Half Moon Bay II
Drug smuggling Catholic Saints investing into America’s future.
TWK – Publishing
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Luke 24 – .…………………………………………………………………….6
Exodus 23:21 – ………………………………………………………………19
Bonus Coloring Book………….………………………………………………33
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HALF MOON BAY
PART II of III
By: Travis Knoll
The moonlight hits St. James softly in the face lighting his way as he walks toward dock number 2311. Over at the dock, the boats are parted with the moonlight as it shines off the darkened water and moves in a dance along with the boats.
He looks at the paper from God, and holds his wrist to the scanner at the gate. The dock creaks as he walks toward the Old Endeavor yacht. Sister Maria opens the hatch and looks at him. The moonlight sparkles in her eyes, and they each see each other and smile.
“I’ve been waiting on you,” Sister Maria says.
St. James follows Sister Maria into the living quarters of the yacht. St. Peter smiles and hands him a bible. St. James opens it and reveals a half-pound of marijuana. “Welcome to the family,” St. Peter says, with an enlarged smile. The three of them pack bibles filled with drugs into boxes.
St. Peter walks to the bow of the boat, examines the music choices, and with a smile, pushes play on the machine. In the background, Jimi Hendrix’s “Purple Haze” plays, and St. Peter bobs his head and mimics the words as if he were Jimi. He walks back to help St. James and Sister Maria pack the boxes with paraphernalia.
“I heard that the purple haze is actually a reference to Hendrix seeing Jesus, and then he called it purple haze,” St. James says as the others look at him, rolling their eyes at his attempt to make friends. They pack the drugs quickly into bibles and then into boxes. Under only the light of the moon reflecting off the moving water, they walk the boxes from the boat, and place them into a hearse that is parked in the marina parking lot.
A local Sheriff, Officer Coolidge waits at the end of the dock and smiles at the crew. St. Peter hands St. James an envelope with cash in it. “Create the economy,” St. Peter says. St. James timidly hands the officer the money, and the officer looks at it and smiles. “Thanks kid. You new here?” The officer asks in a jovial manner.
St. Peter starts the hearse’s engine. St. James shakes the officer’s hand and remains silent. He runs to the hearse with his head down.
The moonlight shines off the rear of the hearse’s window as St. Peter drives away from the marina. He adjusts the rearview mirror and watches St. James in the backseat, looking out the window at the officer.
“It’s okay bud, we own the local fuzz. It’s the Feds you have to stress about,” St. Peter says with confidence.
St. James continues to look out the window at the different department stores and strip malls that they pass by. Sister Maria puts her hand on his shoulder.
“There’s no going back,” Sister Maria says.
“How long have you been doing this?” St. James asks as he looks to both of them for an answer.
“I started in order to pay my school loans off.”
“Really, so you’re going to leave us then?” Rick says as St. Peter’s attention moves to Sister Maria with a laugh of condescension. “Yeah so when are you leaving us, Sister?” St. Peter asks.
“What, am I supposed to get a regular job? I’m good at this shit.” Sister Maria says as she looks out the window. “I don’t exist in that society anymore,” she adds in a somber tone as they continue past the department stores and restaurants on the streets. The sound of the hearse is heard, as everyone is quiet with each passing light that reflects off the car.
The hearse pulls into the back of the church. St. Peter scans the barcode on his wrist at the sensor next to the gate, and the gate opens. They pull into the back of the church. St. Peter parks the car. He gets out and walks to another sensor on the back of the church that is covered by a piece of sheet metal, painted to match the color of the church. He slides the sheeting to the side and scans his barcode under the sensor.
An underground garage opens. He gets back in the car and slowly pulls the hearse into the underground garage. The garage closes, and the three of them get out of the vehicle.
St. James takes a deep breath, his breath visible as he exhales. Sister Maria points to the thermometer that reads 34 degrees Fahrenheit. St. James rubs the goose bumps on his arms.
“The temperature is to inhibit infrared and heat detection.” St. Peter says.
Sister Maria flips an electrical switch and lights the underground passageway with phosphorescent light bulbs, which are domed and don’t create heat. St. James turns and looks at the pallets upon pallets of drugs in an area the size of a football field. The pallets are wrapped in saran wrap, opaque black to keep the light out and maintain freshness.
“My mother would have a field day in this place,” St. James says.
“Yeah, your mother was eating into your father’s margins,” St. Peter replies as Sister Maria pokes St. Peter and tells him to be quiet. St. James looks at both of them.
