BRAND OF BODHI (BOYXBOY)

ELEVEN

Parking, Gil and I get out of the car in front of the International Church of Las Vegas. Looking at the massive church in front of me I pull on my jacket, and shove my fingers deep into the pockets, not knowing what else to do with them. Every time I enter a church for a funeral, or to interview someone, they always feel so imposing. It isn't the building so much as it is the people and their so called faith that resides inside of it.

I've seen it too many times. Those with their faith trying to shove it down other people's throats. They pound you over the head with it, and choke you with their words of God.

I don't believe there is a God. If there is one, he is a twisted son of a bitch who lets people suffer and die. Maybe this job just warped my view on faith. But I can't believe in a God that would let people like The Sandman exist, and people like The Prophet roam free.

Out the front of the church, the flags have been lowered to half staff, and a crowd of people have already begun to converge on the sidewalk, spilling out into the streets. I notice the media hounds immediately, intermingled with bystanders, and towering over them, on a raised dias overseeing the crowd is Mayor Alexander Jones. He stands behind a podium, looking forlorn, as he stares into the lens of flashing cameras as if this is anything but a publicity stunt. The overweight, balding politician only shows up when there are cameras around after all.

My brows pull down slightly, and I feel my jaw set. Bradley would hate knowing that his funeral has been turned into a three ring circle for this clown to try to win some votes in the election year. I won't be voting for him that was for sure.

Gil grabs my hand stopping me before we walk past the crowd in order to get into the building. There are a few others that aren't with the news crews, that stand around waiting to hear what the fat fuck has to say. I hate politicians. And I especially hate the ones that speak about things that they don't know or understand. I hate the ones that promise change, and all that changes is their pay grade when they get elected.

"It is with great sorrow that we are gathered here today. We lost two members of our family. S.S.A Bradley Mitch and Crime Scene Tech Amber Leer." Alexander Jones says into the microphones that are attached to the podium. My fingers clench slightly and Gil squeezes my hand. I look down at him, but he says nothing, instead he wraps his other arm around my biceps leaning into me.

"The two of them were killed by the hands of a madman," says Jones, his hands flailing like a madman. "And when this so called Prophet put his bomb inside of a coffin, and lured our fine men and women into a trap, he declared war on every law enforcement agency in the state of Nevada."

What did Alexander know about who killed Bradley and Amber? He doesn't have the slightest clue what The Prophet is like. The real reason that Alexander had showed up today was to preach about cracking down on criminal activity in the city. Cue the reel of swat teams kicking in doors and raiding houses from every cop movie ever made.

The Prophet isn't some low life petty crook. He isn't going to be somewhere that a raid can take him down. This is someone who has gotten away with twenty murders in twenty years. Sure he might get some people off the streets, but he is just using the deaths of Bradley and Amber to further his agenda. It makes me sick.

Alexander's eyes dance with fire. "For too long have drug dealers, petty crooks, and murderers been running free around our streets. They are poisoning our children, they are stealing our hard earned money. They are killing the good citizens of Nevada."

"Wasn't he just in the press for taking bribes." Gil says as he shifts on his feet and I look down at him for a moment. I know he dislikes Alex as much as I do. His green eyes are narrowed as he glares at the man. If looks could kill, I would have to arrest him for the assassination he just committed.