Atheist's Prayer

By Rocky Leonard

Sam Dawson is a young, handsome college professor with a beautiful wife, a great job, and a bright future. Sam has written a brand-new book promoting atheism that’s practically guaranteed to become a bestseller. Sam has a big problem, though — someone is threatening to kill him. Is someone playing a prank on Sam? Is this a legitimate threat, or just a publicity stunt?

In the aftermath of the violent murder of his girlfriend, private detective Robert Mercer has been struggling with depression. Mercer needs the work to find a new purpose and get back on his feet, but can he still function at a high level?

Will Mercer be up to the task, or will Sam Dawson become a victim because of his failure? Only time will tell if a washed-up private detective might be the answer to an atheist’s prayer.

A prayer for survival...

Be aware this novel contains religious themes and strong language. If you are offended by either, this novel is not for you.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Each Voice Publishing
• Release date: Dec 10, 2023
• ISBN: 9798986310220

Rocky Leonard

Rocky Leonard is the pen name used by John L. Leonard for his fiction work, chosen in honor of his father. In real life, Rocky Leonard was one of the most colorful characters you could ever want to meet. John credits his dad for the sarcastic wit and cynicism of the Robert Mercer character.The author routinely writes articles for a number of online publications and was interviewed on the Dennis Miller radio show. Coastal Empire is his first novel. He has also written short stories for an anthology about animals and is editing his second detective novel, Secondhand Sight.John holds a BBA from the University of Georgia and worked as a computer programmer for more than twenty years before becoming a writer. His writing has also been influenced by shorter stints working as a bartender, real estate investor and landlord.He has been married to wife Lisa for twenty-two years. John is the proud father of two and grandfather of three, as well as pack leader for several wonderful dogs and one crazy cat.Born in Savannah, John has spent most of his adult life in the northern suburbs of Atlanta. The local color in his writing is equally authentic whether the setting is a Georgia beach, downtown Atlanta, or the Appalachian foothills in north Georgia.

Book preview

Chapter 1

A few minutes before ten, Nick Mason rolled into Robert Mercer’s driveway and parked behind John Sutlive’s pickup. He muttered under his breath as he switched off the engine.

We were supposed to meet here at ten, you jerk. His eyes drifted to the dashboard clock, and he softly cursed again. Damn it! He slapped the steering wheel in frustration. I’m on time! In fact, I’m even a little early!!

Under normal circumstances, both Mercer and Sutlive were sticklers for punctuality, but these were not normal circumstances. Mercer had been struggling since tragedy struck last year. Since tragedy struck last year, he had been struggling, always being reserved and self-controlled, allowing few close enough to know him, so when his emotions finally burst, it nearly destroyed the man. Kelly’s murder hurled Mercer into a deep depression, and he hadn’t come out of it yet.

Nick had been covering for his friend and mentor for months now, fielding new work coming to the detective agency. Work Mercer was too out of it to bother considering. Nick could handle the routine clients and their routine requests. But when they came seeking an experienced private detective, he had to turn their business down. Nick huffed a sigh. He might not have Mercer’s experience, but when he realized that calls to the office were going unreturned — while Mercer lay passed out in a drunken stupor — he forwarded the business line to his cell phone. Since then, Nick had handled calls as the primary associate of Mercer and Associates. The only associate unless you counted Ox. John Sutlive was just a friend who helped occasionally when some of the tougher problems popped up.

Besides keeping the agency afloat, Nick had been adding his share of the funds from the rental house he managed for Mercer into the business account. Mercer, of course, remained oblivious. He didn’t know, and he didn’t care.

When Nick first met them, Mercer and Sutlive had been like a pair of mismatched twins. Mercer was a private detective, and Sutlive owned a pet resort, but both seemed to have a knack for escaping a dangerous situation. The friends had served together in the Marines, and each was stubborn as an ox. Sometimes, Nick wondered if they made plans just so they could break them and do whatever the hell they wanted. Usually, however, they at least started following the plan and only started improvising once the situation had gone to hell.

But Sutlive was not following the plan today.

Had Mercer’s downward spiral finally bottomed out? Before losing the woman he loved, he’d been sharp as a tack and almost ruthlessly professional. He took care with his appearance and kept his house immaculately clean. That version of Mercer was resourceful and cool under pressure. He’d rescued kidnapped clients, escaped thugs, terrorists, and murderers, disrupted drug trafficking rings, and exposed deadly fraud schemes. Cases closed cleanly, usually with an act of incredible bravery or incredible stupidity. Take your pick. Luck was on his side, either way.