“The damn kids gotta know sometime. Until last week he thought his dad was a construction foreman,” St. Peter says to Sister Maria as St. James looks to Sister Maria for answers. They all start to unload the boxes of drugs from the hearse. “Did you know my father?” St. James asks Sister Maria.
“Yeah. He worked on big jobs with us, then he’d go back home. I assume to your place. He talked about you often.”
“What the hell really happened to him, then?”
St. Peter looks at Sister Maria and places a box on a pallet between the two of them. He clears his throat in an attempt to change the subject. “Supply and demand my boy. God creates the demand, and we hold the keys to the city,” St. Peter says as Sister Maria points to the barcode on his wrist.
“It’s your key to the city… it’s God’s thumbprint. He knows everything, trust me.” Sister Maria says.
“Regardless, my mother would be proud…” Rick replies.
In a large office building that rests atop the skyline of San Francisco. Windows are portioned throughout the interior of the FBI building overlooking the vast city through the office. In every corner there are desk cubicles and the sounds of papers being filed and the continual background noise of the persistent phone rings.
A sharply dressed detective, John Samuels, walks through the office with a coffee mug in his hand. He sits at his desk and looks at his partner, Detective Halloway, in front of him. Detective Halloway looks at the file in front of him.
“Tell me good news,” Detective Samuels says.
“I’m waiting on a call from that subject Matt, the one that goes by Disciple. He should be meeting his drop off here shortly,” Detective Halloway says as John takes a bite of an apple. He chews and talks at the same time, trying to multi-task.
“Has he gotten some concrete evidence yet?” John asks.
“Balls in his court he’s working for us now,” Halloway says.
“Keep me posted. I want to take that call.”
Inside God’s office he sits in his plush leather chair and twirls a one dollar gold coin between his fingers. Jerry Steinhauser, a fast-talking Jewish man with a big body, sits in a chair in front of his desk. He clears his throat and lays some documents stamped with Big Dream Ventures on God’s desk. Jerry points to where he wants God to sign.
“This is golden I tell ya we’re all golden,” he says, eyes wide. “GOLDEN! By the end of the month we’ll be able to throw an IPO to New York,” Jerry says with the flailing of the ring on his pinky finger to accentuate every new vowel in the sentence. God remains quiet, and Jerry continues to rant about the future of his company and inches the papers closer toward, him pointing at the place to sign.
“Stop ya schlepping… I mean this is another win here. Come on…” Jerry continues. Both men are quiet and God stares him in the eyes. “You like to talk,” God says, making Jerry sit back in his chair and letting some of the gas out of his enthusiastic tone.
“The Super Bowl is this weekend. We should be able to bring in enough cargo before the game is over. What is the new venture?” God asks.
“It’s silicon and it’s able to conduct electricity. This is the future. Five mil invested from your end and I’ll get ya some equity. Trust me, it’s money in the bank,” Jerry says, still flailing his pinky finger in an omnidirectional fashion. God stands and shakes his hand.
“I will have my people ready,” God says.
St. Peter walks into the room and looks at God. “Oh I’m sorry. I didn’t know you had company,” St. Peter says.
“It’s okay, my friend here was just leaving,” God says as he scribbles some instructions onto a note card on his desk and hands them to Jerry. He stares him in the eyes again as they shake hands.
“Let the Rabbis know the dock and information,” God says.
Jerry walks toward the door, smiles at St. Peter, and walks out of the room. St. Peter walks to God’s desk. God pulls out a small barcode scanner and scans St. Peters wrist, and St. Peter points to the top of his head where a Yarmulke would be.
“What’s the caps’ deal? Isn’t he part of the competition?” St. Peter asks.
“The Super Bowl is the weekend. Make sure the team is ready. We’re making a merger.” God says as he points to the barcode tattoo on St. Peter’s wrist. “Coordinates to meet the Disciples will be on the yacht. Take St. James with you…”
The sun shines in the middle of the day as St. James and St. Peter float on the Old Endeavor yacht in international water. The coast of Half Moon Bay is barely visible in the distance. St. James baits his hook and tosses the line overboard. They look around at the empty ocean.
“Where is this fucker? These Disciples are never on time,” St. Peter says with a note of disdain in his voice.
“Hey, aren’t the 49ers in the Super Bowl this weekend?” St. James asks.
“Yeah, the animals and the fuzz will all be worried about something else.”
