The man was turning redder, the priest noted. Good. Anger creates mistakes.
“Fuck you. How do you know who I am, you sick bastard?”
“A good priest always knows his flock. It’s a shame you couldn’t join us more often, Mr. Borata. But I did enjoy your son’s visits. Bobby, wasn’t it?” he taunted.
The man appeared stunned, precisely the effect the priest had hoped for. He could almost feel the wheels turning in the man’s brain, perhaps putting things together for the first time, and Father Tarat took great satisfaction from his expression. He started to smile when he was yanked off his feet again.
“Did you hurt my boy? Did you hurt my fucking kid?” the man spat in his face.
The priest remained smug, unconcerned about the threat. He whispered this time, “If I did, you would be well served to leave things in the past, like your boy has, and let bygones be bygones. For example, you wouldn’t like his life to be upended by embarrassing pictures of a precocious young man getting into circulation...”
The man grabbed the priest’s throat and pushed him over the desk backward, squeezing with all of the power he could summon. The priest didn’t struggle; he just continued to smile.
The door popped open as a hospital administrator stuck her head in. “What the hell is going on in here?” She stared at the two as they rose from their positions.
“Do you know who this is?” the man asked.
The priest intervened. “Now, sir. Let’s be careful. I suppose I could file assault charges. We do have a witness here...”
The man pushed past the administrator and left, hands clutching the sides of his head.
“Are you alright, Father Goodman?” the administrator asked.
“It’s okay. Everyone has their own way of dealing with grief. He’ll come to accept what he cannot change.”
She left, and the priest began to gather his things. I should’ve relocated. It’s time to get out of Dodge.
THEY SAT AT WYLA’S long, empty bar. Lucius was busy closing blinds and turning on the exterior lighting as darkness fell. The drum-roll of the rain on the aluminum awning outside got louder as he opened the door and then shut it.
“This fucking weather is depressing,” Moses said.
Tommy sat next to him, catatonic. A neglected cup of coffee slowly cooled in front of him.
“Listen, Tommy...I know this is a hard thing to digest. I can’t even imagine. That night, Thanksgiving, at the shelter, I talked to your boy some about this...”
Tommy snapped out of his stupor. “You knew? You fucking knew?” he shouted.
“Hold on,” Moses replied. “He implied something had happened...”
“Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t Bobby tell me?”
“I had no details, Tommy, and he didn’t want to go into it. I was focused on how he was doing, not all of that. He’s come to terms with it to some extent, but he’s angry. I asked him to talk to you about it, to open up. He said he couldn’t a long time ago, that you wouldn’t have accepted it, would’ve blamed him...”
Tommy began to cry. “He’s right, too. He’s damn right. I wasn’t there for him. I wondered why he changed all of a sudden. I ridiculed him, called him names...”
“He understands all of that. It’s a tough thing for any family. He loves you, Tommy.”
“I don’t know what to do, Moses. I have to go home and talk to him and figure out what to do about this.
“A lot more than the weather is depressing. Maybe God is in nature like the Indians believed, and this weather is the second coming. Maybe it’ll be a natural rapture, and the Earth will reject us all like the cancer we’ve been on this planet.”
“I don’t think I’ll be around long enough for all that,” Moses said.
“I’m only a lap behind you anyway. Let’s figure this out together. I need you to help me get through this, Mos.”
Moses didn’t answer for a while; he appeared lost in thought.
“Yeah, together,” Moses said. “Maybe you can take me around tomorrow to the VA hospice unit and check out what that’s like, and some of those other places they talked about. We’ll have a nice day of it, picking out a place for me to die.”
“Of course I’ll take you around. Don’t jump to conclusions, though. I know it sounds bad, but you hear all these stories, right? Where people say the doc told them they had a month and they’re still around five years later?”
Lucius put another shot and beer in front of Moses, stacked up the empties and took them away. “You okay?” he asked Tommy.
“Not really, Lucius, but nothing else for me right now, thanks,” Tommy responded.
They sat in silence, watching sports on the television overhead.
“Anyway, forget about the priest. He’ll get his. Focus on your boy,” Moses said, slurring as he spoke.
They’d been quiet for so long that the comment startled Tommy. He realized it was getting late.
“Don’t worry about that right now either, Mos. You’re sick, you have to focus on you and nothing else. He damn sure isn’t going to the same place you are.”
“I don’t see you letting this go. I think you got a plan, and you’re cutting me out.”
“You heard the doc today. I don’t want you in this. You don’t need the stress right now. Besides, I lied to you that night. I never killed anyone. I can’t be sure, anyway. I was a bad shot in ‘Nam. And like you said, that priest is probably long gone.”
“So that means I’m fired, huh? You going to do this without me? Bullshit,” Moses answered.
“No, no. Not like that. Let’s take a break from thinking about it.”
Moses leaned back and fished for something in his pocket. “I have something for you, Chief.” He pulled out a gold medallion on a long chain and handed it to Tommy.
Tommy admired it. “What’s this? Saint Michael? Listen, Mos—you know I don’t believe...”
“Yeah, I know. You’re no saint. Neither is Saint Michael. He’s an archangel. He’s your type of guy. He’s a spiritual warrior—he was all about fighting evil and protecting the innocent. He’s a vigilante, and the patron saint of cops and military.”
“Wow. Sounds good to me, brother.” Tommy put the chain over his neck, then unbuttoned his top shirt buttons so it would be visible. He admired himself in the clouded mirror behind the bar. “I like it.”
