Brownstone

by Dean Kutzler

  It couldn’t be a coincidence. Then the man locked eyes with him. He was of average build, late forties or early fifties and Spanish in decent, as his name had hinted, with medium length black hair, slicked back like the oily feathers of a raven. He was dressed in jeans and a black buttoned down shirt. Jack nervously nodded at him, waiting for an invitation. The man just stared at him with eyes as black as pitch. Maybe he wasn’t Alazar.

  Then the man rose from the booth and quickly dodged between the crowds of people waiting to be seated. Jack stiffened at the swiftness of the man’s movement before he stopped and stood before him. Anxious eyes darted about the diner as he held his hand out to Jack. “I’m Stephen Alazar. Jack?” He said with a Spanish accent, cocking his head.

  “Yes, I’m Jack Elliot.” He reached out to shake his hand noticing the small white rectangle at his collar.

  “Please, let’s be seated.” He glanced around one more time before heading back to the booth.

  They both sat down and a waitress immediately appeared, offering Jack coffee before he even finished swinging his legs into the booth. Staring at the crusty pot, he suppressed his distaste and graciously accepted a cup, more from nervousness rather than desire. Stephen shook his head as she hovered the pot over his half empty cup. Apparently he was in agreement.

  Without offering him a menu she asked, “Are ya ready to order?”

  “Ahhh—sure,” he said flipping the menu in front of Stephen around. He quickly scanned the sandwiches. “I’ll take the Pearl Club.”

  Without writing anything down, she favored them with narrowed eyes and a tight-lipped smile, her cheek dramatically bunched like a chipmunk. “Ooohh, you two plan that?”

  Jack looked at Stephen with questioning eyebrows.

  “Two triple decker chicko breasts comin’ up.” She said, snatching the menu with an eye roll before she went to place the order.

  “Well, Mr. Elliot. It appears we have good taste. I ordered the same before you arrived.” He cracked a nervous smile.

  Jack nodded and gave the man a half-smile back. At least the rude waitress broke the ice, somewhat. Noticing the priest’s clerical collar again, a little relief swept over him. Examining history, Jack should have found no relief. More violent crimes and tragedies have been the direct result of religion. He took a sip of the vile sludge.

  “I see that you’re a priest,” Jack said frowning from the aftertaste.

  “Seminarian, Mr. Elliot,” he corrected, looking over his shoulder. “I have been admitted to candidacy for priesthood and I am in my final year of study. But I have a feeling that you already knew that, Mr. Elliot.” He made direct eye contact with Jack.

  Jack’s face flushed with shame and he looked away from the priest. Allowing someone to believe an assumed lie was still a lie, regardless of how small. A journalist’s first no-no. His bluff was merely intended to secure their meeting and now he realized he’d lied to a priest. Correction, lied to a seminarian. Did that make the sin any less? Never a believer in religion, but solid in honesty, omitted truth to a man of the cloth did not make for a good start to a meeting as important as this one. Despite his religious beliefs, or lack thereof, Jack respected the church’s good-natured intentions. Churches today are not what they used to be—most of them anyway. At least he had hoped.

  “Actually, I just made an educated guess when I heard the church bells over the phone.” So much for his interrogation technique. The man probably wouldn’t spill anything now, but at least Jack’s conscience was clear. But Alazar still didn’t know his connection with the late Father Angeli and that was the truth. It was his cat in the bag. “As I told you, Father Angeli—“

  “Mr. Elliot—“ he interrupted, annoyance ringing clear in his tone.

  “Please, call me Jack. Mr. Elliot is my—was my father.” The pain in his voice fresh.

  “Jack.” He closed his eyes with a slight nod. When he opened them, his tone softened. “I am very sorry for your loss, but as I have tried to tell you over the phone I—I cannot help you. It is—too dangerous. The quest upon which Father Angeli and I have set about cannot endanger another innocent. Just—just your knowing of our task has me fearful that it is too late.” The tremor in his voice betrayed his lack of trust for Jack.

  He spoke of Father Angeli in present terms. Did he not know?

