“Sure, what’s up?”
Tim Trinity came in from the changing rooms, wearing only boxer shorts, socks, and a bulletproof vest. “You’re right, it’s not too bad,” he said to Pat, “practically disappears under my shirt.” He stopped when he spotted the groceries on the boxing ring. “Oh good, I’m starved.” He grabbed a sandwich and took a big bite.
Pat said, “It won’t stop a bullet aimed at your head, Tim.”
“Don’t start that again.” Trinity groaned with a smile and turned to Daniel. “Our friend is in danger of becoming a nattering nabob of negativism.” He took another bite and chewed. “Great sandwich. Thanks.”
Daniel tucked the photo back into his pocket and picked up a sandwich while Trinity resumed the banter, teasing Pat about the health benefits of keeping a positive attitude.
After cheerfully wolfing down a couple of sandwiches and a handful of chips, Trinity announced he was turning in early to finish writing tomorrow’s sermon and get a good night’s sleep.
As soon as he was gone, Daniel turned to Pat and said, “Carter Ames sends his regards.”
“What?”
“You saying you don’t know who Carter Ames is?”
“Yeah, I know him. Just surprised you do.”
“We only just met.”
Pat thought for a second, then laughed through his nose. “I shoulda figured he’d show up in all this. Seems a little late to the party, though.”
“He’s been in it from the start. Remember I told you about the help I was getting from someone named Papa Legba?”
“Ah,” Pat smiled. “Crafty old bastard.”
“So what’s this Fleur-de-Lis Foundation you guys work for?”
“He said I worked for the FDL?”
“He called you an ally.”
“That’s true enough. But I don’t work for them, I’m independent.”
“Who are they?”
Pat shook his head. “Carter Ames is playing us. He gave you a little glimpse, now he wants me to recruit you. I won’t do it.”
“But you believe in what they’re doing.”
“Yeah, and it’ll get me killed eventually. You too, if you join up. Look, man, when this thing with Tim is over, just ride off into the sunset with Julia and enjoy the rest of your life. You’ve earned it.”
“I’m not joining up. I just want to understand—”
“No, brother. You only think you do. I’m telling you, you really don’t want to know what’s going on out there.” Pat stuffed some chips in his mouth and chewed. “Anyway, you want to hear the sales pitch, you gonna have to ask Ames. You won’t hear it from me. Next subject.”
There was no use pressing him. Daniel pulled the photograph from his back pocket and handed it to Pat. “He gave me this. Said you—”
“Holy shit.” Pat stopped chewing. “What exactly did he say?”
“He said this guy came in on a flight from Montreal yesterday, but they lost track of him this afternoon. And he said you’d tell me about him.”
“His name is Lucien Drapeau, and he is a very bad man.” Pat handed the photo back to Daniel. “Pretty safe guess he’s here to kill your uncle.”
“An assassin?”
“Best in the world, maybe. They say he’s a fanatic for precision, never misses. I’ve crossed paths with him a few times over the years, but we’ve never gone head to head.”
“But he plays for the other team,” said Daniel, “the Council for World Peace or whatever it is.”
Pat shook his head. “Lucien Drapeau doesn’t play for any team. He’s all about the money.” He pointed at the photo in Daniel’s hand. “You need to memorize that face. Note the details…”
Daniel looked hard at the face. Eyes very close together, square jaw, small ears, and a dome shaped like a bullet, with a ridge running from front to back, right in the middle.
“How tall?”
“A smidge taller than me. About six-four, I’d say.”
Daniel looked back to the face in the photograph. “Weird,” he said, “the guy’s got no eyebrows.”
“No hair at all,” said Pat, “anywhere on his body. He removes it.”
“Some kind of kink?”
“No, he’s just that committed to his craft. No hair, no DNA evidence trail. The man is uncompromising about his work.” Pat put the bag of potato chips down on the boxing ring. “With Drapeau in the game, our chances of keeping Tim alive just went from slim to very-fucking-slim indeed. Wish I could tell you different, but that’s the truth, Ruth.”
