Chapter 3: Thou Shalt Not Covet
You would think that a guy who pretends to be the best Christian on the face of the planet would let a guy have Sunday off, Charlie Jackson thought as sweat trickled down his back. Even for North Carolina in August, the heat was brutally punishing. As he bent over the bed of flowers, a stone’s throw away from the huge, Olympic-sized pool that Donald Thorne’s ego seemed to insist that he have, even though Charlie had never seen the man actually use it, the sun seemed to be a red-hot fist pressed against the nape of his neck. If Satan himself had come up to offer Charlie a cool drink and a nice spot in the shade in exchange for his immortal soul, he would have had to sit down and seriously think it over.
Instead, he was risking heat stroke by trimming a bank
