Deadly Blessings

by Julie Hyzy

  Rico flung me away, muttering in indecipherable Spanish. I watched them depart, heading back to their perch around the red pickup truck.

  “I’m sorry about that,” Father Bruno said. “But I trust you’re not the worse for wear?” He waited for my nod before continuing. “Good, let’s get inside then. It’s frigid out here.” He extended his fleshy palm toward the open metal door. “After you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  I led our little three person parade; Ro brought up the rear.

  I hadn’t expected him to be here. I knew Ro worked for Lisa. His presence sealed the connection I knew existed all along. I felt a tiny thrill of victory, but an unexpected sense of menace as well. The sooner I got the audio-taped proof, the better, and I’d be on my merry way.

  Ro gave the door a mighty pull to shut it, and the sound of the heavy solid metal swinging home reverberated throughout the empty church. Though dark, I could make out stairwells leading upward to the choir loft on either side of the vestibule where we stood.

  Father Bruno rubbed his hands together. I’m sure he did so to generate heat, but in the low lighting, with just the creases of his face lit up by the small double-paned windows, it seemed a maniacal gesture. “There’s a meeting room off the sacristy,” he said by way of explanation, gesturing with his chin.

  A set of double doors opened to the main church. Entering, I was reminded of a religious picture I saw once, of Jonah inside the whale. Graceful, curving wooden beams arched above, to meet at the peak of the ceiling, and though it was almost too dark to make out the very top of the church, the whole image was reminiscent of being inside the bones of the big sea mammal.

  Tall, stained-glass windows lined both sides of the area, the dimness of the day outside causing their bright colors to meld and seem flat. Dark bars lined the pictures from the outside, in an effort to prevent vandals from breaking through the antique designs. Only slightly successful. There wasn’t one single picture left unmarred by shattered glass. The light that came in from those open sections still wasn’t bright enough to illuminate the huge area, though my eyes were beginning to adjust. I could make out the fact that both the ceiling and the walls had enormous patches of peeling paint. Just like the rundown homes outside, this place needed a makeover.

  Our tapping shoes echoed as we made our way down the marble center aisle. I skimmed my bare hand over the worn tops of the varnished oak pews. If I hadn’t been in church, I would have considered whistling. Just to convince the others that I was perfectly at ease, and had no fear whatsoever. Truth was, I wanted to convince myself. The semi-altercation outside had left my knees a little weak.

  No one spoke until we neared the shadowed altar. Decorated in whites and golds, there was a plethora of plaster statues on both sides of the main center stage. Mary, the mother of Jesus, gazed down at me, one hand touching her own heart. From her placement, I knew she had to be the church’s patron saint. Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrow. But she didn’t look particularly unhappy. I would have characterized her expression as “content”—maybe even pleased. Joseph, her statue-husband took up a prominent position at the far end of the area. In between were a couple of other saints and holy folks, some I could name, others I hadn’t a clue.

  A long wide brass railing, two feet high, separated the altar area from the pews, with a wide red cushion running its length at the base. This used to be where folks would come to kneel to receive communion. Back in the “say it in Latin” days. Back when lay people never ventured into the back rooms of church.

  At the front, just past the first pew, Bruno grasped the railing, as his right knee skimmed the cushion in genuflection. Standing again, he veered right, “Over here,” he said.

  We passed another long shelf of holy people, these much smaller. One of them was the Good Shepherd, Jesus with a lamb around his neck and another at his feet, looking up adoringly. The patron of my home church, it gave me a moment’s peace remembering that the Good Shepherd always watches out for his flock.

  Of course, wasn’t that simply to keep them safe from the wolves, so they could be slaughtered in sacrifice later?

  “In here,” Bruno said.

  He opened a door off to the side. Invisible when shut, it blended into the wall, and had an indented handle. If he hadn’t opened it to allow yellow light to spill out onto the cold floor, I never would have noticed it there.

