought at the time.    A little crease and a little shadow.  Enough to piss off the Baptists and the Church of Godders, but perfectly suitable for the ecumenical crowd.  Ecumenically acceptable cleavage.  From a good Christian woman standing there, say nothing, next to a man who would become the most powerful individual in the world.  Back then, he sold compassion.  In the form of malnourished, third-world black kids.  For a dollar a day.  Who would miss a dollar a day in this great country of ours?  He would pick up the littlest one; faded shirt, torn shorts, skinny arms, award winning smile.  Then the camera friendly, bosom buddy, ecumenical eye candy would perform her on-screen masterpiece.  As Reverend Goodfellow used the boy as a prop and pleading for a dollar a day to the 3 am television viewer, eye candy would rub her hand in the boy’s kinky hair.  Then she would turn ever so slightly.  Her “cleavage for Christ” v-neck t-shirt would strain as she twisted her torso, and bingo.  The call center in Calcutta would start lighting up.  A 2-ounce bowl of rice for the kid, next year’s boob job for the blonde, and a new jet for Reverend Goodfellow.  God bless American generosity!

By trade I’m called a driver.  I only work Wednesdays, Saturdays and Sundays.  To my friends it sounds like a cushy job and many ways it is.  All I do is pick up people and take them to the church.  But that’s not the best part of my job.  Not by a long shot.  The best part is I am in possession of a GW scanner. 
Sooner or later we all knew it was going to happen.  The poor got poorer, the druggies got druggier, and the politicians got fatter.  And fewer people cared.  Thinking back I wonder if there could have been a different solution.  Something less drastic.  But it was too late now.  Reverend Goodfellow was in charge now.  We were all his sheep in his flock of goodness.  I didn’t feel like a sheep.  I felt like a fucking lemming.

Back to my job.  I really think I got it because of the Reverend’s bosom buddy.  Yep, I was one of those who called Calcutta and pledged my $30 a week.  I figured supporting Goodfellow would keep the infomercials coming.  And I wholeheartedly believed in cleavage for Christ.  I guess I got on a database.  I was a do-gooder.  I was a supporter of the fine work of Reverend Goodfellow.  And that meant, nine years after I was spell bound by the good works of fine plastic surgery and a tight t-shirt, I was one of the chosen.

Starting last year, during the forty days of Lent, we all received a post card from the Rev. Goodfellow.  Stop by any Wednesday, Saturday or Sunday during Lent for your “Good Works” digital implant.  The church had been telling us about them for months.  A small incision in your right arm just below the shoulder.  There would be no scar and the pain would be no more than a pin prick.  I got mine the second Wednesday of Lent, slept through the sermon and went to my regular bar that night and got hammered.  The next morning, after nursing a hangover and a slightly overweight but energetic blonde, I pulled out the “Good Works” brochure.  It started off with a bunch of bullshit about God’s promise and Luke whatever and how we as a society had forgotten how to give unselfishly.  The”Good Works” movement was the brainchild of Rev. Goodfellow as a way to encourage people to help their neighbors in need.  A small digital implant would be placed just under your skin.  The procedure was virtually painless and would show no marks.  The implanted calculator would last for your entire life.  Every time you performed a sanctioned “good work” (see inside, right side panel) the calculator would “add up” your good work.  Then on Sunday, a hand held device would be passed out (just after the collection plate) and with a wave of the scanner you could simply “download your points” for the week to the master “Good Works” computer.  By the end of the sermon, your pastor would read out the names of everyone who blessed the community by exceeding the weekly “Good Works” quota.
The Monday after Easter the “Good Works” implants were activated.  That following Sunday at the 9 pm service, the pastor read from the list.  John Billingsworth, 143 points; Joy Smith, 123 points; and on and on.  An hour later the pastor finished, looking both tired and confused.  The “Good Works” system assumed that an average person could perform about 50 “good works “points a week without too much trouble.  The minimum point requirement for the week was set at 40 points.  Something was clearly wrong with the system.  To his credit, by Tuesday night on the God’s View channel  the shiny toothed Rev. Goodfellow stood in front of the camera and acknowledged there were some kinks in the system.  And he furthered stated that while he was thrilled with the many followers who enthusiastically and immediately  embraced the “good works” concept, a few minor changes would have to be made.  The next morning I got my call.

