The path rose steadily uphill. When I arrived at the sixth Station, I bent over and put my hands on my knees, as if I needed to catch my breath after the steep climb. I surreptitiously swiveled my head. No Hank.
As I straightened up, there was a squeak-crunch and a brown-robed figure appeared from the steps leading up to the basilica. The peaked hood of the robe, pulled low over his forehead, hid his face. Except for the hands settled inside the wide sleeves of the robe, the walker called to mind the painting of St. Francis contemplating a skull.
At first, I took the walker for one of the Carmelite friars of the shrine, but then noticed that he wore snow boots. Discalced—shoeless or sandaled—Carmelites lived and worked at Holy Hill. Were they allowed to wear boots? I waited, my hand on the weapon in my outer pocket.
He stopped about six feet from me.
“Hank?” I would look a fool if this was really one of the brothers.
His head dipped. “Ms. Bonaparte.” With a nod, he signaled me to walk in the direction opposite the parking lot entry.
The wide pathway allowed for several feet between us, enough to get off a shot if I needed to. “You’ve been hiding here since you left Stevens Point?” I asked.
“The brothers have a retreat house. I told them I was in a life crisis and seeking spiritual direction and guidance.” The hood turned slightly toward me. “Not a lie, either. Now tell me why you’re pursuing me.”
Despite the softness of his tone, I heard him clearly in the cold stillness. “Marcy and your children need to determine the course their lives will take. A lot of that depends on you." I paused to consider how my actions seemed to him. “I realize that I coerced you into meeting me and that you have no reason to trust me. But for the last five years, I’ve been in touch with your wife and learned about your kids. I probably know them better than you do at this point. They’re the reason I’m here.”
Hank looked down and away. “That hurts.” Then he turned back to me. “But I’m glad they have someone on their side.”
“I’m not here to do you harm,” I said, pulling my hand far enough from my coat pocket to show him the pistol grip. “If I wanted you dead, I could have shot you any place along this path and rolled your body down the ravine behind the Stations.”
He slowly withdrew his right hand from the left sleeve of his robe. “Same here.” The butt of a gun rested in his grip. “Colt M1911A1. A favorite of my former colleagues. I never owned one before I, shall I say, distanced myself from them. But I learned how to use it.”
I had no wish to die here, holy or not. I looked out over the beautiful serenity of the Hill. Spider and Bram are out there, I told myself. They’ve got your back.
“Ever shot someone?” I asked Hank.
“Nope. You?”
I shook my head and took my empty hand from my coat pocket. “There’s a bench up ahead. Can we sit and talk?”
The cold of the cement penetrated my clothes in seconds. Hank seemed to be wearing less than I did, but he showed no signs of being chilly. He removed his gun hand from the robe and pushed the hood back slightly, so that I could see his eyes. “Tell me about my kids.” His voice held a pleading tone.
“Marjorie’s in kindergarten now. Marcy calls her a little dynamo, always on the move. Susie’s an artist.” I smiled, remembering the watercolors on Marcy’s fridge. “And young Henry appears to have the makings of a future scientist. Marcy’s done well, Hank, raising them alone. It hasn’t been easy.”
“I’m sure.” His words faded.
“Tell me how you came to be Henry Wagner.”
It took a few breaths before he continued. “There was a guy I helped out of a jam, back when I was keeping the books for the Family. Dumb schmuck helped himself to money he was supposed to launder through his printing business. He needed the cash to finance an operation for his little girl, something experimental. No insurance. Would’ve been a dead man if I hadn’t shuffled some funds around to cover him. He also used his business to make fake IDs and other documents for the mob. But he wasn’t ‘our friend,’ he wasn’t in the organization, you know?”
I nodded, recalling that an introduction as ‘my friend Joe’ meant that Joe was an outsider. ‘Our friend Joe’ identified Joe as someone in the Family.
Hank’s face shifted subtly, with a look of both fear and torment passing over it. “After Merlino took over, everything changed. I had to get out. So I went to the guy. He owed me big time, so he made me new ID, even a teaching certificate from some school that burned down with all its records lost. And I made a new life for myself in Wisconsin. Got certified to teach. Met Marcy. Then the kids came along. It was perfect, Angie. All I ever wanted.”
“So why the sudden disappearance, after all the years of normal life?”
“Damnedest thing. I left school on my lunch hour, to get a sandwich at a nearby deli. Every nightmare from the prior fourteen years stood at the counter. Two wise guys from the South Philly Mob. One of them was facing the window. I didn’t know if he saw me, but I couldn’t take the chance. A bus pulled up across the street and I got on it. I closed out the bank accounts, bought the insurance policy and a beater, and drove north.”
He paused for a moment. “The car died in Eau Claire. I laid low there while it was in the shop. Once I stopped being so scared that every noise made me jump, I figured it was as good a place as any