  Inside looked like a typical old-fashioned kitchen. Wacky place for it, I thought. Along the faded green walls, unadorned except for dirt streaks where someone might have tried to wash them once, were a sink on legs, a stove, a refrigerator, all looking like they should have been left out at the curb three decades ago. I caught sight of the ancient metal-edged oak table and chairs, my adoption folder, and a full ashtray centered atop it. Good, I thought. Shucking my coat, I sat down to launch into my charade.

  “So, Father,” I began, not wasting any time, “how about we get down to business?” I placed my purse, the handheld recorder set to voice activation, on the table next to me. Made sure the flap top was open. Redundancy, Jeff had said. Worth the extra effort.

  “My,” he said, “aren’t we eager all of a sudden? After our conversation at the restaurant the other day, I was certain you’d never come around to see the wisdom of my offer.”

  “I guess you could say I saw the light,” I said forcing a smile, congratulating myself on my cleverness.

  Bruno lowered himself into the chair opposite me. It protested his bulk, creaking until the large man had settled himself. Ro stood behind me, making me itchy, uncomfortable. But I tried to ignore that.

  “Yes, I suppose you have.” Bruno’s piggy eyes ran up and down my face several times before he leaned back, causing the chair to creak again. Pulling a pack of cigarettes and his lighter out of the inside pocket of the black suit jacket he wore over his robes, he took his sweet time lighting up. His gaze seemed to settle on my breasts. The half-open sweatshirt was exposing not just a little bit of cleavage. I could feel myself blush. This guy was a priest? Seems like he was pretty selective about which rules he chose to follow and which he didn’t.

  Glancing over my shoulder, I shot a pointed look in Ro’s direction. A wooden soldier, he stood expressionless, arms folded, in front of the door. Turning back to Bruno I lowered my voice. “Wouldn’t it be better if we spoke alone?”

  “Of course,” Bruno said. He glanced over my head to the big man but didn’t say a word. Moments later I heard the soft whoosh of the door shutting and a tiny click of the latch.

  “Thank you,” I said. “I know he’s one of Lisa’s people. Sophie says he’s Lisa’s boyfriend.” I waited, but Bruno neither confirmed nor denied the bait. My voice had dropped to a whisper in my excitement; remembering the audiotape, I raised it a few notches, and hoped Jeff was reading me loud and clear. “We have a lot to discuss.” I leaned a bit further on the table, a shade closer to Bruno. I didn’t want to miss a word.

  “We do?”

  “Let me ask you a couple questions, if you don’t mind,” I said, shooting him what I hoped came across as a conspiratorial look. “Since we’re agreeing to this trade, it won’t hurt for you to enlighten me a bit on a few things I’m curious about.”

  I heard the soft tick tick of the wall clock behind him, as a smile broke over his face. “What do you want to know, Alex?”

  A tiny nag of doubt, vestiges of my “Catholic priests are near to God” upbringing gave me a moment’s pause. But I knew the truth. I just needed it spoken aloud so that others would know as well.

  “Our agreement is that you’ll give me this adoption information,” I slid my eyes to the manila folder between us, “if I kill the story I’ve been following.”

  “Mm-hmm,” he said.

  “Sophie is a prostitute,” I said.

  He nodded.

  Crap, I needed him to verbalize.

  “You know that?”

  He nodded again.

  I had to stop asking yes or no questions. S
ome investigator I was turning out to be.

  I tried again. “How long have you known?”

  “About Sophie’s line of work?”

  I nodded, then caught myself. “Yeah. And the other girls.”

  “Some time.”

  I wracked my brain for a more clever approach. “Some time,” I repeated. “How do you justify bringing new girls to Lisa when you know the kind of life they’ll be facing?”

  “Alex,” he said, chastisement on his lips, “You really aren’t seeing things clearly. You forget that our Father in heaven forgives.”

  “So you keep telling me,” I said. I dipped down into the reservoir of desperation. “But what about Milla Voight and Matthew Breczyk?”

  “What about them?” His tone was flippant. Like we were sharing a joke.

  “I believe they were killed because they threatened to expose Lisa’s organization.”

  “And?” he asked. One eyebrow snaked up, just a fraction of an inch.