  “Father Alazar.” He used the title, unsure if it was proper religious etiquette, in an effort to soften the clergyman’s resolve. “You’re the only connection to what’s going on that I have. I don’t know anything about any task. Both my father and uncle were murdered and then Father Angeli’s gruesome suicide—“

  “Dear Father who art in heaven, this cannot be,“ the man gasped, signing the cross over his heart. “Suicide? Are you certain? When?” He grasped the back of his head with both hands. “Such an act has—oh no, dear Father—has condemned his soul. How do you know such to be true?” His face blanched like dusk on alabaster.

  So the man didn’t know as much as Jack thought.

  “Father Alazar, I’m very sorry to tell you, but—unfortunately I witnessed it myself at my uncle’s burial.”

  “Heavens no, this—this cannot be,” he cried. “They must have been close. This changes everything now.” The look on his face solidified the truth in his knowledge. He hadn’t known of Father Angeli’s fate until now, which meant the situation was dressed in more secrecy than Jack cared to wear. He grew restless at the thought.

  “Why don’t you start from the beginning and tell me what’s going on, Father. Maybe we can get through this together.”

  Learning of Father Angeli’s suicide had stricken the man’s heart and shook his faith. His fingers toyed at the cross hanging from his neck beneath the clerical collar before he tucked it under his shirt. He hadn’t heard from Angeli in days and his worst fear had not only come true, but had been trumped. Without Father Angeli, he alone was left with the holy task, the knowledge thereof being enlightened by only a few in the high order that had been daunting the fate of mankind from the beginning.

  The Vatican bishop, an ambassador of Christ himself, had chosen Father Alazar, an unequivocal honor in and of itself, to call of order at St. Paul’s Chapel, under Father Angeli’s instruction. He never dared question that decision, to place such a tall, honorable order on an outsider of the church, knowing God’s will had already been planned out. The bishop must certainly have had his reasons. But alone, he knew he stood no chance at completing that task. He needed guidance. The bishop and Father Angeli had vowed him to secrecy, not to divulge his knowledge, as little as it was of this task, but Father Angeli had committed the worst sin of eternal damnation. Was this one of God’s mysterious ways? Forsaking Father Angeli’s lost soul, he couldn’t help wonder if this was not a sign from God. Father Alazar regarded Jack heavily, his contemplative eyes sagging at the corners.

  “Father Alazar?” Jack said, seeing the battle going on behind the man’s eyes, trying to snap him out of it. “You have no reason to distrust me, Father. I’m the one who’s suffered a big loss here. If you can just explain to me what’s going on, then maybe we can work together?”

  “Jack, although I grieve deeply for your loss, more is at stake here than you can imagine.” Letting go of the symbol beneath his shirt and staring into the eyes of the poor pawn of history’s fate, the Father’s reasoning became resolute. He would do God’s bidding as his faith interpreted God’s word through tragedy. “You must know, Jack, the task that lays ahead involves the fate of all humanity. It shakes modern belief and science. I cannot allow you to make such a dangerous decision without knowing what you would be getting into.”

  “Father, I’m not a firm believer in the traditional sense. I’ve never crossed the line to atheism, but I don’t exactly buy the slug in the primordial soup theory either. And a God-fearing man would be in lack of haste to say this, but I don’t have much left to lose.” Jack had always been, as a journalist, a good judge of character and he felt Father Alazar
was sincere. Whatever was going on, the Father was clearly frightened over it. But the fate of all humanity? That would take some convincing. Religious people were always so dramatic.

  “Okay two Pearl Clubs, heavy on triple decker breasts!” The rude waitress arrived with their identical orders and slapped them down with a cheese-eating grin, overextending her ample bosom for effect. Jack smiled at her inappropriate attempt to save the tip. Father Alazar’s face remained flat, black unblinking eyes bore into Jack. “Will there be anything else? A warm up on the java, hon?” The waitress asked hauling her defeated ample bounty back into her uniform.

