CHURCH, Season Seven, Episode Six

CHURCH, The Television Show

Season Seven

Episode Six

    “The Police are asking a lot of questions,” The Italian briefed.

    “Fuck’m. It’ll go away, we were closed!” The Prince smiled, shrugged, and raised his eyebrows.

    “What have you heard on our side?” The Italian pressed for insight.

    “The Aunt’s worried that Noodle knows something. She said he’s being coy.”

    “About what?”

    “Southern City…History. It’s nothing; he read it in the newspaper. The Waitress thinks that Noodle’s just a nice guy.”

    “What do you think?”

    “I don’t know. Sometimes I think he’s a fag and sometimes I see this fire behind his eyes like he’s here to burn US. Like his whole act’s an angle.”

    “Give an example.”

    “After the company Christmas party we went to The Fake Irish Bar to make snow. The Supervisor had the place locked down. The Manager’s Marines were scouting the front door while we cut in the kitchen and our guys pushed out of the bathroom. It was Christmas for God’s sake. The girls were having a great time, The Police were taken care of, and Noodle Church was there ordering soda waters!”

    “Go on.”

    “He was stone cold, and then he gets The Meat Packer to cut him a line in the bathroom. Twenty minutes later the whole shit house comes down.”

    “You said you had The Police covered.”

    “We had the shift supervisor with US, who had a Narc inside to keep an eye on everything.”

    “We would have heard if the FBI pulled rank,” The Italian thought out loud.

    “It wasn’t FBI, and there was nothing going that ATF would care about. When The Supervisor got a tip from The Police, he packed everything up and took his crew out the back. When I left, Noodle was standing there staring at the front door. He said goodnight to me. If he is someone, who could he be?”

    “The Frenchman thinks he’s Interpol.”

    “What the hell is Interpol? The Manager’s Marines made everyone coming in; there was nothing that interesting inside.”

    “Well, here’s what I know. You guys were having a clean, fun, chaperoned party. It’s snowing. Noodle goes outside. Some girl splits her head open and The Cops have to come because of the medical emergency. You get tipped off, all our guys get out clean, and Noodle leaves alone and walks right through the police barricade.”

    “So who is he?”


    “I don’t think so; The Manager has a line open to The Marines.”

    “Believe it or not, they’re up to different things. The military is ripe with politics just like everything else.”

    “What would the Army want with US?”

    “It’s not US. It’s the Terrorists.”

    “Are you trying to tell me that there was a terrorist at the Fake Irish Bar? Next you’re going to tell me someone was about to blow the place up.”

    “Son, let me tell you a little secret. The reason we were able to re-open as Majesty after The Roxbury got shut down is because we’re working with The Government. Our Cousins in Gotham have been doing it for years.”

    “How many years?”

    “Ever since September Eleven.”

    “You’re trying to tell me that our cousins in Gotham have been ratting to the Federal Government for ten years? Meanwhile, we’re sharing product routes with them? That’s crazy!” The Prince smiled. “You have no idea how well we did this year.”

    “We’re doing it too.”

    “So the Feds are running coke with US?”

    “Son, the Federal Government is not a single entity. It’s hundreds, if not thousands of different heads. We let a couple of the real big guys get cozy with our Arab contacts and in turn they look the other way. They respect that we’ve always done our thing and as a courtesy help keep The City off our backs.”

    “Why would you agree to that?”

    “They’re only after Terrorists.”

    “What’s all this got to do with the shooting outside?”

    “Those bullets were meant for Noodle! And now City Brass is all over me about it. If someone reached out to save Noodle’s life, that means he’s connected. I just can’t figure out how.”

    “We were closed! It’s the Frenchman’s problem.”

    “If Noodle knows something, we could lose our political allies!”

    “This reeks of a set up!” The Prince yelled. “Why would you ever agree to this?”

    “Son, we work with some ugly people. The Feds accuse us of servicing Pakistani and Iranian Intelligence.”

    “So you think The Artist worked for The Government too? What happened?”

    “Perhaps he was supposed to scare the crew from Southern City away, but they were animals. They lost the fight and picked up a gun.”

    “And The Police?”

    “They have bits and pieces. They don’t have it all.”

    “So you’re telling me that Noodle’s untouchable, that he’s some sort of government agent?”

    “I don’t know, but Noodle’s going to get what’s coming to him.”

    “What happens next?”

    “We’re going to help the guys over at National Security burn Noodle out; and we’re going to have our own fun with him along the way.”

    “I can’t believe you’re working with The Government inside Majesty.”

    “You will be too.”


    “Why do you think that I’m taking this risk, telling you all this now? When this is over the NSA will want to cut ties to Majesty. But we need these guys. You have no idea the things they are able to do with their connections. In order to stay in, we’re going to renovate your club downstairs and reopen it as Remorse.”


    “Son, we work in an environment where no one talks to anyone else.”

    “Sure, we look the other way.”

    “What if someone was looking the other way on a guys who carried out a terrorist attack that killed children of friends of yours?”

    “I’d feel terribly.”

    “Nine-eleven, son, nine-eleven. There’s a war going on.”

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