Julia called just after ten o’clock. “Got your messages,” she said. “All five of them. Sorry, it’s been a little hectic around here. What’s up?”
“Come have a drink with me,” said Daniel.
After a second of silence, she said, “That would be nice, really, but not tonight, Danny. We’ve got a big day tomorrow.”
“We’ve been having a lot of big days lately.” He could hear her laugh through the phone. It was a warm laugh. “Julia, I realize we’ve all got a lot on our plates right now, and tomorrow’s gonna be crazy. I just want to call a brief time-out, a couple of hours, just you and me and a bottle of wine.” Stop talking, he told himself. But he didn’t. “You know, don’t think of it as a date. I just, I need to focus all my attention on security tomorrow, and I can’t afford to be thinking about things left unsaid.”
“Geez, it sounded a lot more fun when I thought of it as a date,” said Julia, a smile in her voice. “OK, tell me where you are and I’ll come over and drink your wine while you leave nothing unsaid.”
“Cut me a little slack, would ya? It’s been a while since I asked a girl out.”
When Daniel was eighteen, Father Henri let him have a key to the place so he could lock up or open the gym in the morning, and he’d brought Julia here a few times late at night to sit up on the roof and watch the world go by.
But fourteen years have gone by since she was last up here. Fourteen years. Man.
And now he was about to ask her to just forget about that. He would tell her that, this time, he would not run away chasing ghosts and dreams. He would tell her that, this time, she was his dream.
He would ask her to make that dream come true.
After she’d agreed to come over, he’d come to the roof and set up a couple of folding lawn chairs and a small table he took from the office, a portable radio, the wine, and two plastic cups.
And now she was here again, standing with him on the roof, the skyline of downtown New Orleans glittering behind her in the night, her black hair fluttering in the hot, thick summer breeze, her olive skin shimmering, slightly moist, a glass of red wine in her slender hand.
He was tongue-tied by this woman. He switched on the radio, tuned it to WWOZ. A jazz tune he didn’t know, but it was sultry and slow and perfect.
“Julia, I-I have so many things…” He searched for the right words. “I want a second chance with you. I have thought of you every day for the last fourteen years, and I want you back.”
She smiled and sipped her wine. “Every day?” she said.
“Well, not all day, every day. But yeah.” He drank some wine. “Every day. I guess that sounds a little desperate.”
Any answer—even Yes, that sounds desperate—anything at all, would’ve been easier than the silence that followed as she sipped her wine and thought her private thoughts. Daniel struggled to hide the tension that felt like it was about to rip him in half. He noticed his own hand shaking as he sipped his wine, hoped she didn’t notice it too.
Waiting…his heart pounding out the seconds that passed in silence.
Waiting…and reminding himself to breathe.
Waiting…each second a lifetime.
Finally Julia approached with an expression he couldn’t read and put her palm flat on his chest and said, “OK, but you can’t just walk back into my life and claim me as your girlfriend. If we do this, we take it slow. We go out on dates. If we like it, we go on more dates. And who knows? Maybe it leads to a
relationship. Maybe it leads to forever. But we don’t just pick up where we left off fourteen years ago. We start anew.”
Daniel clinked his plastic cup against hers. “I’ll drink to that.”
As they drank, the radio DJ said, “And this one goes out to all the broken-hearted lovers in the Crescent City. Leroy Jones, with Mood Indigo.”
Daniel turned up the volume, put his wine down on the table. “Dance with me,” he said.
They danced, her hands behind his head, his hands on her waist. And as they danced, they kissed. Soft, inquisitive getting to know you kisses that became stronger, declarative I remember you kisses and finally grew into passionate, demanding I want you right here right now kisses.
Coming up for air, Julia said, “Wow.”
“Wow, indeed,” said Daniel.
She reached for her glass, drank some wine, and shared some with him from her mouth. “Can I ask you something?” she said.
He smiled and rolled his eyes. “Yes, I’ve really been celibate for fourteen years.”
“Gawd am I in trouble,” she laughed. She drank some more wine and they kissed again. “Say, do they still have that horrible yellow tartan fold-out couch in the office downstairs?”
