“Just um… follow that vehicle. Keep a few cars back.”
“Sure.”
He fired up the cab, and the radio kicked in playing some god-awful rap music. The driver pressed a button on the side of his seat and it sank down putting space between his gut and the wheel. The cab suspension bounced as they slipped into the flow of traffic.
“The name’s Hector.”
Jack nodded but didn’t reply.
“Where is your friend going?”
The detective’s car hung a left onto Sandoval Street and weaved in and out of traffic.
“Just don’t lose him.”
Hector started rambling about how traffic in the city had got worse over the years, and how Uber was taking all the business away and if the city didn’t figure out something fast their company would close down.
“Do you know, for thirty years we have held the status of being the only city to have one cab company. Can you believe that?”
“Take a right here,” Jack said, ignoring him and keeping his eyes fixed on the sedan.
“It’s crazy. There was a time you could earn a good living, now all these ride programs are screwing it up. What am I meant to do? Use my own vehicle and risk getting stabbed in the neck by drunken assholes? Screw that. At least here people respect us. I think it has to do with the cab itself. But if you pick them up in your own vehicle they think they can do whatever the hell they like.” He shook his head. “I blame the city. We have far more regulations and costs than these Internet services. Our company has tried to follow suit, you know with these newfangled phone apps but it’s a joke.” He sighed. “Do you know, we used to have twenty taxis and now we only have ten? A lot of our guys quit, as you just can’t make a living doing this anymore. Besides, people kept complaining that we didn’t get there fast enough. Seriously? They should try getting across town when it’s packed with idiot tourists. This city is a nightmare. Anyway they said they are thinking of just selling the business off to some limousine and shuttle service. Can you see me doing that? Suit, tie, and yes sir, no ma’am. Fuck that!”
The dark sedan wasn’t heading for the police department but had turned left off Alameda Street and merged onto Camino Alire. They continued for another twenty minutes weaving through back streets until arriving outside a large Catholic church. Jack tapped Hector on the arm and had him stop near the side of the road.
“Wait here for me.”
“It’s going to cost you.”
Jack thumbed off a wad of bills and his eyes widened. “Shit. If you need me to drive you around the city today, I’m your man.” Right then he got on the radio and told dispatch he was going to be unavailable for a while. Jack got out and Hector shouted, “Take your time, my friend.”
Jack hurried down the street, and crossed a walkway that cut between a cluster of trees until it brought him out into a lot at the rear of the church. There were only a couple of cars parked outside, one of which was the detective’s. He peered inside and tried the doors but they were locked. Not wasting a second he double-timed it up concrete steps that led to thick wooden double doors. He pulled one door back and slipped into the darkness. The smell of damp concrete was strong. The tap of boots against a tiled ground echoed. Jack stayed in the shadows watching Garcia walk up the center aisle and drop down to a knee, make the symbol of the cross on his chest and then turn to his left and head towards an old-style confessional box.
Jack removed the Glock from the small of his back and moved quietly around the perimeter of the sanctuary. He looked up at the stained glass windows and felt under the watchful eye of Christ.
A priest wearing black clothing from shoulder to toe, and a red scarf draped over him, emerged from a room at the back of the church and approached the confessional area. All the priests he’d met in New York were in their late sixties; this guy was no exception.
The closer he got to the confessional boxes, the more he could make out the sound of chatter. Something about this felt wrong. It didn’t make sense. Within spitting distance he heard the door open. Jack pulled back into the darkness and tightened his grip on the gun. He wouldn’t hesitate to fire a weapon in a church even if he did feel a sense of guilt. Had that come from spending too long around Dalton? His mind in that moment returned to New York, to a time not long after Gafino had made him his right-hand man. He recalled the day he was called upon to collect with specific instructions to kill a guy. Unlike others who tried to bargain with him for more time, this one dropped to his knees and cried out to God. It was the strangest thing he’d seen. Usually they would offer money, property, or drugs, as a means to barter for their life but this guy didn’t. He cried out to God. Jack, having no qualms about killing him, told him that if God would answer his prayers and step down and intervene he could go free. He had two minutes.
When it was up he raised a gun to his head and fired.
There were few killings he regretted, that one he did.
The memory vanished at the sound of the detective’s voice.
“Thank you, father.”
Garcia walked back to the altar, got on one knee and made the cross symbol and then headed for the exit. Jack didn’t linger. He bolted out a side door into a