“So how did you get involved with God?” St. James asks.
“Basically, bud, it was either this or the streets, and God gave me this option.”
St. Peter grabs a pair of binoculars and looks off into the distance. He only sees one yacht, which is slowly sailing toward their location. He forcibly hands the binoculars to St. James. “Fuck!” St. Peter yells as he runs to the radio.
“What’s going on?” St. James asks, and he looks through the binoculars at one yacht that is approaching their direction.
“There’s only one boat.” St. Peter replies, and he squeezes the radio mic to talk to the approaching boat.
“Happy Trails, Happy Trails, this is the Meassis Dragon, come in, over?” St. Peter yells over the radio. The radio beeps, indicating an incoming message. “This is the Happy Trails. Permission to dock next to you?” The Happy Trails boat says.
“Comply, out.” St. Peter says forcibly hanging up the radio. The Happy Trails rests its starboard side to the Meassis Dragon’s port side, and they tie the boats together. A man that goes by the name Disciple boards the Meassis Dragon in a frantic state. He puts his hands on his head in despair, and a small barcode tattoo is revealed on his wrist.
“Where the hell is the other boat?” St. Peter yells at the Disciple. The Disciple continues to shake his head and look at the ground as if something isn’t right.
“They got it man. They fucking got it.” The Disciple says, almost tearing up as he is overcome with emotion.
“Who the hell are they?” St. Peter says. He gets in the Disciples face. St. James stands between them, trying to calm them both down.
“It’s ok fellas let’s relax. What happened man?” St. James says.
Shaking, the Disciple lets out a deep breath, pulls out a cigarette, and lights it. “I knew I should of taken that job at my Grandpa’s farm,” The Disciple says.
“The kids right, let’s just relax and grab the cargo. Then we can figure this out,” St. Peter says while the Disciple smiles a hesitant smile.
“Cargo? I was the dummy boat. All they put on me was a tumor,” The Disciple says between sporadic puffs of his cigarette that is narrowing toward the filter.
“Man, I’m sorry you have a tumor. My buddy back home had cancer,” St. James says.
St. Peter shakes his head. “A tumor is an attached capsule to the bottom of the boat full of cargo. He releases it if he’s in the shits…” St. Peter says and takes a deep breath. He turns to St. James, with an entirely different look and a changed demeanor.
“Take us back to the bay,” St. Peter says, raising his tone. St. James takes the helm. St. Peter looks closely at the Disciple. “There was no instruction for a dummy boat with a tumor. Who gave you the instructions and who gave you the other boat?” St. Peter asks as the Disciple takes a puff of the cigarette that has burnt to the filter. St. Peter takes a long deep breath and closes his eyes.
“What would my therapist say?”
The Disciple raises his brow, and there’s a silence between the two men. The only sound is St. James trying to start the boat, and the waves splashing against the side of the yacht as it wades in the ocean.
St. Peter pulls out his Glock 9, and puts it right against the Disciple’s cheekbone. St. James quickly starts the engine to the boat. “What’s really going on here, mother fucker?” St. Peter says, and the Disciple drops his cigarette and immediately raises his hands in the air.
“R-relax, m-my man. We’re all friends here.”
St. Peter pushes him to the side of the boat and the Disciple has a seat.
“I left right after they put the tumor on the bottom of the boat. Shortly after I got to international waters I saw the other boat getting hailed by the coasties. Then I cut comms as instructed,” the Disciple says. He shakes his head and tries to pick up his cigarette and take a puff. St. Peter pushes him to the edge of the boat.
“You’re bringing in your boat behind us and you’ll have to answer to God,” St. Peter says.
Approaching dock number 2311, the Meassis Dragon and The Happy Trails both dock and tie up their boats. Sister Maria walks down the docks with a small envelope in her hand. She smiles at St. James and hands the envelope to St. Peter.
“God told me to give it to you. That’s all I know.”
St. Peter reads the letter. St. James looks across to dock number 2310. There are three Hasidic Jews carrying boxes down the dock. “Who are these guys?” St. James asks as both him and Sister Maria look at the apparent Jewish Mafia. “Competition… look I’ll see you later,” Sister Maria replies in a bit of a hurry, looking at her watch.
St. Peter finishes reading the letter. He folds it up and puts it in his pocket. Everyone walks down the dock. “What about the tumor?” the Disciple asks, looking back at the yacht. “I’m not touching nothing ‘til God says. Let’s meet for breakfast at the Full Moon in the morn,” St. Peter gives an authoritative answer.