“Mr.  Smith, we see that you have been a long time supporter of the Reverend Goodfellow”.  I confirmed that, but left out the reason why.  The caller continued.  “We want you to become a disciple”.    I thought quickly about the unfinished line of cocaine on my coffee table and “what’s her name” still in my bed and vaguely thought I might not be qualified.  “We would like you to work for the Lord through our ministry, as a driver.”  “A driver?”  I asked.  “Yes, Mr. Smith.  A driver.  As you know by now, we have had some minor kerfuffles in the ‘Good Works’ system.  To prevent this from reoccurring we are asking disciples like you to help our flock.  We want you to drive people to and from church on Wednesdays, Saturdays and Sundays and issue them their ‘Good Works’ points”.  “How would that work?” I asked.  What’s her name was up now and licking my neck.  “You will receive a hand held scanner, we call it a GW scanner, and simply scan church goers as you pick them up”.  I pushed what’s her name away and grabbed the “Good Works” brochure.  Quickly scanning the inside right panel, I found the church attendance section.  1 point per visit, 6 points maximum per week.  “Sir?” the caller asked.  “Yes, I’m here”, I responded.  I needed to think fast.  Yes, this could work.  This could work very well.  “I would feel blessed if you would enlist me as your disciple”, I said with all of the reverence I could muster.  What’s her name looked up from her line of coke and snorted.  “Blessed?” she mouthed.  I waved her off and continued.  “I have always had great admiration for the Reverend.  His good work in Africa to change the lives of innocent children greatly impacted me”.  “Wonderful”, the caller responded.  “Your orientation will be this Friday.  We will contact your current employer.  Please enjoy the rest of the week in meditation and with your loved ones”.  I looked down and smiled as “my loved one” bent over and began kissing the inside of my thigh.  “I will.  Thank you.” 

