He was a little over six feet tall and fit. It struck me how perfectly tan he was which was in contrast with his pearly white smile and salt and peppe... hair. He was my father's age, in his 50's. He seemed like a nice enough guy. We made plans to play a round tomorrow in the morning and he bid as adieu.Morning shortly came. I got dressed, a pair of little khaki shorts and a tight little polo shirt. I may have taken a little too long doing my makeup. My father was in the living room impatiently. To me, Cayuse was becoming a partner, maybe a friend. A dab hand in a tight spot no matter what.Someone, almost certainly from No-Name, had painted a black “FUCK YOU” on the white siding of Holy Redemption. On the front wall, facing Market Street. Sometime before the sun came up on Sunday morning. He got the ‘F’ backwards, but it wasn’t hard to work out the sentiment.These days, Reverend Venerable usually had a full house on Sunday morning. The new church was too solid to shake, but you could. More

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