“Did you get fired? Nobody fires an intern, not even Abuelita. I’ll make a call and get this sorted out.” Constantine was up on all fours, and he looked like a giant fur ball.
“Hey, tiger, slow down now. Nobody got fired. Abuelita gave me the rest of the week off to solve this case. She was afraid I might get killed if we don’t fix this soon.” I normally talked fast, but those last sentences flew out of my mouth. Constantine unruffled himself and sat back down.
“Well, nice, that was a really good call on her part.” Constantine yawned and stretched himself at the same time. “OK, now that you are all warmed up, let’s get started.”
“Started? I thought I was done.” I was going to die. Constantine was a cruel cat.
“Isis, I have seen your fighting moves. Girl, you suck. If you take another beating like you did last night, you will break something important. So stop whining, and grab the boxing gloves. We need to start with jabs and kicks. Your upper body is weak, but we can work on it.” Constantine walked over to the gloves and waited for me. I was not getting out of this so easily. I was pretty sure I did not know how to throw a punch.
Constantine proved my theory. I couldn’t throw a punch to save my life. By the wall near the corner of the building, Constantine had installed one of those suspended punching bags. The types boxers used on TV. They made that look easy. I threw three punches, and the thing almost knocked me down. I had no rhythm when it came to boxing. After an hour of my horrible display of skills, Constantine called it quits.
“I need to find you a partner. This is not working out. Go shower and eat breakfast. We have a long day today. You need to be on time to church.” Constantine looked defeated, and I was the one getting beat up by the bags.
“Yes, Drill Sergeant.” I snapped to attention, with my legs together and arms at my side, head straight. To add insult to injury, I even saluted him. Constantine glared at me.
“Move. Out.” He was not a happy camper. I was sure with his fifteen pounds, he could produce a quick death. I ran toward the loft before he could execute me.
Chapter 17
I was getting old and slow, because my showers were taking longer and longer. By the time I finished getting dressed, I had just enough time to get a shake. Where did the shakes come from? More questions that I was sure Constantine would have a bizarre answer for.
Bartholomew was up checking for more missing people. It didn’t take a lot to make a growing boy happy—he had a plate of sausage patties. He was munching while he typed.
With the Whale out of commission, Constantine let me borrow his car. The cat had a car. And not just any car—he had a yellow Camaro. Of course, he had named it Bumblebee. I was pretty sure that name was copyrighted, but I was not discussing that with him. Besides, he was letting me borrow it. I did get a lecture on the proper maintenance and care of Bumblebee. With my luck with vehicles, Constantine had a right to be worried. God, I was worried.
Saint Edward Catholic Church was on the back side of the block from the outreach. While the outreach sat on Ash Street, the church itself was on Beech Street. The church had recently turned one hundred years old, and it was beautiful. It was more in tune with traditional churches up North and not with the stadium-seating style you saw in the megachurches in the South. The church even had stained-glass windows on all sides.
I parked across the street from the church, in front of the church’s office. It was a little past eleven in the morning, and I needed to catch Father Francis before he stopped confessions to get ready for Mass. I quickly climbed the steps leading to the main entrance of the church. The church had a small vestibule separating the main entrance from the sanctuary. Like most Catholic churches, holy water was placed by the door to bless yourself with. I dipped my right index finger and did the sign of the cross. I slowly pushed open the next set of doors and walked in.
The interior of the church was beautiful. Churches and places of worship had a sense of calmness to them that was breathtaking. If you found the right one, it felt like coming home. As I walked in the door, I noticed the large crowd. The church could easily hold four hundred people, with sets of pews separated by an aisle in the middle. Most Catholic churches had daily Masses. Normally senior citizens, retirees, or the church staff would attend. In cities with larger Catholic populations, you could have a few dozen show up. I had been to daily Mass at Saint Edward’s before, and the number of attendees was fewer than ten.
Today we had at least 150 people. They were mostly sitting at the back of the church. If they were all waiting for confession, I was screwed. I stood at the entrance looking for a place to sit near the back. In unison, the entire row sitting in the ushers’ pew by the wall stared at me. It was a sickening sensation, as if all those eyeballs could see into my soul. I swallowed and tried to look away. A lady in her forties dressed in a long green dress got up. She beckoned me over. She was the next person in line to enter the confessional.
“Ma’am, you don’t have to. I can wait.” I couldn’t cut in front of all those people in line.
“We have all the time in the world dear; yours is short.” Before I could protest, the confessional’s door opened. A young man, maybe in his twenties, walked out.