On Friday at orientation, I met Hal.  “Hello, brother”, I said, determined to play the game with the appropriate zeal.  “Fuck you, asshole”, Hal said.  “If you are disciple material, I’m John the Pious”.  I scratched my head and looked at Hal for a moment before responding.  He looked like a drug user.  Skinny, long sleeve shirt in 90 degree heat, pale skin and a nervous twitch.  “Hello, John the Pious.  Can I call you John or do you prefer JP?”  I countered.  “You can fuck yourself, asshole”.  Wow, clearly this guy did not have a large vocabulary.  Maybe, I thought, I should connect with him on his level.  “I don’t what the fuck we are supposed to do here, but I hope that asshole is not in charge”, I said, pointing at the clean-cut man who just entered the classroom.  Hal looked at me, at first, with a seeming appreciation of my new vocabulary and then responded in obvious disgust.  “That’s my fucking cousin you are talking about, asshole”.  I should have given up then but I didn’t.  How could this loser, even more of a loser than me, be a disciple, I wondered?  Hal sat down in front of his large name placard and I sat down next to him.  “Jesus, asshole, are you going to follow me all day”?  I smiled and pointed at my name plate next to his.  “Just my fucking luck.  First I sit next to a loser like you, and then, if that’s not fucked up enough, I have listen all day to the son of the great fucking Reverend Goodfellow.  Just my fucking luck”.  Oh.  That explained it.  A disciple in the family.  As I pondered my luck and whether it was good or bad, the room started filling up with up with disciple-looking people.  No tattoos, good personal hygiene, no open sores or nose rings.  Even heard a “Hello, Brother” to my right.  I can do this, I thought.  Matthew Goodfellow tapped on the podium and the crowd quieted immediately.  “Thank you all for being here today”, he began.  Hal, to my right, groaned and scratched his crotch.  I heard a quiet but hostile “fuck you, asshole and your fucking father” from Hal.  The next few minutes were a dull blur.  Something about the bible, and God, and scriptures, and readings and… whatever.  I squirmed in my chair and thought about what’s her name.  Sheila.  I had looked at her wallet when she went to the can.  38 years old.  That may be a new record.  Pam was 34. And I thought she was old.  “Brother Bill?”  ”Brother Bill?” I looked up from my table and everyone in the room was turned my way.  Pretty people, hair combed, lives in order, selfless people.  A strikingly pretty brunette caught my eye and smiled sweetly.  “Brother Bill”, Matthew continued, “you seem lost in prayerful mediation.  Can you tell us a little about yourself”?  “Oh, excuse me, all”, I stammered, trying to clear my head.  “I have been a great admirer of the Reverend since I saw him sacrifice so much to feed the poor.  When you help the least of us, I always say”.  The brunette gleamed at me, and batted her eyelashes.  “I feel so blessed to be here today”, I continued.  “I was lost deeply in prayer.  I meant no disrespect”.  The class of disciples sighed in appreciation of my deep commitment.  Hal made a choking sound.  “And you, Hal”, Mathew continued.  “Tell us about yourself.”  “What he said”, Hal responded, pointing a finger at me.  The room quieted and the stillness became pervasive.  “Brother Hal is my cousin”, Matthew said finally.  “We are all thankful to have you among us”.  “Bless you, Hal”, could be heard at different volumes around the room. 
After the introductions we all ventured out into a large hallway.  I proceeded directly to the brunette when someone grabbed my arm.  “You had better make sure things go my way, asshole”.  I turned to see and smell Hal at close range.  He was hard to look at and even harder to smell.  “I think you did quite well  this morning Hal.  You have a gift for the language”, I said.  “Fuck you, asshole.  If you don’t help me through this bullshit, you won’t make it past lunch”.  I considered this threat for a moment, and weighed its wisdom.  After all, I’d never been a mentor before.  And Hal wasn’t really any worse than most of my friends.  “Sure, Hal, whatever you say.  Just try to keep your mouth shut for the rest of the day and everything will be fine.  And don’t use words like asshole or fuck or any combinations of those two words”, I advised my new mentee.  “Fuck you, asshole”, Hal said.
We survived the rest of the morning, and before lunch I encouraged Hal to shoot up something, which he did, and we made through the afternoon session.  The brunette and I had eye sex, although she probably wasn’t aware of it, and Hal remained in a drug induced slump.  At the end of orientation Matthew prayed with us while we stood in a circle holding hands.  Hal to my left, a cold limp hand with a slight tremor, and the hot hand of my new brunette friend to my right.  Every time God was mentioned she would squeeze my hand.  She had a nice grip.