They did.
Daniel woke by the light of morning, on the fold-out couch in the office, limbs intertwined with Julia. He kissed the top of her head and smelled her hair, and she purred against his chest.
“Mmm, what time is it?”
He looked at his watch. “Eight thirty.”
“Oh my God.” She jumped naked out of bed and scrambled around the room, collecting scattered articles of clothing and putting them on. “I gotta run.” She paused at his side, leaned in for a quick kiss. “Don’t take it the wrong way, that was wonderful, really. I’m late for work.”
Daniel stood and got into his pants. “So, just to be clear: while we’re starting anew and taking it slow and going on dates and then more dates if we like the first dates,” he gestured at the bed, “we still get to do that again, right?”
Julia looked up from fastening her bra. “Oh, fuck yeah.”
They grinned at each other for a second. “Good,” he said. He put on his shirt.
“But maybe next time we’ll try some place that doesn’t smell like liniment and sweat socks,” she said.
She finished dressing, and he walked her out through the gym and down to the front door.
“See you later,” she said.
“I’m counting on it.” A quick kiss, and he unlocked the door, and she stepped out into the bright sunlight.
He watched her walk away until she turned the corner.
A tall blond priest walked by him and into the gym, saying, “Hello, Daniel,” as he passed.
Oh shit. Conrad…
Daniel ran in after him.
Conrad wrinkled his nose and made a face. “My God, Daniel. You still reek of the woman.”
“What are you doing here?”
“You’re a priest,” said Conrad.
“Not anymore. Didn’t Nick tell you?”
“There’s a protocol to be followed. You can’t just walk away from it.”
“Yeah, well, I did.” Daniel crossed the gym to the fridge, opened an energy drink. “You guys go on and hold a trial in absentia, find me guilty, declare me the spawn of Satan, do whatever you’re gonna do. I’m out, and I’m not coming back.”
“And what? You’re going to live happily ever after with Jezebel?”
“Fuck you, Conrad.”
Conrad Winter let out a melodramatic sigh. “Father Nick is sick over this, you know. I tell you, the old man is heartbroken.”
“Tell him I’m sorry,” said Daniel. He meant it.
“He actually got Cardinal Allodi to sign on to a full pardon for you, if you come back in contrition.”
“Tell him thanks but no thanks.” Daniel sipped his energy drink. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll see you out.”
Conrad nodded, like he’d expected the rejection and couldn’t be bothered to argue the point. Daniel walked him back through the gym. Along the way, Conrad said, “You don’t want to be a priest anymore, you want to break your vows, that’s between you and God. And I understand Trinity’s your uncle, but for the sake of everything holy, pause to think about what you’re doing by helping him. Think about the consequences. He could be the Antichrist for all you know.”
“Spare me.” Daniel walked him down the stairs to the door.
“If you let him make the speech today,” said Conrad, “you will only buy yourself a world of heartache. Fair warning, Daniel.”
“Fine,” Daniel unlocked the door, “fair warning.” He gestured to the street. “Have a nice life.”
Walking back to his car, Conrad dialed the number he’d just recently added to his cell phone and waited for his lost sheep to answer.
They’d been working on the young man for three days straight. Three days straight, in a windowless room with bright lights shining around the clock; sleep limited to one hour in every twenty-four; sustenance limited to high-fat, high-carb, low-nutrition, low-fiber fast food garbage and high-sugar sodas, wreaking havoc with the body’s insulin levels; choral music playing the entire time, without interruption; a crucifix on every wall, and a near-constant stream of religious talk from a priest in a clerical collar.
It was a remarkably simple thing to push an already lost sheep deeper into the dark woods and over the edge of insanity. It just took the will to do it.
The young man answered the phone, finally.
“It’s Father Carmine calling,” said Conrad. “Yes, the Lord’s shepherd, that’s right. Do you remember what we discussed last night?”
He unlocked the car and got in.
“It has now become necessary, my son. The Lord needs your help.”
He closed the door, stuck the key in the ignition.