Until that last damned rescue mission.

Kelly was working with them on that one. It was her first time joining them on one of their cases after her undercover work that initially brought her and Mercer together. Turned out she was a damned good agent. Mercer had met her on an earlier case, a nasty tangle of real estate fraud and murder for hire. She’d been working for someone else then, but she earned his respect. His trust. One thing led to another, and Kelly became one of those few people Mercer let get close. Closer than close.

Then, one bullet found its mark, and luck ran out on them all.

That left Nick running the detective agency without the detective’s help, turning down jobs he wasn’t sure he could handle alone. Buying time until Mercer came out of his funk. If he didn’t keel over from alcohol poisoning first. Damn, his liver had to be pickled by now. Nick was tired of standing by, watching Mercer try to drink himself to death like Edgar Allen Poe. He was tired of seeing his friend’s depression grow worse by the day. Mercer needed help, and the time had come for his friends to intervene and do what good friends do — not what the friend wants, necessarily, but what the friend needs them to do.

The plan had been for Nick and Sutlive to meet here this morning. Go in strong and present a united front. They’d tag-team Mercer and get him to accept help, refusing to take no for an answer. They’d stage an intervention and take him to Georgia Regional for a mental health evaluation and treatment, by force if necessary. Mercer would want to put up a fight, of course, and neither of them wanted to get physical with their friend. Between the two of them, they’d convince Mercer he needed professional help.

But Sutlive had arrived early and apparently was already inside.

So much for following the plan. Sutlive’s plan. The one Nick was supposed to be following.

The sorry state of Mercer’s place had shocked Nick when he dropped by weeks earlier. Beer bottles lay scattered around the floor. An open box with a half-eaten slice of pizza on the coffee table. A kitchen full of dirty dishes. Mercer and Associates, both office and home to a man who no longer gave a damn about either, looked like a frat house after a weekend-long keg party. Mercer, lying on the sofa, had barely acknowledged him. Just went back to watching television and swilling beer. The once-formidable detective had hit rock bottom, and now rock bottom’s older brother seemed to be out looking for revenge.

Once upon a time, Mercer had his act together. He wasn’t just competent. He had been good. Really good. Today, those days seemed like ancient history.

Kelly would hate to see him so broken. Over her.

Nick felt the hood of Sutlive’s truck as he passed. It was still warm, so Sutlive hadn’t been there long. Why hadn’t he waited? Maybe he decided he’d handle it himself. Or maybe Mercer had been screaming in his sleep again.

He knocked on the door but pushed it open before anyone could answer. He took a quick step inside, sweeping his eyes across the room, and was stunned by what he saw, or more importantly, what he didn’t see, which was trash. The place was clean. It wasn’t a complete pigsty. It might not have been as clean as it had been before Mercer crashed and burned, but it was a vast improvement over Nick’s last visit.

Mercer and Sutlive were both sitting at the desk that held Mercer’s computer, which meant they were facing the front door as Nick entered. They made eye contact, and John pled with his eyes for Nick to play along with whatever he was doing.

Hey, Mercer said, with genuine surprise in his voice. What are you doing here? I wasn’t expecting to see you.

Nick was a better-than-average liar. Going to pick up Wyatt from the vet later this morning. Had some time to kill and figured I’d stop by to say hello and see what you were doing. So, what are you guys up to?

I’m humoring him, Mercer grunted. He’s an idiot.

Oh, come on, said Sutlive. There’s potential here. This idea could conceivably bring in new business.

Or just empty your pockets. Mercer motioned Nick around. Take a look for yourself, and you can tell him he’s an idiot.

Sutlive sighed and clicked to replay a flashy marketing presentation. Apparently, someone had put together a proposal for adding a new building to the pet resort. A few architectural drawings of an addition. Some rather optimistic return-on-investment charts. Marketing plans. A new wing to the main building…a dance studio for dogs?

Nick cocked his head and cut Sutlive a glance. The man thinned his lips and gave a nearly imperceptible nod. Go along? What the hell was he up to?

Nick jerked when the music cut in. He blinked incredulously at the screen as dogs of all shapes and sizes, decked out in ridiculous ballgowns and tuxes, cavorted before a string quartet. In a ballroom. A classic Victorian era ballroom. This had to be a joke.