The morning dew covers the windows on a local dock diner that resonates with the decor of a surfer’s pit stop. The aged wooden trim of the building gives it a piratical feel. A large wooden sign creeks showing a pirate under a full moon with his moon showing.
St. Peter and St. James walk into the Full Moon and the sign creaks. In the corner of the room is the Disciple, sitting in a booth. Dolores, a waitress, smiles at the two men, and they point in the direction of where the Disciple is currently sitting.
“Thanks Dolores,” St. Peter says with a wink and a smile in Dolores’s direction. The Disciple stands and shakes both of their hands. “What are we eating, my man?” St. Peter says.
“I just got us some coffee. I didn’t quite know what you guys wanted,” the Disciple says as he shakes while sipping his coffee. “I have to run to the bathroom real quick,” he continues.
St. James smiles hesitantly at him and watches as he walks to the bathroom. St. Peter pulls out the envelope from God, and hands it to St. James. St. Peter take a sip of his coffee.
As St. Peter stirs in more sugar into his coffee, St. James opens the letter.
The Disciple looks over his shoulder at the two Saints at the table. He grabs the pay phone, pulls out a business card with the name John Samuels, FBI agent on it. The phone rings and John Samuels picks up.
“Hello, this is Detective Samuels.”
“This is Matt. I did as you said and they’re here, now come and book them. I want my life back.”
“Listen, we have nothing on these guys that will stick yet, bud. I mean no one’s talking. All the evidence is in your hands. You make a move and get these guys caught in the act, and as we discussed, you’re a free man.”
“Are you fucking kidding me here? They’re onto me, I know it. I have a bad feeling about all this.”
The Disciple wipes some perspiration from his forehead, and looks back at the two Saints at the table. “Look, I think they have something at the dock on the Super Bowl, but they haven’t let me know shit yet.”
“There we go, that’s a start! Now relax and take a deep breath, and leave the detective work to us. Get the hard evidence and you get your life back. We’ll monitor the docks on the Super Bowl.”
“Fuck…” the Disciple takes a deep breath. “Okay…” he says as he hangs up the phone.
St. James finishes reading the letter and wipes the sweat from his brow. He exhales and looks at St. Peter. “Heavy right? You think you can handle it?” St. Peter says as St. James picks up the salt on the table.
“What am I supposed to do, put salt in his coffee and hope his blood pressure will rise? I’m not sure I can do this.” St. James says as St. Peter shakes his head with laughter.
“It’s not up to you anymore. It’s part of the job man,” St. Peter says as he sits back in the booth with a smiles. “I love watching a young man pop his cherry.”
“You people are crazy.”
St. Peter leans in toward St. James with an almost seductive smile. “You people? God’s trying to vet you bro. Your dad would be proud,” St. Peter says and points to the barcode tattoo on St. James’s wrist. “You fell down the rabbit hole man. The only way out is through the other side. Now just be patient and stay calm, the opportunity will present itself.”
St. Peter puts his coffee down, and looks at the Disciple walking back to the table. The Disciple sits and looks at both men in silence. “Is everything ok fellas?” the Disciple asks as both the Saints smile hesitantly.
“Fine.” St. James says.
Dolores brings more coffee to the table and fills the men’s cups. St. Peter winks at her with a smile. “I was wondering if you could get me in on the Super Bowl this weekend?” the Disciple asks. A silent pause as Dolores walks away from the table. St. Peter cracks his knuckles and stretches his neck.
“Aaah. 49ers got the spread. Perhaps I can talk to God and we can see if we can get you in. How was the meeting?” St. Peter asks as a confused look strikes the Disciples face. “The bathroom, man. Did you wash your hands?” St. James says.
The Disciple gives a hesitant smile. “Oh… Yeah yeah.”
St. Peter waves for the check and Dolores drops it on the table. “Thanks hun,” St. Peter says as he pulls out his money clip and pays.
The sun’s orange hue reflects across the calm morning ocean waters. The Disciple stops, takes a deep breath and looks at the picturesque view. He looks over his shoulder at St. James.
“Is God really good?” the Disciple asks.
“Man I’m sorry, but I apparently don’t know God very well,” St. James says.
St. Peter pats them both on the shoulders and they climb aboard the Happy Trails. “Blow jobs later boys. We have to meet another Disciple out there too,” he says, trying to hurry the men to get in the boat. St. James starts the boat and they slowly pull away from the dock.