  “That doesn’t bother you?” I asked, my voice climbing higher than I would have liked.

  “Of course it bothers me,” he said, both eyebrows furrowing in anger. “It more than bothers me, Alex.” He pulled both hands, clasping, to his chest. “It hurts.” He squeezed his hands together, so tightly that the pudgy stretched skin went white. “I knew both of them. I watched over them. They were like family to me.”

  “Then who murdered them?”

  “Why are you asking me?”

  “You know why, Father. I think you’re up to your Roman collar in this mess.”

  “That’s a very serious accusation,” he said, with unnerving calm.

  “Then you have to want to help me. Help Sophie. Help all of them.”

  “I already do help them,” he said. “Any way I possibly can.” His gaze dropped. It took a moment for it to register that he was staring at my cleavage again. An instantaneous burst of adrenaline shot through me, wondering if the mike had become visible. Frozen in fear, I didn’t move.

  Then he gave a sigh, and raised his eyes to meet mine again. “I enjoy helping young people. But you’re here on business, unfortunately.”

  Realization of his meaning washed over me with a shudder of disgust.

  A fear trilled in my heart. Could it be that he’d been one of Lisa’s pawns so long that he could now so cavalierly ignored his vows? I knew the fervor with which my good friend, Father Trip, embraced his lifestyle, embraced all that the church taught about life and morals and God’s will. Even if Bruno wasn’t half the priest Father Trip was, there still had to be some glimmer of goodness in him. He’d brought these girls into a life of prostitution. Perhaps not knowingly at first, but now, he must be aware. Surely he felt remorse.

  “Give me Lisa,” I said. “Give me enough to shut her organization down and put her away, and I promise I’ll do everything I can to keep you and the church out of the story.”

  His mouth went through a series of gyrations, as though he wanted to laugh but struggled to be polite, since I wasn’t in on the joke.

  “Pride before the fall,” he said.

  “What?”

  His hands gestured, in a smooth, practiced way, as though to encompass the entire room, the entire situation. “You are so supremely confident you have all this figured out, don’t you?” he asked, his eyes squeezing in condescension.

  “I do have this figured out,” I said. “Trust me. I can help you. Together we can put an end to Lisa’s group.”

  “Trust you?”

  “Yes.” I took a breath before continuing. “If I play this right, in our feature, I can protect both you and the girls. I’m serious. With what you know and with what I know, we can assemble a story, and perhaps even a case against Lisa and Ro for the murders of Matthew and Milla.”

  “With what I know, and what you know,” he repeated.

  “Yes,” I said, trying not to clench my teeth as I spoke.

  “What is it you think you know?”

  I heaved a long sigh of frustration, and stared at the corner of the room near the ceiling, where a spider had spun a thick web. Several dark shapes dangled in the fragile pattern, leading me to believe he’d been successful in trapping his prey.

  “Alex?”

  My eyes flicked back to meet his.

  He tapped the ash-laden end of his cigarette in the tray, then brought it to his lips again. “Take the folder.” I heard the smoke escape with his words.

  I looked at it, weighing my choices. But I couldn’t take it. Not yet. He hadn’t said nearly enough. His beady little eyes watched me as I struggled to rephrase my question. He hadn’t admitted to anything. I needed a whole lot more. And I needed it fast. This interview wasn’t going the way I’d hoped. He took another drag on his cigarette as I opened my mouth to start my next question. But he interrupted.

  “What’s stopping you, Alex?” he asked, blowing smoke out his nostrils.

  I looked at him.

  “The file is here, just waiting for you to grab it and go.” He shrugged, and I swore I saw a flicker of dark amusement in his eyes.

  “Listen,” I said, “I’m offering you a chance to tell the truth. Then walk away. And let all the girls you’ve brought over here walk away too.”

  “So what you’re proposing here, is to offer me tabula rasa?” He took another long drag of his cigarette, and exhaled off to the side. The smell of the burning tobacco and the gray cloud that began to envelope us started a tickle in the back of my throat.

