“Cosa c'è di sbagliato? (What’s wrong?)”
Father Leo suppressed a sigh and answered.
“I don’t know that Father O’Rourke can continue with his assignment.”
He explained everything that happened at the police station. Then...relief.
“Would it help if I talked to him?”
Leo slumped in his chair. The world had been lifted from his shoulders.
“I would be most grateful, Your Grace.”
“I can be there tomorrow by 9:00 am. Would that be too early?”
“Not at all. Thank you.”
Leo had left Aiden to his prayers. Now he had to explain to him what was going on and that the Archbishop’s visit was not a punishment. It would be a tough sell.
19. The Cloister
Arthur had put the word out for the entire UJ membership to get to the cloister ASAP. This was rare for a Tuesday; unheard of for six o’clock in the evening. Not all of them would be able to make it on time. Two were out of town; Traci had to work late.
The general rule was you arrived either in Zed Zed or on foot. Steven parked his car at a poorly advertised shop that sold Celtic paraphernalia. No one would look twice. Most of the other members did the same at various unmonitored businesses within walking distance of the cloister.
Steven ascended the stairs, figuring Artie’s call to arms had to do with the upcoming painting party. What he saw when he entered the main gathering room made his jaw drop a foot. Sitting in the center of the room, as if on two thrones, were Arthur and the little puke Gordy, drunk as a couple of monkeys. Arthur hollered sloppily as he clapped eyes on Steven.
“Okay! That’s just about everyone! Listen up, brothers and sisters! I need to introduce you to the UJ’s latest member!”
Everyone commented in unison with some variation of “the fuck he is!”
“Pipe down!”
Arthur put his hand on Gordy’s shoulder and continued.
“Our boy here has been doing some recon, which is more than I can say for the rest of you pubes! He spent the afternoon in the company of our friends at the Potterford P.D.! It seems that we have the nice folks at Saint Aloysius Church to thank for the death of our comrade! I’m too drunk to give you the details in a way that makes sense, but suffice it to say, they’ve got some payback coming! Tonight, we drink and chew over ideas! Tomorrow we act!”
Everyone in the room looked around as though Arthur had announced an attack on the Pentagon. Steven was about to voice an opinion that was sure to get him jumped when the roar of duel exhaust game from outside the building. Arthur jumped up. Gordy also stood but stumbled back to his seat realizing that it wasn’t matter of whether he was going to throw up, but where.
They all scrambled to various windows. The gathering room was one floor above the street. No one had seen Rick’s car before. Steven stated the obvious.
“It’s not a cop.”
His words were enough to prompt a swarm down the nearest stairwell. When they got to the tire-marked plot of grass outside the building’s entrance, they saw Rick open the passenger door of his Mustang and lean in with both arms. He spoke loudly enough for everyone to hear.
“Gonna need a hand Artie!”
A bloodied Bubbs sat in the reclined passenger seat. He had the word POCKET written on his forehead in red magic marker. Arthur spoke.
“What the fuck is this?”
Rick explained how he’d gotten a call from Bubbs. All he heard was: “Come get me … Morrisville … Park … picnic tables.”
Bubbs’s crappy phone died after that.
“It took me an hour and a half to find the tool bag. He’s lucky the cops didn’t find him first!”
Arthur looked at Bubbs.
“What’s the shit on his forehead?”
Rick produced a piece of paper.
“This was in his pocket. They wanted him to be found.”
Arthur read the note through booze-soaked eyes.
No police from now on. Just you and us you prick. The gloves are off. Next time consider who you’re fucking with.
Much love.
The Reillys
Arthur looked up, handed the note back to Rick, and spoke in a manner of an Olympic gold medal winner.
“This could very well be the best day of my life! Come on, Unjudged! Back upstairs before someone sees us! Eric, Frankie, help Bubbs! Rick, get this noisy piece of shit off my lawn.”
Steven had worked his way next to Rick. He read the note and did his best to be heard over the revelry.
“What does this mean?”
Rick answered dismissively.
“I’ll tell you what it means…it means we’re a gang.”
20. Taking a Moment
Philip sat cross-legged at the edge of a parking lot, smoking one of his dozen daily cigarettes. What happened earlier was unexpected but not necessarily bad. He just needed to figure a way to push things up a couple of days.
“I just wish I knew what was going on there this week.”
He took a deep drag and watched the smoke dissipate into a breeze as he blew out. He used a Pepsi bottle for an ash tray. He had too much respect for the property to tap onto the grounds.
Ten variations played in his head from start to finish before he concluded that he was simply going to have to take his best guess and let the plan fly.
Tomorrow…I’ll go tomorrow.
He dropped his butt into the bottle with a hiss, stood, and walked back to the building whistling a reggae version “Ave Maria.”
21. The Condo
Lynch had to step away from the case for a bit. At the end of his shift, he called his awesome girlfriend. The stars had aligned, and they both had the evening off. Julie didn’t become a restaurant critic by happenstance. She was an astonishing cook, and when she found out that her cop boyfriend was going to be home for dinner, she headed to the market and crafted a meal fit for foreplay.
They prepared it together. Lynch had learned his way around