Sister Maria places her hand on God’s office door. She pauses and softly knocks. On the other side of the door she can hear God say, “Come in..”
She walks in the room and is greeted by God with a smile and him gesturing for her to sit in front of his desk.
“Thank you for taking the time to meet me. Can I get you anything? A glass of ice water perhaps?” God asks as he continues to put his hands out in a gentlemanly manner for her to sit in front of his desk. Sister Maria takes a seat and smiles at the offering.
“No I’m good, but thank you for the offer. What was it that you needed, or what can I do?” she asks.
God sits at his desk with his hands interlaced. His desk is immaculately clean and that matches his appearance, with nothing out of place.
“You’ve been a faithful employee for some time now. I needed to ask you, what did you think of St. James?” God asks as Sister Maria shrugs her shoulders.
“Honestly, I see a lot of his father in him, he seems to have come a long way, and he’s a great addition to the team, but…” Sister Maria drops her head into her hand, trying not to convey emotion. “He needs to know what happened to his father,” she says.
“I will take care of what the boy believes. For now, can you get close to him?” God says as he shuffles papers at his desk opening a file that is for an impending job on the horizon. “Also, I’ve decided that you will share the same rate with St. James for the upcoming operation.”
Sister Maria lets out a gasp of air and sits back in her chair furrowing her brow. “Are you kidding me? I went to Stanford, and I should be getting the same rate as St. Peter,” Sister Maria says as she stands and walks toward the door. “With all due respect, I’m out of here.” Sister Maria opens the door.
“Stop!” God raises his voice and Sister Maria turns and shoots him a look of condescension. God points to where her barcode tattoo is on her wrist. “Where do you plan on going that I cannot find you?”
Sister Maria takes her hand off the door handle and looks at God with an emotion that has glassed over her eyes. God stands and walks toward her. “Listen, Sister, it is so hard to find good people that I can trust in this business. I see your passion, and I need you to get close to St. James. Can you do that for me? I will ensure you get more pay in the future,” God says, as each word out of his mouth plays the strings of her soul like a harp. Sister Maria nods and wipes her eyes. “Have a blessed day, Sister,” God says as she walks out the door.
The sun rises in the distance of the international waters and dances off the top of the ocean’s ripples as they hit the side of the boat. St. James slows the engine to a murmur, and St. Peter looks at the Disciple.
“Could you go below and make sure the tumor is ready. God’s guy should of put it in the floorboards,” St. Peter says in a demanding tone of voice. The Disciple looks around in all directions at the empty waters.
“Were is this other Disciple? I have a date later,” the Disciple says.
“Shouldn’t be too long now man. Could you check the cargo?” St. Peter asks, and the Disciple nods in acknowledgement and walks below to the living quarters of the boat. “I have to take a leak anyway,” the Disciple continues in a prideful manner.
The Disciple takes a pee and looks around the living quarters, interior, and under the floorboards of the boat.
St. Peter pulls out a gun from the small of his back. He puts it in front of St. James. “Is there really a tumor on board?” St. James asks.
“There’s no fucking tumor kid. He’s looking for a rat,” St. Peter hands the gun to St. James. He grasps the gun awkwardly as the weight of the metal pulls his arm down.
“We have to keep God’s house clean,” St. Peter says.
“I don’t know if I can, man. I mean this really doesn’t feel right,” St. James says as he stares at the gun in his right hand.
St. Peter grabs a five-gallon jug of chum and slowly pours it over the side. Small fish accumulate around the fresh blood beneath the boat. The Disciple walks up from underneath the cabin of the boat.
“I don’t see where he put the…” the Disciple says as he looks at St. James hesitantly pointing the gun at the Disciple. His hand shakes, and his brow is furrowed. The Disciple puts his hands up and looks at the two Saints.
“What is this, a joke, kid? You’re gonna hurt somebody with that thing.”
“Stop! I’m not kidding man,” St. James says with a sense of conviction.
His hand shakes again as he cocks the gun. St. Peter helps him steady his young hands, and he points the barrel at the Disciple.
“Ok bud. I mean, were all friends here, right? Come on, tell him what I’ve done,” the Disciple says as he gives a pleading and concerned look toward St. Peter. St. Peter turns his back and pours more chum in the ocean.
“The opportunity has presented itself,” St. Peter says to St. James.