Well, what do you think? Sutlive said with a remarkably straight face. Is it worth the investment, or what?

No, my friend. Nick laughed. Or to be more precise. Hell, no. Not unless you need to launder money. That’s some bullshit right there.

Told you so, said Mercer.

Ah, thank you both for your typical brutal honesty. Sutlive closed the browser and stood. That’s what I came here for.

Glad to be of service. I gotta pee, Mercer abruptly informed them before wandering off to the bathroom. There was still something about him that wasn’t quite right. He didn’t sound right, and he didn’t look right. But he looked a lot better than he had on Nick’s last visit.

As soon as the bathroom door shut, Nick lowered his voice and said, What the hell happened? I thought we were supposed to be coming in together.

Sutlive shrugged again and whispered, Bad timing. I got here a little early, and Mercer was outside walking Ox. Right as I was about to drive around the block, he caught a glimpse of me. Left me little choice but to stop.

You guys really are lousy at following plans, Nick snapped, showing his irritation. Curiosity soon got the best of him. Dogs doing ballroom dancing? Really?

I couldn’t come up with any other ideas, Sutlive said. It was the best I could do on short notice. I needed an excuse for being here.

Seriously?

This crazy ass proposal came in last week. I get these every so often. Guys just trying to sell a concept. This one was a doozy. I think Pauletta put them up to it as some kind of joke. Figured I’d make it good for something.

A classic improvisation, Nick said with sarcasm. But what are we doing here? Are we going to take him for treatment or not?

Looks like things have changed since the last time you were here, Sutlive said. When you described this place to me after your last visit, you said it looked like a frat house the morning after a keg party, remember? Well, look at it now. No beer cans and pizza boxes. Mercer’s cleaned himself up.

Is he sober?

He’s not drinking. He’s medicating instead.

Medicating? Legit?

There’s a brand-new prescription bottle in the kitchen.

Nick’s shoulders released the tension gnawing at him.

I don’t know what he’s taking, but I’d say it’s doing him some good, said Sutlive. He’s not one hundred percent, but he’s in much better shape than the last time you were here, based on what you’ve told me.

Nick glanced around. It looks a lot better than it did the last time I was here, he admitted. He has cleaned the place a lot and even bathed Ox. The poor guy smelled like he’d rolled in crap the last time I was here. You’re sure he’s already gone and seen a doctor?

I’m almost certain of it.

Nick nodded in agreement. Well, what do you think? Do we abort mission?

If he’s stopped drinking, and he’s already getting help, all we’re gonna do is piss him off, Sutlive said.

You’re right. Let’s get out of here before he figures out why we really came.

I’m right behind you, Sutlive said.

Actually, I’m parked behind you, Nick replied.

The toilet flushed, and Mercer reappeared and sat behind his desk. What are you two whispering about? Sounds like you’re up to something.

I was just telling Sutlive about a hilarious songwriter I recently heard. Google Heywood Banks. The guy’s a riot.

I hate Google, Mercer said. I use Duck Duck Go instead.

Yeah, of course you do. I don’t care what search engine you use. Just find him. I promise you won’t regret it.

I’ve already got something queued up to play, Mercer said.

He’d been multitasking and typing while arguing with Nick. Another good sign. Mercer clicked a button, and a song played. Not surprisingly, it was a new song by a parody artist Mercer kept trying to get them to follow. Minutes later, all three men were laughing.

Ew… Sutlive said. That’s pretty gross.

That’s funny, Mercer said. Hell, he even looks like a funny guy.

Whatever that means, Sutlive said. Now I’ve got that song stuck in my head. So, thanks for that. He turned his attention to Mercer. While you were in the bathroom, I told Nick that I need to hit the road. It will be lunchtime before you know it, and Pauletta’s honey-do list isn’t gonna do itself, Sutlive clasped his shoulder. You should call me more often. Keep me in the loop and let me know what you’re doing.

Sir, yes sir, Sergeant, Mercer smirked.

Look, if you don’t call me, I’m gonna call you, Sutlive said. I let it slide, giving you time to grieve and all that. But you let things get out of hand there for a while. And I let you let yourself go. But those days are over, my friend. It’s time to get you whipped back into shape. From now on, I’m holding you accountable.

Mercer glanced away. A slight nod spoke his gratitude.

