a lot could happen in that short distance. And if anything did happen, chances were it would not be pleasant.
The four priest friends who had attended tonight’s performance had come in two cars. Father McNiff had chauffeured Fathers Marvin and Mulroney and had parked in the Fox lot. Indeed, of all those in attendance this night, Koesler seemed the only one to have parked any distance from the theater. Since the four had agreed to meet at Carl’s Chop House for an after-theater meal, Frank Marvin volunteered to go with Koesler so he would not be alone. Thus the two set off, walking briskly down Woodward.
It was eerie.
The area just outside the theater was brightly lit and swarming with happy, chatting people. Two steps from that scene and it was like a set from a wartime movie. There were streetlights, but it was nowhere near as illumined as the overlit Fox marquee. And there were no people. The impression that the infrequent pedestrian had quickly passed into some sort of no-man’s-land was due in large part to the contrast between a small zone comprising noisy people packed together like sardines and a desolate street-all within a few feet of each other.
The two priests could not help but be aware of their isolation.
“Is it worth it?” Father Marvin asked.
“What?” Father Koesler returned.
“The five or so bucks you save by parking in the garage.”
“A penny saved, et cetera,” Koesler said flippantly. But he didn’t feel that insouciant. As nonchalantly as possible he glanced over his shoulder to see who, if anyone, was behind them as they walked. There was no one in front of them as far as the eye could see.
But there was someone behind them.
A lone young man, possibly a teenager, in jeans and T-shirt. Somewhat lightly clothed, even for this mild weather. Definitely not part of the theater crowd. A casual pedestrian headed … where? Home? A rendezvous? Nowhere in particular?
Koesler did not want to alarm Marvin. But he certainly wanted to stay alert to this potential threat.
They walked in silence a few more steps. Koesler again glanced over his shoulder. The young man maintained his course in their wake. He stayed about eight to ten yards behind them, matching their pace. But something was added now: a car, old, weatherworn, so dirty it was difficult to tell how many passengers were in it.
Koesler did not wish to turn around and confront the young man or his companions, which very likely the occupants of the car were. The car was creeping down Woodward at the same slow speed as the priests and their shadow.
“Bob,” Marvin said softly, “somebody seems to be following us.”
“Oh?” So Marvin had also noticed this small procession. Koesler did not want either himself or Marvin to panic, but there was an unmistakable sense of serious danger here.
Of course it was possible the young man was simply out for a walk on an inviting evening. He might have been keeping a date.
And if Koesler flapped his arms, he might fly. No, that steady pace kept both by the pedestrian and the suspicious car boded no harmless explanation.
The fact that their quarry were priests apparently carried no weight with these predators. It was as if two animals had allowed themselves to be cut off from the herd and were now being stalked by wolves.
Koesler felt they would be lucky to be merely robbed. Yet he saw no alternative to playing this out and seeing what would happen. Though he was extremely apprehensive, he tried to act casual for his own sake as well as Marvin’s.
The two priests reached the corner of Adams and Woodward. Across the street was Grand Circus Park, beneath which was the parking garage, and safety-if they could reach it.
Ordinarily, they would have crossed with the light at the corner. But Koesler opted for a shortcut. He nudged Marvin to jaywalk toward the center of the Adams block and the ramp leading down to the garage.
They turned sharply to the right. Koesler glanced back. The young man also turned right. Now there was no doubt: He was following them. Whatever was going to happen would happen in just a few moments.
But something else was happening. The car did not turn right. It continued south on Woodward. That unexpected event was followed by another. The young man veered off and followed in the direction of the car.
Surprised, both Koesler and Marvin stopped to see what was going on.
They saw a marked blue and white Detroit police car, which had unobtrusively pulled up behind the other car. The officer had turned on neither siren nor flashing lights. But the police car had been spied by the driver of the car following the priests. And when the young man noticed his companions veering off, he also abandoned the chase.
For a brief instant Koesler thought the single officer in the car might give them a ticket for jaywalking. He would have welcomed one considering what the policeman had saved them from. But the blue and white simply glided by, the officer therein neither smiling nor showing any sign of concern. Probably he too was glad nothing had happened.
The two priests hurried to Koesler’s car. Koesler paid the dollar parking fee, then drove up the exit ramp. Both men looked in every direction. They were not being cautious of other traffic as much as making sure their potential muggers were nowhere in sight. Coast clear, they headed in the direction of the restaurant.
Well on their way, Marvin spoke. “Thank God for the Detroit police!” It was said with fervor and sincerity. Thereafter, neither spoke.
McNiff and Mulroney had arrived at the restaurant only moments before Koesler and Marvin. It was late in the evening and this was one of the few eateries still open and offering everything from a snack to a full dinner. There were three main dining rooms, only one designated as nonsmoking. At this hour, that meant little; heavy smoke hung almost motionless everywhere.
Most of the tables were empty; the quartet was seated almost immediately. It took several moments for their eyes to become accustomed to the soft lighting and the smoke. When they were able to see more clearly, McNiff immediately observed, “You guys look like you saw a ghost!”
“Damn right!” Marvin answered. “The ‘ghosts’ almost were us!”
There followed a graphic, detailed, and somewhat embellished narration of their memorable if brief stroll down Woodward. As he told the story, Marvin grew progressively more animated as well as more resentful of Koesler’s penny-pinching style that almost got both of them murdered.
Following this, there was general agreement-Koesler dissenting-on the danger of Detroit streets, especially after dark.
Responding to one of Koesler’s attempts to diffuse so sweeping an indictment of the city, McNiff countered, “What about that
“Not too good an example, Pat.” Mulroney, it was generally acknowledged, was well read and well informed on current affairs. “According to reports I’ve read, whoever shot Salden wasn’t firing at random.”
“No?” When challenged, McNiff tended to react defensively.
“No,” Mulroney responded calmly. “It seems that all the shots-or all the shots that can be accounted for-hit Salden. The other people who were wounded were hit by bullets that went right through Salden.”
Marvin shuddered. “Do you mind? Koesler and I just went through an experience where we might have been used for target practice. I’d just as soon not talk about how bullets go through bodies.”
Koesler seconded the motion. He was no more eager than Marvin to converse about murder. “There’s tonight’s play.”
“Yeah … doesn’t it make you feel good to know that one of the brethren wrote it?” McNiff said.
With that, their waitress arrived, looking the worse for wear. She appeared quite elderly. Her white stockings hung loosely from swollen legs and ankles. Her wispy white hair was frazzled. One could be forgiven for wondering why she continued working this late at night, if indeed at all. One could only assume she really needed the money.
“Get you something to drink?” Putting her weight on her left leg, she listed to port.
McNiff ordered a manhattan, the others beer. The waitress shuffled off.
“Yeah,” Marvin picked up McNiff’s observation, “imagine a Detroit priest getting a play he wrote staged at the
