“Well, Giovanni, you’ve really messed up this time. I mean, did you think you could get away with it. That’s being really naïve. I didn’t think you’d turn out to be this stupid. It reflects badly on Me. So how are you going to get yourself out of this muddle? If at all?
“You know the problem. The body is still in the boot of your car and this is weeks after you did the deed. The stench is getting worse and now you can’t use the car to take Lily out anymore – she’s up for most things (some of which you’ve yet to learn about) – but what she won’t do is eat from the tree of knowledge on the back seat of your ten year old Ford Focus while the body of one of her old school mates is rotting not inches away from the two of you. So she’s getting a bit pissed off and some time next week she’s going to dump you and get it on with Rodney Baker who works in the goods-in department at M&S down the road and who’s been sniffing around for a while now. How do I know? What a silly question.
“Plus all the lesser niggles – you can no longer put your shopping in the boot because if you open it in a supermarket car park, someone is bound to catch a whiff and then that’s the end of it; you have to stick to the speed limit and not drink-drive so as not to attract the attention of the police; and you always have to find a tree to park under so the car doesn’t get too hot and this means it gets full of bird crap.
“And you are totally stressed by the whole thing. You’ve stopped eating properly, you aren’t going to the gym anymore, and you don’t know (but I do) when the cops are going to come knocking on your door. You sleep badly, you’ve taken up smoking again, and you and Mr Cheap-but-Strong Cider appear to have become bosom buddies, never out of each others’ sight.
“So what’s to do, G? You don’t mind Me calling you G, do you? You’re not sensitive, are you? Pah! You should hear how people use My name. All sorts of variants and usually for the wrong reasons. Nearly always in vain. Or when they want something. ‘Please,’ they say, ‘Please’. It’s always ‘Please’ and very rarely ‘Thank you’. It’s a good thing I’m not wrathful. Well, not often. In fact I’m quite forgiving a lot of the time. So please don’t get a bit iffy if I don’t use your full name all the time.
“So G. You’ve come to Me for a way out of this. For a quick fix. For an easy solution. This is the first time I’ve heard from you in, ooooh, how long? Maybe thirty years. You can’t include your wedding – that farce on a beach in Bali. That’s not even on My patch. I don’t really do the east much. The Other Lot hold sway there and We’re none of Us wanting to get into any holy wars. There’s just no mileage in it. Not worth it. Anyhow, just too busy dealing with idiots with bodies in the backs of cars. So, long time no hear. And now at the first bit of difficulty you come running. I’m not sure I owe you.
“I expect you think that you could put up some sort of show of contrition, win Me over, and then I could consider fixing things for you? You know, like Harvey Keitel did for John Travolta and Samuel L Jackson in Pulp Fiction when they blew that guy’s brains all over the inside of the car. Well. Life’s more than a Hollywood movie. It takes more than a handful of dollars or a few Hail Mary’s. Laugh if you must but there’s any number of Botherers that think that they can feed the collection plate on a Sunday or do a few minutes of mumbling and rattling of beads and get away with all sorts of naughtiness. And yes, I know that you claim you are innocent until tried and found guilty, but for Me the body in the boot is a dead giveaway and anyway I am of course all-seeing and all-knowing. It’s – ahem – just a gift I have. As do the other Two.
“In fact, the more I think about how people do believe they can dis the rules, the angrier I am. The anger can be overwhelming and I do things I later regret. Get worked up. Become wrathful, irritable, paranoid, aggressive. Trouble is I don’t have anyone to talk to about it. It’s a lonely job, this, sometimes. But someBody has got to do it, and I guess I drew the short straw, played with unlucky dice, got dealt a poor hand. But don’t think I feel sorry for Myself. I don’t. Generally it’s all okay. I’m alright with it. I live with it. Don’t need a psychologist or counseling or a stress management course. And don’t mention talking therapies when I’m around.
Right now I feel angry. Yeah, Giovanni, angry. With you. For messing with My game plan. Very angry. And if there’s one thing you need to fear, well, it’s an angry god. So, Giovanni, tremble, for I am the god of righteousness and I am the god of vengeance, the inflictor of retribution, the hammer of the wicked, and the wielder of thunder and blazing fire. Let vengeance be Mine. Giovanni, you are toast!”