The Disciple takes a step toward St. James and pauses. He puts his hands out, pleading for forgiveness from them. “You know they’re lying to you. I knew your father, and his death wasn’t an accident,” the Disciple says as St. James grips the gun tight showing the whites in his knuckles. “What happened?” St. James asks and he turns and looks at St. Peter and then back at the Disciple and then at both of them. “I’ll tell you and you put the gun down,” the Disciple says.
St. James takes a deep breath and lowers the gun. The Disciple looks at St. James with his hands in the air. St. Peter turns to St. James. “You gonna trust a rat?” St. Peter says. St. James looks at both of them and slowly lowers the gun.
“I can’t do this. I’m not a killer,” St. James says as the Disciple lowers his hands, and he lets out a sigh of relief.
“Thank God, kid.”
St. Peter quickly grabs the gun from St. James and shoots the Disciple in the foot. The Disciple jumps up and down emphatically grabbing his foot.
“You shot me! You fuck, you fucking shot me! I can’t believe you shot me,” the Disciple continues on as St. Peter points the gun to St. James’s head.
“You want to be like your father? Well time to step up and be a man,” St. Peter says as he cocks the gun with a smile. “Or perhaps I take the boat back in alone?”
St. James nods and grabs the gun. He looks at the Disciple crying, holding his foot. St. Peter whispers in his ear. “This is what your dad did. This is your family.” St. James listens to St. Peter and he closes his eyes. St. Peter raises his voice. “It’s either him or you now MAN UP!”
St. James’s knuckles are pure white as he slowly squeezes the trigger. The Disciple covers his face, and St. James shoots him in the head.
The Disciple falls limp to the ground with blood splattered on the deck of the boat. St. James stands over the body in shock. He dry heaves at the sight of the dead body and the blood spilling out of his head. St. Peter smiles and pats him on the back. He pokes his finger at the Disciples head.
“Sucker looks like a watermelon after the 4th of July. Come on pal, help me get him overboard, and we can go in,” St. Peter says.
St. James moves the Disciple and his wallet falls out of his pocket. On the front panel is a business card for John Samuels, FBI agent. St. James picks up the card and examines it intensely.
“Fuck the dudes a NARC. I killed a fucking narc. Are you fucking kidding me?” St. James says.
“You did American a service, bud. He was going to rat on us. Now come on get your shit together,” St. Peter says as he pours some chum on the Disciple and they throw him overboard. The sharks quickly pick at him. St. James stares at the body and St. Peter pats him on the back.
“You’re a man now. Makes me remember when I popped my cherry. Good times, man. Good fucking times…” St. Peter says with a shake of his head. He continues to stare at the Disciple float in the ocean. A shark grabs one of his arms and begins to eat at it.
“Don’t worry they’ll swallow him up. Now come on, we have to get to church…” St. Peter says.
End of Part II
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As a thank you for being a reader I want to give you a FREE copy of my adult coloring book, and FREE downloads to the Half Moon Bay Series. It is a display of some of the photos I have compiled and books I have written.
Half Moon Bay Part II FREE Adult Coloring Book and bonus fiction within. What will we see now in this crime fiction thriller story. Rick loses his father, and God that uses the Catholic Church to smuggle drugs offers him a job. Will he take it..? He must choose to live the life he used to know or become a Saint in Gods drug smuggling ring. Accept his new life as a Saint and using the Catholic Church as a cover to smuggle drugs into Half Moon Bay, CA. Rick tries to find out what truly has happened to his father as he runs into a Detective that offers him real information on the organization that his os working for. The goal is set to invest into America's future and smuggle a tanker full of drugs into Half Moon Bay during the Super Bowl. All the while trying to elude the FBI, and finding out what really happened to his father. An excerpt from this crime fiction thriller... The moonlight hits St. James softly in the face lighting his way as he walks toward dock number 2311. Over at the dock, the boats are parted with the moonlight as it shines off the darkened water and moves in a dance along with the boats. He looks at the paper from God, and holds his wrist to the scanner at the gate. The dock creaks as he walks toward the Old Endeavor yacht. Sister Maria opens the hatch and looks at him. The moonlight sparkles in her eyes, and they each see each other and smile. "I've been waiting on you," Sister Maria says. St. James follows Sister Maria into the living quarters of the yacht. St. Peter smiles and hands him a bible. St. James opens it and reveals a half-pound of marijuana. "Welcome to the family," St. Peter says, with an enlarged smile. The three of them pack bibles filled with drugs into boxes. This is part II of III. Download Now..!