With orientation out of the way, I was ready for equipment.  A car and my GW scanner.  On Tuesday I picked up the car.  Nothing special; on the big side for lots of church goers but nothing out of the ordinary.  There were two bumper stickers on the rear bumper.  One read “Jesus or Bust” and the other  “I Brake for Miracles”.  On Wednesday morning I picked up my scanner.  Battery operated, GPS loaded, 10 foot scanning reach, 1000 point maximum between download, 1 point maximum per transaction.  I asked the guy about the last feature.  “You have a 1 point scanner, friend”, he said.  Some scanners give 1 point, some five points, some 10 and a few 20.  You’re a driver, right?”, he asked.  “Yes, I’m blessed with the church goers”, I said.  “Church goers get a 1 point maximum.  Six max per week, I think”.  I thanked him and departed.  20 points, I wondered.  I wished I had one of those.
My first day of work was a breeze.  Between 11 am and 9 pm I picked 34 church goers and waved them with my magic wand.  Saturday I had 48, and on Sunday, 74.  On my way to drop off my last load, I saw the brunette walking into the church.  By herself.  I parked the car, brushed my hand through my hair, entered the sanctuary and plopped down in the last pew.  The pastor’s sermon was sleep worthy and I couldn’t find the brunette.  Eventually, the collection plate came around which meant the service was almost over.  I cupped my hand, faked an offering and passed the plate.  Then came the handheld.  “Oh, shit”, I murmured.  I had completely forgot to get my points.  I held the handheld to my arm and took a quick look at the digital readout.  It displayed 5 points.  Crap, I thought.  At orientation Matthew had said that all disciples got an automatic 5 points per week.  There they were in red backlit numbers.  I handed the handheld to the next person and started to sweat.  One week is not going to hurt me, I reasoned.  I’d make it up next week.  When the preacher got ready to read the outstanding good works gainers, I groaned.  I remembered last Sunday’s marathon.  “Only one of our flock, this week”, the pastor announced.  “Jennifer Johnson, 63 points.”  The pastor smiled and waved to someone in the second row in the first pew.  It was the brunette.  Jennifer. 

I got home at 11 pm and immediately pulled out the brochure.  Feeding the poor, 3 points.  Building homes for the needy, 5 points.  Blah, blah, blah.  I circled the ones that looked easiest.  Next week I‘d be ready.

Monday was supposed to be my day off.  Instead I got up early, ate some soggy cereal and headed to the homeless shelter.  “I want some more”, the scraggly headed, flea infested, old man said.  “I really don’t care what you want.  Move on”, I said.  I wasn’t in the mood for this.  “You have to give me some more if you want your points”, flea man insisted.  “Screw you”, I replied.  Then I reconsidered.  Three points.  I had more than 30 to go.  “Here’s some more, my friend”, I said, with whatever kindness I could muster in my voice, and slopped some more unrecognizable something on his plate.  The next two hours were hell.  Feeding the homeless should be worth 10 or 15 points.  I swore to myself I’d never be back.  Screw the homeless.

Tuesday I got drunk.  Hey, it was a day off.  I went to my usual watering hole with every intention of drinking myself into oblivion.  I sat at my favorite barstool, ordered a shot of Jack, a bottle of Bud, bought some beef jerky and got serious.  I have great concentration when it comes to drinking.  Most of the regular drunks know not to bother me when I have a shot  and a bottle in front of me.  But this one wasn’t a regular.  “Hi”.  I could see her reflection in the mirror between a bottle of Cuervo and peach schnapps.  She was sitting right next to me looking intently at me.  “Hello”, she said again.  I stared straight ahead deciding whether she was more important than my shot and beer.  “Hey!”  This time she put her hand on my shoulder.  “I’m talking to you”.  Usually that would be enough to make me spin around on my bar stool and give someone a litany of cuss words that my new pal Hal would appreciate.  “I have a proposition for you”.  I could see her getting closer to me as I stared at her in the mirror.  She was a five.  Five beers and she would be bed worthy.  I was at two.  “You have a scanner, right?” This question she whispered in my ear.  Who cares, I thought.  So I have a scanner.  Big deal.
Wednesday morning I rolled over on top of my scanner.  “Ouch”, I groaned.  Then I remembered.  Last night at the bar.  I’d traded sex for a point on the scanner.  It wasn’t great sex, but I reasoned later, that it was just Tuesday.  Women like her would perform much better later in the week when the stakes were higher.  I grinned a little at the thought of my new found perk.  Being a disciple was looking very good.

Wednesday and more churchgoers.  As I drove I heard conversations about points.  One woman loved the system.  She was at 36 points and was shooting for 50 this week.  It was such a wonderful feeling she said to help people.  At the seven pm service a man asked me if I would double-point him.  He couldn’t make church on Saturday because that was his day with his kid.  I blessed him and told him no.  He smiled and thanked me anyway.  I looked for the brunette at every service but didn’t see her.  I wondered what her work as a disciple was.  I wondered if she would trade sex for a point.

