The island was privately owned and not an inviting place. So much so, that if a stranger walked to the dock on the opposing shore, they would immediately feel fear. Some people don’t live by the rules; they don’t climb ladders; they are not at the top, but in the shadows, pulling the strings of power.

“I feel the holy spirit over this spot right now!” Sonny stretched his hands to the ceiling. Jim looked at their charismatic member through black sunglasses, with a closed smile on his baby face.

“Do you believe in God?”

“Jesus, what kind of question is that? Do I believe in God…?”

“Well, I thought I should ask.”

Sonny took a drink of whiskey while Ron looked at both of them. “Why is Anton late? He’s never late.”

A man in a black robe, soaked-through to the bone was being ferried across. “Can’t you make this thing go any faster?” He shouted.

“Sorry, but it’s only a two stroke; it’ll get the job done though.”

“That’s what she said, or most likely what you say to yourself when you’re alone.”

The kid’s face was sulky; not because of the wind and the rain, but because of some spiritual malady.

Even with the 50 knot gusts, blowing across his face, Anton looked like Washington crossing the Delaware. He knew he was better than anyone who believed him, and he was good at lying to people so they would, it was the only way to control them.

Ron opened the door to their castle. “Why are you late? Jim and Sonny are testing each other’s faith and I hate playing God, that’s what you’re good at.”

“You’re too kind,” Anton laughed. “Boy, get my bags and bring them to the door.”

They went inside, lit their cigars, and when the room was sufficiently full of smoke, Ron began to talk, he was good at talking.

To be continued…