crowd.
But there was no way to measure Carson’s inspired wrath. He was not simply drawn into a fistfight, he was off on his own private crusade.
The first blow went to Hessler. In an unconventional move, he swung both arms in an inward arc, smashing Carson on either side of the head. Hessler had used this tactic before to paralyzing effect. Ordinarily, after this somewhat premature coup de grace, Hessler’s opponent folded, ears ringing as if a demented hunchback were swinging bells inside his head.
But bells were not ringing in Carson’s head. Rather, he heard a thundering angelic choir chanting, “God’s will! God’s will! God’s holy will! Flatten this heathen!”
Carson was all over him. It was as if Hessler were trying to fight off a swarm of angry bees, and just about as effective. In only a few seconds, Hessler had irretrievably lost the initiative and was reeling backward.
Hessler fell heavily onto the table at which just seconds before he’d been eating. The table, near splintering, collapsed under the weight of the two men, who tumbled to the floor in a heap. Instantly Carson, flailing away like a frenzied windmill, was on top, punishing Hessler mercilessly. Carson gave no quarter.
At this point the bystanders intervened, if for no other reason than to save Hessler’s life. With great difficulty they pulled Carson off. Even then, it took their combined strength to hold him back from attacking Hessler again.
For Hessler, dazed, breathless, and bloodied, the fight would have been over and done with and lost at that point but for one final strategy. As he scrambled to his feet, he drew a knife from his pocket, and flipped the blade open. The sight of the weapon and its size so startled the men that all, even Carson, involuntarily stepped back.
For Carson, the retreating step was instinctive. Instantly regaining his holy mission, Carson prepared to dive back into battle. knife or not, when a shout from the doorway froze him and everyone else in the room.
The supervisor’s attention had been drawn by the sound of the table shattering under the two combatants. Now, eye caught by the impressive knife in Hessler’s hand, he shouted several furious obscenities that stopped them all in their tracks.
“Hessler!” the supervisor roared. “Get rid of that knife! This minute!”
It was over, at least for now Hessler closed the knife, pressing the dull side of the blade against his thigh, and slid the weapon into his pocket. Later, in a more composed moment, he would recognize that the fight would not be resumed. He’d been in lots of fights before, against men of just about every size, although not many his size or better. But this jerk Carson was a madman. If the guys had not pulled Carson off, he might have bitten off one of Hessler’s ears or his nose. Carson was that crazy!
The supervisor got the two men into separate offices, told them to cool it, then called the police.
It was standard procedure. Because the post office is a federal agency, the structure a federal building, and the workers federal employees, the local police lacked jurisdiction in a matter such as this. However, the police served the essential function of getting the two combatants out of the building and away from each other. From that point on, postal inspectors would handle the case.
Due to the seriousness of his offense-wielding a deadly weapon-Hessler would appear before the sectional center, where the process of firing him would begin. Eventually, using every grievance procedure available to him, he would survive with a lengthy suspension. All would be duly noted in his work record.
As for Carson, the onlookers testified that Hessler had begun the altercation with remarks aimed at riling Carson. They further affirmed that it had been a fair fight until Hessler pulled the knife.
Carson’s file was clean. In fact, he had an exemplary record. No one could think of a single rule he had ever violated.
So Carson was issued a letter of warning and given a one-month suspension. And that was bargained down to ten days.
Actually, Carson was pleased with the outcome. For one, word quickly spread that he had taken Hessler apart. And hitherto, Hessler had had the reputation as a virtually invincible bully. Thus, Carson now became known as a force to be reckoned with. His reputation as a latter-day David who smote Goliath was enhanced.
For another, he could use the ten-day suspension productively. He needed the time to make further refinements in a plan he hoped would save the Church in Detroit and the world from itself.
17
Lieutenant Tully was paging through reports turned in by various members of his squad at various times. All concerned the same case, the investigation into the presumed serial killing of Helen Donovan and Lawrence Hoffer.
After notifying and getting the approval of Inspector Walter Koznicki, Tully had assigned every member of his squad to interview the people who headed departments in the archdiocese of Detroit. Each resultant report contained a plethora of information. In scanning each one, Tully concentrated on the responses to such questions as, “Can you mink of any enemies you personally have?” Or, “Are there any persons you can think of who are opposed to the work of your department?” Or, “Can you think of anyone who is opposed to the policies of the archdiocese of Detroit?”
In the responses, a pattern was forming. Almost no one named anyone who might qualify as a personal enemy. In response to the other questions, quite a few were mentioned. Tully was jotting down names that kept recurring throughout the reports. There were quite a few.
His talk with Father Koesler had helped. Tully felt slightly more confident wandering through the hitherto totally unfamiliar territory of Church administration. Not completely at home by any means. But not in a totally foreign field either.
Seated across the desk was Sergeant Angie Moore. She had been the latest and last of his squad to turn in a report. Tully studied the result of her investigation, frequently cross-checking it with the other reports.
“Zoo, be honest,” Moore said. “I drew the meanest bastard in the lot, didn’t I?”
Tully smiled. “Seems like it. But how would we know beforehand? It wasn’t on purpose.”
“But he was, wasn’t he, Zoo? I mean the meanest?”
Tully maintained his relaxed and engaging grin. “Judging by the other reports, I’d have to say he ranks. No; give the devil his due: You got the meanest.”
“I thought people in public relations were supposed to be pleasant, nice.”
“So did I. But mere’s always the exception-”
“Well, he proved the rule okay,” Moore interrupted, “It’ll be a long time before I forget Father Cletus Bash.”
“I see he’s the only one interviewed who admits to having a personal enemy or two.”
“Is he the only one?” Moore had no access to the other reports; this was the first she knew that none of the others had acknowledged any enemies. “I guess I’d put him down as paranoid, except that after spending an hour with him I expect his enemies are probably not imaginary. They could be for real.”
Tully studied silently for a few moments. “It says here,” he referred to her report, “that among his own enemies and those he listed as opposed both to the Church and the Church in Detroit are guys named Stapleton and Carson. Those are two names that are pretty familiar. They show up repeatedly on the other reports.”
“Do they? That’s interesting. That’s why I looked into their background a little bit, because Bash mentioned them three times. No one else got that kind of billing.”
“You did? Good. What did you find?”
“A lot on Carson. Not all that much on Stapleton.
“I went over to the
