"She was like a wildcat, officer! She bloodied my face with her heel whilst I lay prone on the surface of the ground! I've never seen such a woman!"
"I have. I have," said Lacere, replacing his hat. "And this time she won't get away from me."
The priest picked at the scab forming on the corner of his lip. The worst part was how he hurt his hand stabbing the cop, but he kept that one in his pocket. And he kept his mouth shut. God didn't care anyhow.

What they found was a basement full of blood.

Cops besieged the churchyard like potato bugs, fat and slick, making sure to shoot out the stained glass windows. Out the back door ran a pretty girl, one step closer to nothing at all.

A right hook with a prayer book sent the preacher's teeth flying, artificial as they were. And a high heel made its mark on his high arches. She grabs him by his fancy collar and says, "Some kind of preacher you are, tying up grown men with their own pants. He comes here looking for solace and you give him a broken nose."