  “A clean slate? Yeah. That’s exactly what I’m offering,” I said. The fact that he seemed willing to talk now, encouraged me. “A new beginning. And,” I smiled, bold enough now to make a joke, “you know what they say about confession being good for the soul. Why don’t you let me in on all of it? It’ll make you feel better.”

  He nodded. “Now that we’re alone,” Bruno said, sitting up, “I do have a few things I can tell you.” He stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray and leaned forward on his forearms, his voice low.

  I moved forward, mirroring his position, bringing my head down near his, to hear, and, more importantly, to bring my chest near enough to his voice so that the microphone wouldn’t miss any word of it. “Good,” I said, attempting to keep my excitement level under control. About time.

  He stared down at my chest again for several seconds, then he smiled as his eyes met mine.

  “You’re right, on several counts.”

  “I am?”

  “Yes, of course.” He tilted his head. “You seem surprised.”

  My mouth opened but no words popped out. His admission came too fast. I blinked, then asked, “So, you’re telling me that you recruit young people from poor villages in Poland—”

  He interrupted. “And other places as well.”

  I hated the tiny stammer in my voice as I continued, “Okay. You recruit these girls and bring them to Lisa. She puts them to work as prostitutes. And what, she pays you? Offers you a percentage?”

  Bruno’s eyes glittered. Amusement, again. But he didn’t answer.

  “How,” I asked, “How does a priest get involved in this sort of scheme?” I sat back a little—it was an involuntary movement, but one that took the microphone further away. Remembering, I scooted forward again and shook my head, instead. “This goes against everything the church teaches. Everything the church stands for. I can’t understand how a man who’s taken religious vows can be involved in such. … such … vile activities.”

  “Ah, Alex. I told you once that you weren’t looking at it the right way.”

  The stammer in my voice was gone. Anger bubbled up in my chest, and I worried for a moment that my heartbeat would drown out our conversation on the tape. “There is no other way.”

  “Yes, there is.” He pushed the folder closer toward me again. “And so, here we are. Tabula rasa. I have fulfilled my part of the bargain, have I not?”

  I looked down at the slim manila file under his splayed fingers. Tiny bits of whitened skin brighten
ed his knuckles, making them stand out on his reddened hand. Tension. He pressed down harder than I would have thought necessary.

  “I guess you have,” I said. I tried to slide the file out from beneath his pressed hand, but he held fast. “And now I’ll take this and be on my way.” Maybe it would be enough. I couldn’t wait to hear the tape. I thought of Jeff outside. And I hoped he’d gotten it all.

  Giving me a peculiar look, Bruno lifted his hand straight up, allowing it to hover for a second over the folder. “Be my guest,” he said.

  “Thanks.” In one motion, I’d stood up, pulled the folder to my chest and grabbed my coat from the back of the chair. Sliding my arm through the sleeves, I headed for the door.

  “Why don’t you open the file now? Read it before you leave?”

  I hesitated. “You said it was mine to keep.”

  “I did.”

  “Then I’ll read it at home.” I shot him an insincere smile and began moving again.

  “Alex,” he said.

  I turned.

  “Open it now.”

  I gave him a withering glance, as though he was a fool to doubt my intentions. “Why?”

  “Because I want to see the look on your face,” he said with a grin. “I enjoy it when things come together as well as they have today. I revel in it.”

  “Thanks, but I’ll wait.”

  His smile faded. “Humor me,” he said.

  My conscience prickled with the thought that I had just made a deal—given my word. I promised that if I got my adoption information, I’d hold back on the prostitution story. The folder felt tingly in my hands. I had no intention to look inside. In my own convoluted logic, that allowed me to continue my investigation without sacrificing my ethics.

  Facing Bruno now, I had to reassess. His calm demeanor belied anger deep inside. I could almost see it simmering out of him. He doubted my sincerity. With good reason, I might add. But the fact remained that I needed to prove my good intentions.

  “Fine,” I said. I promised myself I wouldn’t really read the information. That I would focus on something other than the information that tempted me more than anything else in the world. I faltered a moment, knowing how much I wanted this information, trying to rationalize a way for me to have my information and nail Bruno, too.