Intro note. Yes, “Bob” is not the best character name for a guy who is an assassin for God. So “Bob” is now “Connor Murphy”. Thanks to MCPunk on Twitter for poking me to change the name. And now for part 2…
It’s not easy being dead. I mean, sure I don’t have to worry about eating if I don’t want to—I can if I want, but I don’t need to—the problem is existing in a “living” world. Think about all the things you have to have to seem “normal” place to live, ID, a “job”. Lucky for me God has a bunch of people to help Him take care of all these details for folks like me. Oh, and those people happen to all be saints. Patron saints, to be precise.
Let me catch you up, though.
Things went black and I woke up in a pretty nice apartment. Not over the top, just nice and suitable. Oh and I knew everything. Where my keys were, the name of the doorman, my address, my phone number, PINs for bank cards. Suddenly I had a new life and it seemed just as natural as the one I had before. Yeah, that’s the strange part, I could remember and be in both lives. And both seemed perfectly natural. It’s not like my new life was a cover story like I had used in the old days—I remember all of those too—it’s like being two people at once.
I got up from my bed. Blindly walked to the kitchen and made coffee. Not out of desire for a drink, but more like what tastes better when you first wake up (from being dead) than a strong cup of coffee? While the coffee brewed, I padded over to my desk and opened the MacBook on the desk. Sleek, thin, and light. Nice. My Air came to life and I had to type in my username and password. I knew these both, of course.
in nomine Patris
Well, someone has a sense of humor, don’t they?
And I’m on SanctusNet.
Yeah, Heaven has its own Intranet. I open Mail and the first email is from [email protected]
Welcome to the team. I’m Izzy, sys admin and general go to guy for your tech needs here on SanctusNet. Michael will take care of your “hardware” needs. Joseph will make sure your apartment and such are taken care of.
If you need anything, you know how to reach us.
And I did know how to reach Izzy, Michael (who I knew liked to go by “Mike”), Joseph (Joe), and any other patron saint I might need a helping hand from. My lawyer is Tom More. Mike is also my contact in the police department (except in Chicago where I contact Jude). My new life is all about seeming normal, working for God, and trying to avoid getting arrested—too often.
My iPhone (jailbroken to have a few special apps from SanctusNet) buzzes and a bell intones that I have a message.
“Time to meet up. -Gabe”
Right, that would be Gabriel, my main contact and handler. I grab a black leather trench coat from the closet, my keys from the table, and head down to the garage. Time for work.
Time for me to help someone meet their maker on the right terms.