The lead story on the eleven o’clock newscast shattered the evening’s homey warmth. A police officer had been shot on the Lodge Freeway, not far from where they were now.
A car had apparently stalled on the shoulder of the freeway. A young woman had stood near the rear of the vehicle, in obvious distress.
A lone officer in a blue-and-white had pulled up behind the car. He’d got out and as he’d approached the seemingly empty vehicle, two men had jumped out. The first one had fired a single shot and the officer had gone down.
Several passing cars slowed as they reached the scene. The occupants saw clearly what had happened. With good reason, none of them stopped. But several with cellular phones immediately called 911. Some were so nervous and upset that they were not much help in identifying either what had happened or where. But one caller, who was regularly scolded for watching too much television, relied on what he had seen so often on cops-and-robbers TV. “Officer down,” he said tersely. Then he gave a calm description of the location. He answered all the questions asked him by the operator.
Zoo started his flasher and sped down the nearly empty surface street. His police band caught the organized chaos as his fellow officers operated on adrenaline. The police took care of their own in very special ways.
Father Tully volunteered to get out and hail a cab. At the very least, he urged his brother to drop him at the rectory and take off immediately. Zoo took the second option. Seldom had Zachary Tully ever been delivered and dropped so speedily and abruptly.
The priest preferred not to linger on a dark, abandoned street on the fringe of downtown Detroit. He hastened into the rectory, where he turned on the TV news to see if there was any more on the shooting.
Obviously, the shooting had been the lead story on the telecast. Father Tully recalled the TV news maxim: if it bleeds, it leads. Now the newscasters were reporting less momentous and lighter news items. Father Tully hoped they would return to the police shooting before they wrapped things up.
Just before sports and weather the anchorwoman announced that the new and controversial branch of Adams Bank and Trust would be opened for the first time and for the first customers at 9:30 A.M. Friday, the day after tomorrow. And, in a move that surprised many in the banking industry, CEO Thomas A. Adams had named Allan Ulrich as general manager of the new branch.
Until today, the anchor continued, front-runner for this position had been Nancy Groggins, wife of construction entrepreneur Joel Groggins. Mrs. Groggins, who also possessed many of the credentials of Al Ulrich, was African- American and a woman, which prompted some to speculate that she might have related better to the neighborhood.
There followed film of a smiling Nancy Groggins refusing to be baited by reporters and congratulating Al Ulrich.
The next shot featured Ulrich stating that he felt fortunate to be selected by Tom Adams, a man and a business leader respected by his employees and the city at large.
Next there was the mayor with characteristic enthusiasm-so completely absent in his predecessor-marking the launching of this bank branch as turning another corner in the rebuilding of Detroit.
Next, weather and sports. While a happy sportscaster and weather forecaster interplayed with happy anchors, Father Tully pondered.
Trying to be conscientious in this modest commission, Father Tully had made a determined effort to talk with and learn about both candidates. He understood, especially after his conversation with Joel Groggins, what would be expected of the new manager. Father Tully sensed how well matched these competitors were. Where one was slightly stronger in one category, the other was correspondingly strong in another. And vice versa.
Nonetheless, Father Tully had duly reported his choice to an oddly distracted Tom Adams. The priest was in agreement with Adams that Nancy Groggins should be the new manager in this pressurized position. Indeed, he had-at least until this moment-taken her accession as a fait accompli.
What could have happened in less than a day to change Adams’s mind? Whatever it was, it must have been significant.
One more indication, thought Father Tully, of how little I understand big business.
At this point in his rumination, the news program was all but completed. Before signing off, the anchor directed a return to the exterior of Detroit’s Receiving Hospital, where a TV reporter was doing a standup summation on the police officer who’d been shot.
Tully’s attention returned to the set.
“Carmen,” the sober-faced reporter said, “we’re told the condition of Officer Marcantonio is listed as serious. As we speak he has been taken to the operating room and surgery is under way. The doctors and other officers we spoke with were very guarded. As further details develop, we’ll keep you informed.”
Carmen Harlan’s face filled the screen. “Thank you, John. We’re running out of time. But before we go, here’s Dennis at the crime scene.”
“Thank you, Carmen. I have with me Lieutenant Alonzo Tully, who is the senior officer on the scene. Can you tell us, Lieutenant, what we have here?”
Father Tully leaned forward. He was so immensely proud of his brother.
Lieutenant Tully was occupied with something out of camera range. He appeared to be paying minimum attention to the reporter’s question. “It looks like one of those Good Samaritan set-ups.
“Can you tell our viewers just what that is?”
Both Tullys regarded the reporter as if he might be slightly retarded. Who would not know the original Bible story and/or its modern-day application in crime annals?
“It’s a scam,” Lieutenant Tully explained, returning his attention to what was occupying him off-camera, “where two or more people pretend they’ve got car trouble. They pull off the road onto a shoulder-usually, like tonight, on a freeway shoulder.
“A female stands by the car. She seems helpless and scared. Her accomplice, or accomplices, hide, usually in the car, but sometimes behind nearby shrubbery.
“They wait for some good-hearted person to pull off the road and-like a Good Samaritan-offer assistance. Then, when the would-be benefactor gets close enough, the accomplices jump out of hiding. They rob, maybe mug, maybe even kill the innocent motorist. Then they take off in his car-and theirs too if it’s not a klunker they may have swiped.
“Tonight they had bad luck. The one who stopped to give aid was a cop. So there went their scam. And they shot him.”
“Lieutenant Tully, do the police have anything to go on?”
Tully looked directly into the camera as if he were addressing those responsible for this attack. “Yeah, we’ve got a pretty good description of the vehicle they’re driving, as well as of the perpetrators themselves.” With emphasis, he concluded, “Their bad luck has just begun.”
Back to the studio for a speedy signoff, followed by a voice-over promising the “Tonight Show” “after these announcements.”
Father Tully would not wade through countless commercials. He turned off the set and headed for bed.
How silly it had been for him to even consider seriously helping his brother. There was nothing “Catholic” or “religious” about a Good Samaritan crime except the designation. Father Tully could take solace in the fact that even the redoubtable Father Koesler would be of no service to Lieutenant Tully in this case.
The priest decided right then and there that he was going to relax and enjoy this visit to Detroit and his prized contact with his newly discovered family.
Lieutenant Tully would just have to muddle through on his own.
But before he retired for the night, the priest prayed for the wounded officer, and for the surgeons who, as this prayer was being offered, stood between this brave man and death.