That night after I parked the disciple-mobile, I decided to take a walk.  It was late, and my neighborhood was no picnic, but I didn’t care.  I needed some time to think about my new job.  I could get all the late week sex I wanted but that still didn’t get me any points.  I wasn’t sure Brother Matthew would approve of me coming up short every week.  As I walked, considering the point problem, I heard a muffled scream.  It came from a particularly dark alleyway to my right.  A couple of seconds later I heard the scream again, and this time, followed by a plea for mercy.  I’m no hero, but I am naturally curious.  I went quietly into the alley.  “Not enough points last week, asshole”, I heard a voice say.  “I tried, really I did”, came a weak reply.  “Brother Matthew and the Reverend are not happy with your transvection”, the voice said.  Transvection, I thought?  What the hell does that mean?  Then it hit me.  “Transgression”, I said, moving out from the shadows.  “I think you mean transgression, Hal”.  “Fuck you.  Can’t you see I’m busy “.  Hal waved his GW scanner at me. The man Hal had been talking to decided this was his opportunity to run.  Unfortunately, from where I stood anyway, it looked like Hal had taken a metal bar to both of his legs.  The man stood, wobbled and then crashed at my feet.  “Jesus, Hal”, I started to say and then I stopped.  It suddenly became crystal clear what Hal’s disciple work was.  “What the fuck is your problem, asshole?”  Hal said, holding his metal bar like a baseball bat.  “Nothing, Hal.  Just wanted to see if a fellow brother needs some help”.  Hal aimed his scanner at the man spread out before me.  He pushed a button and the man shuttered once and then became very still.  “Fuck.”  Hal said.  “I can’t download any more points.  I’m full.  Get over here”.  This seems like a bad idea but I did it anyway.  I guess Hal was growing on me.  Hal pointed his scanner at me and pressed a button.  “Now get the fuck out of here”.

Sunday I picked up 102 churchgoers.  By the last service of the evening I was exhausted.  I thought about sleeping in my car but decided to go inside just in case Jennifer was there.  I slid into the third pew from the back.  The church was full.  Last points of the week I thought.  The pastor went on and on about something for over an hour.  He was much animated this week, probably due to the full house.  Like they are here to listen to your bullshit, I thought.  The collection plate came around and then the hand held.  I didn’t even bother looking at my number.  I was so screwed.  “Tonight we have three children of God to acknowledge for their good works”, the pastor said, beaming.  “And I would like them to stand before you as an inspiration to you all in the sight of God.  This is such bullshit, I thought, squirming on my rock hard pew.  “Will Jennifer Johnson, Hal Goodfellow, and Bill Smith please join me”.  “Uh, oh”, I whispered.  The fat lady to my left who had been violating my personal space for the last hour and a half whispered, “Isn’t that you?  Aren’t you Bill?”  I stood up, and tried to look honored.  What the hell does honored look like?  Fortunately, all eyes turned to the nephew of the great Reverend Goodfellow when he stood up.  Dressed in a long sleeve flannel shirt and holy jeans with a hair style that was a cross between urban grunge and my new homeless friend, Hal made quite an impression.  To his credit he had a look on his face that could have passed for honored.  Or maybe stoned.  Or constipated.  Jennifer on the other hand, had a blessed looked on her face.  She reached the pastor first and kissed his hand.  Screw that, I thought.  I’m not kissing anyone’s hand.  Hal reached the pastor second and placed his hand on Jennifer back, lower back.  Too low.  Jennifer turned slightly and stood close to the pastor facing the congregation.  I made my approach and immediately stumbled on the step leading to the pulpit.  Jennifer came to my rescue.  She smelled good!  She grabbed my arm, such a nice grip, and pulled me upright. Then she led me to the side of the pastor opposite Hal.  “I am the blessed tonight”, started the pastor.  Blah, blah, blah.  I focused my attention on a pretty blonde in the front row.  Too much packaging, I thought she would look better in a halter top and short shorts.  “Jennifer this week has 69 points, Brother Hal 93, and Bill Smith, well what a coincidence; Brother Bill has 93 points as well”!  The pastor clearly was enjoying his time with us.  The congregation was as well.  There were murmurs throughout the church of Amen, and God bless.  Hal seemed happy as well.  He had a huge grin on his face, which exposed something dark green between his two front teeth.  Jennifer took my hand in hers and smiled at me.  Nothing stuck between her teeth.  She looked at me with amazing clear blue eyes and whispered something to me.  I couldn’t hear what she said.  Then the service was over and everyone rushed for the door.