Guess I’m taking off, too. Parked behind his truck, Nick said, trying to diffuse the tension that had suddenly developed.

You’re both leaving? Mercer looked at Nick suspiciously. You literally just got here less than two minutes ago. He glanced at the clock on the wall. Okay, ten minutes, tops.

Mercer wasn’t eager to get rid of him. He was ready for some company. Nick drew in a breath of relief. Nah, I don’t have to leave right away, but I need to move my car. Be right back.

Nick moved his car and pulled back into the empty space. As soon as he went back inside the house, Mercer confronted him.

You know, it was one hell of a coincidence that both you and Sutlive showed up here at the same time on the same day. Problem is…

You don’t believe in coincidences.

That’s right. I told you that often enough. So far, we agree you’re not a complete idiot. Now, tell me, do you have a better explanation?

What do you mean? Friends stop by to see friends. I’m on my way to pick up Wyatt, Nick said, trying to play dumb.

You know good and damned well what I mean. What brought you both here this morning? Mercer said. He wasn’t going to let it go. He was like a rat terrier obsessed with its singular purpose of catching a rat.

Nick’s phone rang as Mercer glared at him. He glanced down and saw it was a call intended for Mercer and Associates. He directed the call to voicemail and looked back to Mercer.

Wrong number, said Nick. Where were we?

Interrogating a suspect, said Mercer.

Look, I dropped by because… His phone rang again.

Seems persistent for a wrong number, Mercer wryly pointed out.

Hang on a minute. Nick reluctantly took the call, trying to sound professional while not giving away that he was fielding calls intended for the Mercer and Associates business line. Yes. Can I help you? he said into the phone.

Is this Mercer and Associates? a woman’s voice asked him.

Why, yes. It is, Nick said.

I’ll get right to the point, she said brusquely. Do you believe in God?

What? Nick said. Is this some kind of a joke?

I asked you if you believed in God, Mr. Mercer, the woman repeated. It’s a simple question.

That’s really none of your business! Goodbye! Nick thumbed the disconnect.

Mercer was giving him that look. He was onto something. Or he was on something. It was hard to tell these days.

Nick shrugged.

Just some nutcase asking me if I’m religious.

Chapter 2

Nick decided it was time to fess up before Mercer caught on to him. Might as well ask forgiveness instead of permission. He set out to explain he’d been managing the business as best he could under the circumstances.

One day, when you were sort of out of it, I forwarded the business line to my cell phone so I could handle the calls you were ignoring. I only took the routine jobs I could handle without your help. Investigated a couple of unfaithful husbands. Did some background checks for corporate clients, that sort of thing. Found a runaway kid. Did some online snooping. Nothing that might get me killed. No need for me to carry a gun. It’s not worth risking your license. But I couldn’t just let the business die because you couldn’t work.

Mercer crossed his arms, patiently waiting him out.

So you’re gonna get mad. Nick shook his head. Look, I was trying to look out for you and help you. Just didn’t want you to get ready to come back and find there was nothing left of the business you built. If you decide you’ve had enough, that’s fine. Close up shop. Make it official. But let it be on your terms.

To Nick’s surprise, Mercer simply nodded his head in agreement. Normally, the man liked to be in total control of any situation. But today, Nick had just admitted to taking control, and Mercer just let it go.

Thank you, Mercer said quietly. He shoved his hands in his pockets. You were doing me a favor. I’m not used to being the one who needs help.

What? No interrogating me about the cases I handled? Nick chanced a grin. I’d almost believe you trust me to know what I’m doing.

Mercer’s expression became more serious. Don’t press your luck.

But I do every chance I get.

A comfortable silence settled between them. It reminded Nick how much he’d missed the old Mercer. He may not be back, but he was trying to find his way.

Yeah, maybe I do want to hear about the cases you’ve handled in my absence, Mercer admitted. Not second-guessing you, just curious.

Sure. I’ll go pull up the files. Nick started toward the computer.

Not right this minute. Just… sometime soon.

Whenever you say, Nick agreed. And a little second-guessing could do me good. Keep me humble.

Mercer stared at him for a moment, considering. You’ve come a long way since that day you jumped in front of my van. Running for your life after some killers took out your drug dealing buddy.

Wasn’t much of a life I was leading at the time.

You’ve done better since then, that’s for sure. You’re razor sharp and a good friend to boot. Let’s hope you don’t get into trouble for operating without a license. You should get one and make it official.