“You know, in a way I envy you. You’re a very privileged young man, very special. Of all His children, the Lord has chosen you. Everyone needs God, but it is the rare soul who is needed by Him.”
He started the ignition.
“That’s right, this afternoon. You remember where? Apartment 301, key under the mat. Everything you need is waiting there. Just like we talked about. Remember, it must be at one thirty, not before.”
He pulled away from the curb.
“You are truly blessed, my son. You have God’s grace upon you, and your reward will be great in heaven.”
He broke the connection and tossed the phone on the empty passenger seat, thinking: ALEA IACTA EST.
The die is cast.
Daniel sat in the passenger seat, staring at the photo of Lucien Drapeau he’d taped to the dashboard, committing every detail to memory, visualizing what that face would look like from different angles. He tried to listen as Trinity made small talk from behind and Pat bantered back from behind the wheel. He caught enough of it to toss a line in now and then and help keep the mood light for his uncle, but it was a struggle.
Last night, with Julia, he’d seen the full promise of his future self. There was a life ahead, a life to be lived in the world, outside the authority of the Church, a relationship with God more directly felt, if less clearly defined. The life of a free man, and all the uncertainty and responsibility that comes with it.
He wanted that life. He wanted the chance to discover what kind of man he could be in that new world.
He’d found it all, just in time to risk it all.
There was a crowd gathered under the blazing sun, on the boulevard’s neutral ground directly in front of the Ninth Ward Bethel African Methodist Episcopal Church. About 120 people in all, young and old, drunk and sober, some in their Sunday best, some in dirty jeans and threadbare shirts, others dressed like they’d just dropped in from a voodoo ceremony.
Daniel looked out at the crowd as Pat pulled to a stop at the curb and threw it in park. It wasn’t a huge crowd, but it was enough to start.
Most impressive of all we
re the costumed Mardi Gras Indians—a riot of color, a blur of green and yellow and red and blue, pink and purple, glittering sequins and shiny beads—dancing and spinning through the crowd, making the children laugh, with huge feathered headdresses waving in the humid breeze.
Tim Trinity hopped out of the back seat and Priestess Ory welcomed him with a hug and led him toward the crowd.
Pat pulled the keys from the ignition. “Last chance to back out of this cockamamie plan.”
Daniel watched the scene through the windshield. His uncle was dancing with a Mardi Gras Indian chief, making faces at two small boys who convulsed with laughter at the sight. “Don’t want to,” he said.
“OK.” Pat grabbed his backpack and handed Daniel a walkie-talkie wired to an earpiece. He pointed at a button on the top. “Push to talk, flip the switch to lock it in talk mode if you need both hands.” Daniel clipped the unit to his belt on the opposite side of his gun and inserted the earpiece. Pat pressed the button on his own walkie-talkie. “Read me?”
Daniel nodded. “Very loud.”
“Good.” Pat pointed at the photo taped to the dashboard. “Take a minute,” he said. “Tim’s life depends on you being able to recognize this asshole.”
Daniel had been staring at it the whole way from Saint Sebastian’s. That’s why he’d asked Pat to do the driving. But he took another minute now to examine the face of the man who’d come in from Montreal to murder his uncle.
He nodded to himself, snatched the photo off the dashboard, stuck it in his pocket, and put his sunglasses on.
Pat donned his own sunglasses, then pulled a lime-green plastic bowler hat from his backpack and put it on his head. He said, “Tell me true now, does my butt look big in this?”
Daniel couldn’t help but smile. “Not at all,” he said, “very slimming.”
“It’ll help you spot me in the crowd, brother.” Pat opened the car door. “Let’s go do this.”
Reverend Tim Trinity and Mambo Angelica Ory started walking together, and the people walked with them, down Caffin Avenue, passing one- and two-story homes, some mid-renovation with camping trailers parked in their driveways or on their lawns, others still boarded up, still bearing the spray-painted symbols left behind by soldiers after the flood waters receded, the number at the bottom of each symbol indicating how many bodies were found inside.
The Trinity Game Page 29