93 points, I wondered.  How is that possible?  I should have had 9.  One for church, 5 for driving and 3 for feeding the homeless.  It was Hal.  He gave me points after he wasted that guy. I picked up 84 points because Hal had too many. 

Monday came and I slept in.  What’s her name Sheila wanted to come by last night but I ignored her phone message.  Sunday night sex now seemed pointless to me.  I got up, popped open a beer and pulled up the newspaper on my computer.  The headline read something about a rash of violent murders in the area.  The Reverend Goodfellow was even quoted.  “As we move toward a God driven society, evil will not lie down quietly.  Evil will make one last attempt until we stamp it out completely.  But I tell each and every follower; Satan will not prevail.  We will drive him from our homes, from our lives”.  I read the rest of the article; repeated homicides conducted from, the police believed, a man with a long blunt instrument made from metal.  The count in the last week alone was seven.  Six men and one woman.  The woman had been sexually assaulted before being bludgeoned, the coroner theorized.  “Damn”, I responded.  Hal has got to be downloading some serious points. 

I found Hal in the same alley late Tuesday night.  Curious, I thought, as I watched him the shadows.  Wouldn’t the cops be patrolling this area?  Hal was preaching to someone on their hands and knees.  “Kiss my fucking hand”.  The poor sucker reached up and with wobbling legs, held Hal’s hand.  As he placed his lips on Hal’s hand, Hal swung his bar with the other.  I turned away just in time.  The man crumpled to the ground in an expanding pool of blood.  “Home run, Hal”, I said.  “That was over the wall for sure”.  Hal turned to me and raised his club.  “Oh, it’s you”, he said.  “Help me with this guy”.  I walked toward him as Hal aimed his scanner at the dead guy.  Then he aimed his scanner at me and pushed the button.  “Let’s drag him into the shadows”, Hal said, but made no motion toward his latest victim.  “I said; pull him over there, ass wipe”.  I thought for a moment that Hal would help, and then realized that I had suddenly become his assistant.  So much for my mentor role.

