I feel like I got the shit kicked out of me,
said Detective Mike Stemper, as he slid his coffee cup toward his lips.
Sargent Lemon slammed the papers on his desk; a snow-globe of files and shredded paper.
And another thing,
said Sargent Lemon.
You don’t shit until I say. That’s for everything.
Yeah, what are you deaf? Everything.
Comes through me.
Daylight Savings Time?
Ask me first.
I got time for a phone call.
My wife’s thirtieth birth—
My son’s baseball—
And with that, Detective Mike Stemper regretted his attempt to structure a new religion (off what is essentially an old religion), and recruit during working hours. He meant well, and that dream about the elephant the jugular the stench of sweat and blood — mixed with the baptizing baby — should have simply stayed a dream. He would never tell anyone anything.