'Yeah…?'
'You could make more than you ever would with your sermon, as good as it is.'
'Help you get Randy?'
She said, 'Would you?' and watched him grin and shake his head in appreciation, bless his heart, at times appearing to be a simple soul.
'Get him to hit you this time? I think I might've suggested that.'
'You did, but I don't want to be seriously injured. Like settle but never walk again. Accidents, you never know what might happen.'
He said, 'Yeah, but it's your specialty. You must have all kinds of ways to fake it, you little devil.'
Debbie let that one go. She put a fresh hit on their drinks and turned to Terry with his.
'You said, 'They were sitting at a table in the beer lady's house drinking banana beer and I shot them with my housekeeper's pistol.'
Your exact words. I may never forget them.'
She watched him sip his drink.
'Were you scared?'
She watched him shake his head.
'In my mind it was done before I stepped inside.'
'Didn't they.., come at you?'
'I didn't give them a chance to.'
'You walked in and shot them?'
'We exchanged a few words first. I asked 'em to give themselves up. I knew they wouldn't. So you could say I knew going in I was gonna kill them.'
12
TERRY, IN HIS PARKA, WAITED as Debbie drove off past hedges and old shade trees. No palms or eucalyptus, no banana trees in sight, or hills rising out of a morning mist, only manicured lawns like fairways and homes Terry saw as mansions. Debbie gave her horn a toot and he waved with a lazy motion of his arm, raised it and let it fall.
He turned to see Fran standing in the entrance, one of the double doors open, and followed the brick walk up to the house; a wide expanse of limestone blocks painted beige, the windows and twin columns of the portico trimmed in white. 'Regency,' Fran had told him, 'copies from a picture Mary Pat clipped out of
'Another five minutes,' Fran said, 'I'd be out of here. You wouldn't be able to get in the house.'
He had on white poplin warm-ups that gave him a puffy look, Terry seeing a snowman in elaborate tennis shoes.
'I thought you were going to Florida.'
'I am, I got a limo service takes me to the airport.'
He didn't seem happy about going. Or something else was bothering him.
'That's what you wear on the plane?'
'For comfort,' Fran said, 'it's a three-hour flight. You have your breakfast?'
'I wouldn't mind a cup of coffee. All Debbie has in the house is instant.'
'She's a kid,' Fran said. 'Her idea of coffee is cappuccino, in a restaurant.'
'How old would you say she is?'
'I know exactly how old, she's thirty-three, still a kid.'
'What're you trying to tell me,' Terry said, following Fran inside,
'even if I wasn't a priest she's still too young for me?'
Fran brought him from the foyer past a curving staircase, through the formal dining room and butler's pantry to the kitchen before he spoke, Fran facing him now from across a big butcher-block table.
'Somebody sees you leaving her apartment, seven in the morning, what're they supposed to think?'
'We grilled hot dogs last night, kosher,' Terry said, 'with the skin.
After that we sat around talking. It got late, I could see she was tired-'
'I told her on the phone, call me, I'd pick you up.'
He thought Fran would ask where he'd slept it was a one-bedroom apartment-but didn't seem to want to touch that. So Terry said, 'You worried I might've gotten laid?'
No smile, Fran's tone almost grim saying, 'I'm talking about appearances.'
No, he wasn't, but Terry went along. 'I appear, seven in the morning or whenever, who knows who I am? Do I look like a priest in this?'
'You told me you bought a suit.'
'I did.' Fran had given him his Brooks Brothers credit card and he'd driven to the mall in Mary Pat's Cadillac- Fran having a fit when he found out and had to inspect the car for dings. 'I pick up the suit today, after five.'
Fran said, 'Aw shit,' sounding worn out. 'Your meeting with the prosecutor's at one o'clock.'
I'll be there.'
'One o'clock sharp at the Frank Murphy. I know I told you.'
'You did, I just don't have a suit. I have the Roman collar, one of Uncle Tibor's, and one of his Mandarin shirts has a little notch up here to show the collar. I tried on his suit. It was so shiny you could use it as a mirror to comb your hair.'
Terry grinned, hoping Fran would, but he didn't.
'Fran, I could wear a dress, I'm still a priest.'
'You scare me sometimes, you know it? Mr. Casual.'
'Fr. Casual. I'll speak to him in Latin.'
'You're not funny.' Fran seemed about to say something else, but then looked at his watch and hurried out of the kitchen.
Terry had already spotted the coffeemaker. He found a can of Folgers in the first cupboard he opened and was running water from the tap, waiting for it to get cold, when Fran appeared again.
'My car's here.'
'How'd you know?'
'It's supposed to be here at seven-fifteen and that's what time it is.
Listen, Tell. Don't luck up, okay?'
'I won't.'
'The wrong attitude alone could keep the indictment active.'
Fran paused. 'Buddy, I went way out on a limb for you. I said the Paionnys hired you to drive a truck, ten bucks an hour. You were going to Africa and needed some extra expense money. I offered to give you whatever you needed, but you wanted to work for it-it's the kind of guy you are, hardworking. Yes, you knew you were transporting cigarettes but had no idea it involved tax fraud or you wouldn't have taken the job. You don't know who bought the cigarettes or what they did with them. That's your story and you stick to it. You nervous?'
'Why? I've got nothing to hide.'
'That's good,' Fran said, 'that's the attitude to have. Any questions?'
'I can't think of any.'
'You gonna walk me out?'
Terry said, 'Sure,' and turned the water off.
Fran hadn't moved. 'I forgot to tell you, Johnny called. His number's by the phone in the library. Call him-you don't want to piss him off. But you also want to hold your ground. By that I mean you don't owe him anything, not a dime. You can't admit to anybody you received a payment. Johnnytries to get tough, back off, you're not kids in the schoolyard now. He threatens you, tell Padilla, the prosecutor.
You don't want that asshole on your back.'
'Johnny or the prosecutor?'