Wednesday was insane.  Over 100 churchgoers.  No one looked happy as they went to spend time in house of the Lord.  The lady, who just a week ago, was praising the Rev. and his “good works” plan, cussed him all the way to church.  She was so caustic that she silenced all other conversation in the disciple-mobile.  I was glad to get rid of her.  On the way to the 9 o’clock service one guy got into my car and two blocks later jumped out at a stop light in front of one of my favorite bars.  Lucky bastard, I thought.  I dropped my riders at church and figured to head to my usual waiting spot when I saw Jennifer.  She was heading the side door; the child care entrance.  I parked quickly and headed in the front entrance.  I got my church point scan and sat in a pew along the aisle.  Jennifer was nowhere to be found.  The sermon tonight was different.  So different I decided to tune in.  The pastor was a fat, sweaty, balding, just past middle aged man, with a droopy eye.  He looked and sounded haggard.  Very un-pastor like, I thought.  He talked about fear, and hatred and death.  I heard the same thing at bar the other night.  Which made a lot more sense coming from a drug addict than a man of the cloth.  The congregation was antsy.  I could feel the tension in the sanctuary.  35 minutes later, some kind of record, the collection plate circulated.  I was seated mid church; there wasn’t a coin or a scrap of paper when it passed me.  I didn’t even bother faking a donation; I just passed it on.  Pastor blessed everyone and the room quickly cleared.  “Crap”, I said, remembering that I needed to get out to the car before the crowds.  I decided to leave through the child care room for a quick exit.  The hall I entered was dark but I could see the outline of the exit door and the emergency light above.  I could also hear something; a noise coming from behind the door on the left.  There was a thin band of light coming from underneath it.  I moved quietly to the door and listened.  “Brother Hal, 17 is good, but there are still far too many sinners.  We are doing our part to encourage our flock, you must do yours”.  It sounded a little like Brother Matthew I thought, as I edged even closer to the door.  “Bless your hard work Hal.  I know you are a believer.  I know your task is a difficult one.”  This voice, passionate and beatific, was unfamiliar.  Her voice hung in the air like a chime blowing in the wind.  It was captivating to me, even if Hal didn’t think so.  “Fuck you both!  You have no idea how difficult it is.  This quota is killing me”.  Hal replied, almost screaming.  “Brother Hal, calm yourself.  Jesus never yelled, was never in a hurry and looked what he accomplished”, Matthew said calmly.  “Brother Hal is right’, the woman added, “your work is vital to our cause, but must be done with reverence”.  I could hear Hal mutter something.  “Hal, your uncle is pleased with you work.  Reverend Goodfellow picked you as a disciple because of your… special skills.  We all have gifts”.  Hall scoffed at this.  “Well, I still say this is bullshit, but if you want more from me I’ll need help”.  I could hear nothing for a moment, and then the woman said, “Brother Hal, your calling is lonely one, like mine, you must perform it without worldly help”.  “Ha, I’ve already got a trainee”, Hal jeered.  Suddenly a noise came from the end of the hall.  Someone was pulling on the exit door.  “Where the hell is our driver?” I heard from the outside.  “What’s that?” the woman said quickly. “I’ll check it out”, Matthew said.  I stepped back from the door and quickly moved back into the sanctuary.  There was no one there and I ran for the front door. 

Thursday I didn’t leave the house.  I didn’t answer the phone although it was ringing all day and evening.  Point sex no doubt.  Friday I planned to do the same thing until I got a call at 11:10 pm.  “Pick the fucking phone up asshole”, I heard on through my phone machine.  Hal.  I figured I had enough points from our outing on Tuesday.  “Pick up the phone asshole; I’m right outside your building.”  “Crap”, I said looking out the window.  There he was.  I threw on some clothes, dark clothes seemed appropriate, and hurried down the stairs.  It didn’t seem like a good idea to keep Hal waiting.  “I got this fat guy down the street.  I can’t move him”.  “Sure Hal”, I said, wanted to act like an eager trainee.  We moved quickly down the street and into an alley.  How original I thought.  We walked into the shadows.  I couldn’t see anything but a mound of something dark, like a blob in a robe.  “Shit, Hal, this is the pastor from the other night”, I said, crouching down to look at his bloated face.  “Who cares, asshole”.  He’s on this list.  I grabbed one arm while Hal grabbed the other.  We pulled him down the alley, not without effort, and into a corner.  Hal grabbed a couple bags of trash and some empty boxes and threw them over him.  “Hey, about some points”, I asked as we exited the alley.  “You got more than enough points this week you idiot”, was Hal’s response.  “How get the fuck out of here”.

