“That’s my recollection. You stuck to a rather strong opinion that God does not exist.”
“Yes, I did, and I don’t really want to go back there, Padre. I haven’t changed.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Cody. Are you still reading the Bible?”
“Not really. I mean, I’ve read it cover to cover, from Genesis to Revelation, at least three times, and I always enjoy it, especially the Old Testament. But I don’t rely on it for inspiration, if that’s what you mean.”
“You know it better than most ministers.”
“I doubt that.”
“What do you think will happen to you, Cody, after you die?”
“They’ll burn me, along with my estate here, and take the ashes and flush everything down the toilet. Those are my wishes. I don’t want a trace of me left on this earth.”
“No afterlife, no heaven or hell or anyplace in between for your spirit to rest?”
“No. We’re animals, Padre, live-born mammals, and when we die that’s the end of us. All that nonsense about spirits rising from our dead bodies and floating up to glory or plunging into fire is a load of crap. When we die we’re dead. Nothing about us keeps living.”
“You aren’t planning to see Brian?”
“Brian died fifteen years ago. I was there. It was awful. There was no funeral, just a pauper’s burial on the back side of the city cemetery. I’ve never been allowed to go there, to see his grave. Probably doesn’t even have a tombstone or a marker. I doubt a single person has ever stood above his grave and wiped a tear. We were outcasts, Padre, orphans, pathetic kids who were not supposed to be born. And when we die, we’re dead, buried or cremated or whatever, and that’s the end. No, I won’t see Brian or anyone else for that matter, and that doesn’t bother me at all.”
Padre smiles and nods as he accepts this with love and compassion. There was nothing Cody or anyone else could say that would fluster or provoke him. He’d heard it all and had an endless repertoire of responses, all well grounded in Holy Scripture, but timing was everything. And this wasn’t the time to argue faith or theology with Cody.
“I see you haven’t changed your beliefs.”
“No sir. You once said God doesn’t make mistakes. That’s not true, Padre. I’m the perfect example of one. My mother got paid for sex. My father left behind a little cash and some semen. He never knew I was born and my mother couldn’t wait to get rid of me. I’m a mistake.”
“God still loves you, Cody.”
“Well, he sure has a strange way of proving it. What did I do to deserve this?”
“He works in mysterious ways and we’ll never have all the answers.”
“Why does it have to be so damned complicated and mysterious? You know why, Padre? Because he’s not there. He was created by man for man’s own benefit. What the hell are we doing? Arguing again?”
“I’m sorry, Cody. I just stopped by to say hello and goodbye and see if you needed me.”
Cody takes a deep breath and calms himself. “Thanks, Padre. You were always one of the good guys.”
“I’ll miss you, Cody. I’m praying for you.”
“If it makes you feel better, then keep praying.”
（4）
At eight o’clock, Cody turns on the television, checks the three networks, sees nothing of interest, and turns it off. He stretches out on his foam mattress and tries to close his eyes.
He once threatened to sue the prison because it didn’t allow access to cable channels, but a similar lawsuit had been thrown out in another state, according to Jack.
Back in the day, he and Brian had stolen several small TVs, but found that they were generally more trouble than they were worth. The fences hated to fool with them because the cops checked the pawn shops frequently and looked for serial numbers. Storage was another problem. After hitting a house, he and Brian always waited days, even weeks, before fencing their loot. Let things cool off, Brian always said. Let the cops make their rounds. Give the homeowners time to file their insurance claims and buy new guns, televisions, radios, stereos, jewelry. Even toasters, mixers, hell, they’d steal anything if they could get a buck from the fences.
As they waited patiently in the woods, they hid their inventories in old barns and abandoned houses and constantly moved them at night to other sites. Televisions were the most difficult to haul around and hide.
Guns made the market and were instant cash. When they got lucky and cleaned out a gun cabinet, they forgot about anything else and laughed all the way to their hideout deep in the woods. The Beretta 686 Silver Pigeon over-and-under was their finest hour. The homeowner had a dozen shotguns in his cabinet, which, for some reason, was unlocked in the den. Not that a locked door would have slowed them down. There were Brownings and Remingtons, but when Brian saw the Beretta he let out a whistle. They grabbed four shotguns and rifles each, plus two Smith & Wesson revolvers, and made a quick exit. They watched the house for the next three days and saw no movement. No one was checking on it as the newspapers piled up in the driveway. The house had no alarm system. People could be so careless.