  “Ah no, thank you, Miss. That will be all.” Father Alazar dismissed her and her poor judgment, his eyes never leaving Jack’s. After she left with a snort, he continued. “The fate of humanity is one of the tallest orders any one of us can lose, Jack. As unconceivable as the circumstances may be, I remain solid in my faith and in my duty to God, above all. What I am about to share with you cannot be shared with anyone else. I must have your word on this before you decide and before I can continue.” His eyes released Jack, almost convinced as they searched the busy diner, gauging if it was wiser to remain hidden in a crowd or to seek a more private venue for his revelation.

  “As I said Father, I don’t have much to lose. I won’t stand by and let my family’s murderer get away. I will not sit still and do nothing. You have my word as a journalist and as a person. I need to do this for my family.”

  And if he helped save the fate of humanity, all the better.

  Satisfied they were hidden in the crowd, Father Alazar’s eyes sought out the reflection in Jack’s, holding them while he passed his final judgment. He was a man of the cloth, bound by God, even though he had yet to be ordained as a priest. He had to look upon his faith, his core beliefs and find determination there. With one last prolonged stare, his eyes finally blinked a silent code of acceptance.

  Jack saw the wheels turning behind the man’s eyes like he was weighing a pig for market. Despite his initial plan to remain silent and let Father Alazar spill all, he needed to earn his trust if he was going to convince him to work together. He began to fill him in on all that had happened, all that he knew: the murders, the inheritance, the cemetery deception, the key. The journalist in Jack left nothing out, save for the location of the key, which he’d divulge once he was satisfied with what the Father had to say as to its purpose.

  “So now tell me, Father, how are you and the Vatican church involved in all of this?” Donning his journalist hat, Jack led him with the obvious question. After seeing the resolve on the man’s face from learning the fate of his companion, Jack didn’t think he’d have a problem getting information from him. Now, it was a matter of getting all the information.

  “Before the establishment of Vatican City back in 1929, earlier than the beginning of La Santa Sede or, as this country knows it, the Holy See, and possibly even before early Christianity, knowledge of a powerful and dangerous biblical artifact has been rumored to be in existence from the beginning of creation. It is said that it has been kept hidden from the world, passed down through unidentified family generations to be kept safe and out of dangerous hands.” Father Alazar looked down at the table. “I dare say, the artifact is said to be supernatural in nature, not just spiritual, and has caused much controversy within the church since the days of its infancy.” His eyes shot up towards Jack, searching for skepticism. Maybe it was better if he didn’t believe. “Many claim it is the work of the devil, some believe it to be the true path man has yet to walk and others deny its true existence. Like many biblical events or relics, it has been shrouded in mystery for thousands of years.”

  “And you believe this supernatural artifact exists?” Jack kept his journalistic dubiety from bleeding into his voice. “What makes it supernatural?”

  “I try not to discount the validity of God’s wonders, Jack. I merely need to open my eyes and breathe in the air that I cannot see to remind myself of this. As to what it can do, it is yet unknown since there is nothing through history’s rumors mentioning it ever being found. But it is feared that if it finds its way into the wrong hands, it would be the most devastating weapon this world has ever seen.”

  “What is the artifact? Is it the key?”

  “No. Rumors say that a key is needed to open the artifact. It is unclear what the artifact actually is.” He could read the doubt on Jack’s face. “It is said to hold the true account of creation. Whether that be in the form of an undiscovered canon of scripture or tablet, such is yet unknown.”

  “Creation, as in the story of Genesis? So what you’re saying is that the Bible as we know it may be false? Or incomplete?” He cocked his head and stopped picking at the club sandwich, his interest piqued.

  “Surely I will not pretend to be oblivious to the personal intentions or omissive deceptions by individuals in the clergy, who throughout history’s time, felt they were doing God’s bidding through their false revelatory actions or inactions.” An incredulous demeanor swept over his face. “A fool I am not, Mr. Elliot. But little is known of the artifact, or at least little has been revealed to me. If the rumors ring true, it is an unauthorized account of the beginning forged by God’s hands himself. A book from God.”

