Neon Mercy

On the Las Vegas Strip, every car that pulls over wants something. Except one.
Neil Badmuth drives the boulevard after midnight with three rules taped to his dash: Engine off before any words. Hands visible, always. No money - not ever. He's not a client. He's not a cop. He's a disgraced ex-pastor with a King James Bible and a strange assignment from God: pick up the women everyone else picks up - and want nothing.
The street gives him a name: Saint Taxi.
Word spreads. Women start talking. A girl named Roxie asks him to say the scarlet verse one more time. A pregnant teenager named Marisol can't get Jeremiah 1:5 out of her head. And somewhere in the neon, a man who owns this boulevard decides the preacher is bad for business.
Then a polite woman named Janelle asks for prayer - and two doors down, a phone is already recording.
Accused of the one sin he'd die before committing, abandoned by the churches, evicted, and sleeping in his car two blocks from where he used to minister, Neil is left with a question that has no verse attached: What do you do when obedience destroys the very thing it was meant to save?
The answer is waiting on the city's ten thousand cameras - in the one habit no counterfeit ever thinks to copy.
Neon Mercy is a gritty, redemptive noir about false accusation, costly obedience, and the God who keeps receipts. Because mercy doesn't always shine. Sometimes it flickers.
But even neon light is light.