He had no problem when it came to making people like him. All he had to do was smile, say all the right words, flash his white teeth, let them get a good look at his sky blue eyes, and just like that, they were falling into his trap, not realizing that they were on their way to Hell with first class tickets.
Getting somebody to like you for all the wrong reasons wasn’t hard to do when your father was the Prince of Lies and you were, according to Scriptures, a Bloody and Deceitful Man.
Something was telling him that he wouldn’t have to use his tricks on Jim. Jim was a different kind of animal. His sins practically sung. Michael could nearly smell them, like his grandma’s warm apple pie or blood dripping from an alter. There was no good man sitting across from him. Only this… whatever he was. Corrupt. Unrighteous. He spoke Michael’s language. Miriam would have liked him. She would have encouraged their friendship.
“It’s not their fault, though, is it?” he said with a tilt of his head. “They’re made like that. They’re sheep. Stepping outside the lines gets them eaten by wolves.” He could almost pity them for their pathetic nature. He wondered if God like them as they were, frail and afraid and victimized.
He played with his napkin, unfolded and folded it again, rested his arms on the table. “You’d never get me on a stage. Throwing isn’t all I’m good at.” He made eye contact. Direct. “Are you a terrible person, then?,” he asked, genuinely curious. “What have you done?”