Technically, I was operating under your license as your employee, Nick replied. I might have embellished my role a little when speaking with clients. I was hoping you’d approve… he hesitated. When you got sober.

Are you kidding? I wouldn’t even still have a business if it weren’t for you. Mercer shrugged. You have every right to claim a role in the company. We should talk about that some more. I could make you an equal partner if you had your license. Without warning, he abruptly changed the subject. What did they want?

It took Nick a second or two to separate the statements from the question.

What did who want?

Whoever just called, Mercer said.

Oh. It was your typical lunatic. Some woman asking me if I believed in God, Nick replied. A total nutcase…

The phone rang again. Nick checked the caller ID and gave an exasperated sigh.

It’s the same number. I can’t believe this mentally unstable woman is calling me again.

However, this time, a man’s voice greeted him. He sent the call to speaker so Mercer could listen, too.

Hello. My name is Peter Kendrick. I’d like to apologize for my wife’s bluntness. I’m sure she could have found a better way to ask you that question, if she’d tried. Please allow me to explain why she asked. We are interested in hiring you, but we realize the work involved isn’t a good fit for everybody. Especially not suited for a religious zealot.

Nick rubbed his forehead. This was getting ridiculous.

Okay. Apology accepted. But what was that all about? he said. What does my belief or lack of belief in God have to do with my ability to perform detective work?

We’d like to hire you to protect my client, but we need to vet your compatibility with the job, Kendrick said. I’m afraid tact is a lost art with my wife. Unfortunately, the question she asked is relevant, but it didn’t need to be the first words out of her mouth. My client…

Mercer rolled his eyes.

Trust me. I’ve got it. You’re representing a client, and you’re worried about confidentiality. Are you a lawyer? Who’s your client, and why do you think he or she needs protection? Nick prodded, eager to wrap up the call and stop wasting his time.

My client’s name is Sam Dawson. Sam is a chemistry professor and will soon become a bestselling author. I’m the publicist for his upcoming book.

Nick said, I’m confused. You say you’re a publicist, and he’s an author. That doesn’t sound like a very dangerous job. Why do you think he needs to hire us for protection?

Sam has received a couple of death threats recently, Kendrick said. "We’ve spoken with the police, and they’ve investigated, but they said they can’t do anything more until someone commits a more serious crime. Surely, they aren’t waiting for Sam to be murdered — although I did get your name from the detective with whom we spoke. I…I mean, we’d like to hire you to keep Sam safe from this maniac until they can catch him. The publisher has agreed to provide extra money to help pay for your services using Sam’s advance.

You said a police detective referred you to us? Nick said.

Yes. His last name was… Kendrick paused. Lanier. Yes, Charles Lanier.

Mercer motioned Nick to hit mute. If Chip gave them my name, I ought to at least talk with them. Gauge the threat.

Nick nodded in agreement. He said to Kendrick, What exactly did the caller say?

The threats weren’t phone calls, Kendrick replied. They were notes composed by hand.

Nick picked up on the unusual precision of Kendrick’s word choices. Composed by hand, as opposed to handwritten?

Yes. Exactly. Whoever wrote the notes cut out words from magazines and newspapers to create the messages. There was no handwriting to analyze.

That’s interesting, Nick said with a perplexed frown. It was not only interesting; it was decidedly weird.

Can you help us? Kendrick asked. Will you help us?

You still haven’t explained why your wife asked if we believe in God, Nick said. That was a weird way of starting a conversation. But you also said the question would have to be asked before you hired me. Why?

Oh, that’s easy enough to explain, Kendrick said. Sam’s new book promotes atheism. It’s a very positive book arguing that in this day and age, we don’t need a God to be good people. No offense, but there are still a lot of religious fundamentalists here in the Deep South, and Georgia is pretty much the buckle on the Bible belt.

He’d get no argument on that point. It wasn’t like everyone in town warmed a church pew every Sunday anymore, unlike when Nick was a kid. But socially conservative Protestant Christianity still played an undeniable role in culture and politics in the South. From Blue Laws to Baptists, it was part of the fabric of life here. Sadly, it sometimes included intolerance for anything or anyone not living up to the measuring stick of piety.

The first threat came only about a week after we announced the book, which makes the timing about right if there is a connection between the book and the threats. If you’re a Bible thumper, we’d know we’d be wasting your time and ours.

Nick stalled while continuing to consider their request.

"What did the cops say