  He desperately clutched at the hidden cross beneath his shirt. “Many have questioned this rumor and have been unable to prove as to whether or not the Bible you read today was truly inspired by God himself or just the delusions of men with manipulative minds. My task, or call to order from the bishop himself, was to work with Father Angeli to uncover the truth regarding this artifact, this book, and retrieve it, if possible. The bishop has emphatically warned me that there are forces or rather I should say dangerous factions, that exist in this world, Jack, that believe whole-heartedly in the existence of this book and its powers. They will stop at nothing to gain its priceless value, to bring it to light and condemn the future of humanity.”

  His face softened as he continued, “I’m afraid this is what happened to your family, Jack.” Although sympathy bled from his heart for Jack’s tragic loss, he had to be careful. He had to keep reminding himself of that as he stared into the pawn’s innocent face. Father Angeli had been his guiding light in a sea of dangerous obscurity. That light had been snuffed out by the lick of its own flame. Father Alazar needed no further proof that if anything else, the danger was real. Real indeed.

  “The time you spent with Father Angeli, did either of you come up with any leads on the artifact or book as you put it?”

  “Yes, Mr. Elliot, and you are in possession of one.” If not two, he thought. Looking down at his plate, he grappled with the sandwich and managed a messy bite. “How is anyone supposed to hold these things and eat them like a sandwich?” He spoke through muffled words as the club sandwich fell apart in his hands.

  “The key? The key was one of your leads?” Suspicion crept into his voice, thinking back to the Marble Cemetery. Where had Alazar gone after the church service? He dismissed the thought. It didn’t make sense. Why would Father Angeli commit suicide if he and Alazar had planned the murder? Jack resolved to stick with his gut feeling and so far it was telling him Father Alazar was innocent. But something was nagging at him.

  “Yes.” Reading the suspicion in his face he said, “Please don’t misinterpret me, Jack. Your family is not what led us to the key in the vault. Invariably, that was where it was found. But what led us to your family’s vault is a discovery that I helped Father Angeli uncover in our church, here at St. Paul’s Chapel.”

  Jack remembered the church bells in the background during their phone conversation. St. Paul’s chapel was just around the corner. That’s why Father Alazar had chosen the Pearl Diner.

  “That explains why Father Angeli posed as Father Joseph, to get at the key. I get that part, but what discovery led him to my family’s vault?” Jack finished picking at his triple decker club and pushed the plate aside. His instincts almost never failed him. Almost. But it was hard
to deny facts, especially the way the facts looked. He waited for Father Alazar to explain. He couldn’t help the nagging feeling that kept nipping at the back of his mind like a relentless Chihuahua, like he’d forgotten something. As a journalist, he learned through experience not to ignore the nip when it bites. He just couldn’t put his finger on it…yet.

  “Oh, yes. Let me apologize and first assure you,” he said, misinterpreting Jack’s concern. “Your uncle’s rite of committal was quite valid regardless of the deception. And yes, we had to find a way into the vault and your uncle’s burial gave us the access underground that we needed. Usually the same priest will see the deceased the whole way through their symbolic journey to heaven. On the day of the interment, I needed to make sure that the real Father Joseph Allen would not be present, so after the church service I took a cue from my younger mischievous days and slashed his car tires, giving Father Angeli just enough time. I’m still repenting the act.” He looked upward as he motioned the sign of the cross over his heart.

  “Okay, that explains how you got in,” and where you went. “But you still haven’t told me what led you there in the first place.” Nip nip. Nipping getting nippier.

  “Yes, yes I am getting to that. I am sure that you have heard the story about George Washington and the cherry tree?” He was testing Jack’s knowledge, but not about the cherry tree.

  “You mean, ‘I cannot tell a lie, Father. It is I who chopped down the cherry tree’?” Jack’s brow knitted in bewilderment. He was beginning to worry that his instincts were failing him as he humored Father Alazar’s tale, waiting for a concrete answer to his question.

  “Yes, and that little story lived on through the ages, being taught to the little children of America’s future, all for a very important purpose. That purpose lent the world insight into the character of this country’s first leader as president. A little bird whispering in the nation’s ear for centuries, if you will.” His voice faltered for the first time.