I thought I would be prepared for the madness of Saturday, but I wasn’t.  By the 9 pm service I had picked up over 120 churchgoers.  Today no one talked.  You could cut through the fear with a knife.  I decided to sleep in my car and skip the service.  I had more than enough points.  And then I saw Jennifer.  Wow, I thought. She looked hot.  Instead of the usually bulky sweater and loose skirt, Jennifer was walking into the church wearing a tight skirt and a v-neck.  I jumped out the car and ran for the front door.  The service was short again.  The congregation sat in silence, as if in fear that noise would somehow give them away.  I kept my eye on Jennifer the whole time.  Mostly on her right leg which was deliciously exposed as she sat at the end of the pew.  The collection plate made it around without collecting a scrap of money.  The pastor blessed us and I immediately headed upstream against the rushing congregation.  Then I heard, “Brother Bill, I am so blessed you are here.  Can you give me a ride home?”  I stopped in shock.  “Why of course, Jennifer, it would mean so much to me to help you”, I said while I pondered my too-good-to-be-true fortune.  We exited the church and she slid in the front seat from the driver’s side.  Two other riders were already seated up front.  “This is cozy”, I said as I sat down behind the wheel.  I could feel the length of her leg from her hip to her knee up against mine.  I backed out the lot, already calculating the route I would take to keep her in the car as long as possible.  She must have read my mind.  “Brother Bill, please drop off the other believers first.  I want to enjoy the night air”.  I did just that.  At speeds that put white knuckles on all the riders.  Except for Jennifer.  She sat calmly with hands in her lap and her increasingly hot thigh pressed against mine.  When the last riders exited, I decided to make my move.  But I wasn’t quick enough.  “Brother, Bill.  Do you live far from here?”  she asked, in a voice now vaguely familiar.  “No, just down a couple blocks on the right”.  We parked and got out of the disciple-mobile on the same side.  I shook my head as she exited the car and started walking up the stairs to my apartment.  We entered and as I put my hand on the light switch to illuminate the living room, she placed her hand on mine.  “No lights, Brother Bill.” I froze for a second feeling uncertain what to do next.  As I paused, experiencing my first “deer in the headlights” encounter with a woman, I heard the unmistakable sound of a zipper and her skirt falling to the floor.   

The next morning when I awoke she was gone.  I laid in bed thinking about her amazing body and what she did with it and rolled over.  “Shit”! It was after 7 am.  On Sunday!  I jumped out of bed and headed for the shower.  I stopped in shock as I entered the bathroom.  On the mirror, written in lipstick, was Genesis 38:7.  Whatever, I thought.  Screwing a church goer was new to me.  Maybe this was a thank you note for a hot night.  Driving was a nightmare.  I couldn’t believe the change in just a couple of weeks.  Fear was in everyone’s voice.  At nine o’clock I attended the service.  Needed my points downloaded.  I was actually looking forward to it.  Standing next to Jennifer, stripping her naked with my eyes.  Thinking about her on top of me, with her long hair and longer legs.  The collection plate came, and then the scanner.  The man on my right sobbed out loud as he scanned himself.  23 points.  I could barely contain my laughter.  I put the scanner up to my shoulder and pressed the button.  What the hell, I thought.  I hit the “display” button to check my points.  “0”.  I hit the button again.  “0”.  What the fuck, I thought.  The lady to my left grabbed the scanner and aimed it at her shoulder.  My stomach turned and I started to sweat.

I barely paid attention to the road or my riders as I drove them home.  What had happened?  I dropped the last rider off and parked the car in front of my apartment building.  I needed to walk and sort this out.  Where were my points?  I headed downtown on my usual route to give myself time to think.  I should have had points to spare.  Hal said so Friday.  How could I have lost points between Friday and Sunday?  Saturday I worked all day and then…  Jennifer.  She was standing under a light pole not twenty feet in front of me.  “Brother Bill”, she pleaded.  “I need your help.  Follow me.  Hurry”.  I ran after her.  Down the street and into an alley.  Then I stopped.  Why was I doing this?  But as the darkness enveloped me I realized it was too late.  Behind me I could hear the clank of a metal bar, then Hal’s voice.  “Batter’s up”.