The Martian Falcon (Lovecraft & Fort) by Alan K Baker

hand, blood flowing from between his fingers. ‘You’re a fuckin’ priest!’
    O’Malley released his grip, and the man fell face forward and lay still. He approached the other hoodlum, who crawled towards the wall.
    ‘And because I’m a priest, you thought me easy game. How many others have you thought that about, you and your buddy? How many others have you dragged into alleys like this, and robbed and beaten?’ O’Malley picked up his wallet, returned it to his pocket and crouched down beside the cowering man. ‘How many?’
    ‘None, Father, none, honest!’
    ‘You’re a lying little bastard.’
    ‘It ain’t no lie, I swear to you.’
    ‘You don’t know who I am, do you?’
    ‘No… why should I?’
    O’Malley stood up and thrust out his foot, pinning the hoodlum’s head to the wall. The man moaned in pain and terror.
    ‘I am Father Cormack O’Malley.’
    ‘Oh Christ!’ said the man through gritted teeth. ‘Father O’Blivion!’
    ‘That’s me.’ O’Malley gave a mirthless grin. ‘And don’t take your Saviour’s name in vain, nor call on Him for protection, for he has already sent me to save you. You and your buddy are going to change your ways. From this moment on, you will turn away from the path of evil.’
    ‘Yes,’ whispered the hoodlum.
    ‘From this moment on, you will forsake your wickedness and turn toward the light that God in His infinite wisdom and mercy has shown you.’
    ‘Yes, we will, honest!’
    ‘Through your actions from this moment forward, you will bare your souls to God, and through those actions, and the repentance they represent, will your souls be cleansed of the filth which sullies them.’
    With difficulty, for O’Malley’s shoe was still planted firmly against the side of his head, the man nodded.
    ‘Do you think that your soul is yours to do with as you see fit?’
    ‘I… I dunno,’ said the hoodlum.
    O’Malley pressed harder against his head.
    ‘Aahh! No! No! I don’t think so! I don’t think so!’
    ‘And well you should not, for your soul belongs to God, and every wicked act you perform is an insult to Him who endowed you with it. Do you understand?’
    ‘Yes, Father,’ the man whimpered. ‘I understand.’
    ‘I’ll be watching you,’ said O’Malley. ‘Don’t think I won’t. And if you stray once from this new path, so help me, I will cut you down myself and send your souls to Him for judgment! Do you understand?’
    The hoodlum began to weep. ‘Yes, Father.’
    Father Cormack O’Malley gazed down at the man, and smiled. ‘If you’re smart, my son, those are the last tears you will ever cry.’
    He was about to turn away and leave the alley, when a movement in its shadowed depths caught his attention.
    He stepped away from the hoodlum. ‘Who’s there?’ he called out. ‘Come on now, show yourself!’
    From out of the shadows, a tall figure approached, making no sound as it glided along the garbage-strewn ground. It was dressed in a suit of alabaster-white, and was surrounded by a pale, subtle radiance.
    O’Malley recognised the figure long before it finally drew up to him. He turned to the hoodlums and said: ‘Get going, you lads.’
    The hoodlums didn’t need to be told twice. They dragged themselves to their feet and fled the alley.
    O’Malley returned his attention to the figure dressed in white. ‘I thought you were dead,’ he said.
    ‘You sound disappointed,’ said the figure.
    ‘I am. I thought the world had finally been rid of your vileness.’
    ‘That hurts, Father.’
    ‘I doubt it,’ O’Malley said. ‘What do you want?’
    ‘I need your help.’
    ‘Don’t make me laugh!’
    ‘It’s true,’ said the figure. ‘And you’re quite right: I am dead. I have passed through the final death. But I still need your help.’
    O’Malley smiled a smile that was more a grimace. ‘All right then, I’ll play along. What can a humble priest do to help the ghost of Johnny Sanguine?’

CHAPTER 10
No Rest for the