Moses excused himself and headed to the men’s room.
Lucius came over and removed his headphones. “He’s not doing too well, is he?” he asked Tommy.
“No. Not good at all, Lucius.” They could hear the sounds of retching from behind the flimsy men’s room door.
Moses returned and downed another shot, then drained his beer. “Let’s get the fuck out of here. Give me a ride home, please, and then get your ass home to your kid. I need time alone right now, Tommy. And you need to get things right with Bobby and Margie. She’s probably worried sick about where you been all day.”
“She’d never think to look here, that’s for damn sure.”
Tommy settled up the tab, including his usual generous tip.
They were halfway to Moses’s place when Tommy decided to break the ice. “You know what; this life here is a temporary thing, Moses. We’re completely forgotten about after what, two generations? We think the bugs have it bad, some of them only live a day or two. It’s the same shit for us. Life is like a quick blink of light. What comes after for us is forever, I think. I hope. Maybe we can hang out there, in eternity.”
Moses thought for a few minutes and then answered, “Listen. The way I look at it, everything in this world is now irrelevant for me. You’re right. Now I see how temporary all this is, all our problems and struggles. I'm going to find out the answer to the biggest mysteries in the world. Soon I’m going to find out what comes after this. I’m going to meet God and Jesus if they exist. I’m going to find out if there’s aliens.”
He paused to reflect. “When I was a kid, I always wanted to be a
damn astronaut. Then Daddy said one day, ‘There ain’t no black astronauts, you dummy,’ and that was that. You know how excited those astronauts must get before they go up into space? This is better.
“And you know what, Tommy? You know why I’m euphoric instead of sad right now? I’m going to be with my sweet Angie again, for the first time since they put me behind bars. She died when I was in, and I’ve been a prisoner in this life since I got out, because I have to live in a world without her. I’m going to finally be free, Tommy. Free of all of the struggle and hate in this world.”
With the last of his words, they pulled up outside Moses’ apartment. Lukas and a few of the Black Eagles were loitering on the stoop or sitting on their bikes. Moses exited the car sloppily. He fished in his pocket and pulled out a key, tossing it to Tommy. “Take this and use it next time you stop by, before you break my damn window.”
Tommy called out to the young men, “Take care of him, he’s had a rough day and a few too many tonight. Get him up and get him to bed. Mos—I’ll see you tomorrow sometime. I love you, man.”
Two of the Eagles took Moses under the arms and helped him up the steps to the entrance.
Tommy watched, then pulled away and headed home. Despite the sadness of the drive, he felt good about removing Moses from the plan. Now it’s time to get ready to take care of business.
18 Chaos
Tommy entered his darkened home full of regret and with all the stealth his career had taught him. He avoided every creaky floorboard and stair on the way to his bedroom. His body was tired, but his mind was clear and wide awake.
His eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and he looked down on his sleeping wife. She wasn’t in her normal spot—a safe distance away from his side, across the moat that always separated them.
Now she slept on his side, on his pillow. Her graying hair was tousled, and her mouth was agape. She breathed with a thin rattle and an occasional slight gasp. Even as she slept, she wore her mask of worry.
In the dim light, he could almost smooth out the deep lines in her face and see the fun-loving, vibrant woman he’d married so long ago, before her life as a cop’s wife eroded it all. I never betrayed you, Margie. I never did the things the other guys did. That much, I’m proud of. But you betrayed me, and I never suspected. Some cop I was. No wonder I never made detective.
He wanted to wake her and tell her. He’d never told her that he never cheated. She probably assumed I was like the others, and kept herself in denial like their wives all did, for the kids.
Her hands were folded on top of her abdomen as if she were lying in state, but her rings were askew. He thought about the night of their honeymoon, and how he’d lain there watching her in her beauty and wondering what he had done to get so lucky. He reached over and straightened her rings, and she stirred but didn’t wake. She sleeps well when she’s on the sauce.
He went down the hall and entered Bobby’s room. It was moonlit, and the trophies on the dresser were all covered with a thin layer of dust. Toy figurines stood in frozen poses—knights, sorcerers, an astronaut, and several superheroes. The bookshelf held racks of neatly arranged comics. An old magic set sat in its neglected box. He never did say where he got that. I accused him of stealing it. Ribbons hung in a jumble on their pegs, sad and neglected. Most of them said the same thing: ‘Participant.’ Man, if I’d had his size when I was his age, I could’ve gone pro. His size with my heart and tenacity, now that would be something.
The artifacts in the room seemed to cover his son’s entire childhood, the things that most grown men would’ve boxed up by now. Most men are out of the house by thirty-five, too.
He thought about the one brief girlfriend Bobby had, and the boy’s acute sensitivity. A voice in him, a small voice that wanted to be part of the new kinder, gentler Tommy Borata, spoke to him a little louder this time. Reach out. Love your son unconditionally, the way he’s loved you. He moved quietly through the door, closing it behind him.
He walked down the darkened hallway and descended the stairs, again taking care not to step on the ones that creaked. Know your environment. He made a mental note to repair them over the weekend. Funny; I might be dead by then, or in the clink. He thought maybe the boy would fix them if he left a note. Even funnier.
He moved into his office and sat at the desk. The clock from the desk set he’d been given on his twentieth anniversary with the force showed the time. Almost midnight. In twenty-four hours it’ll be over. I wish I could sleep.
He scanned the mementos of his career that lined the walls. Commendations, certificates, photo-ops. Paulie was in most of the pictures, rendering the accomplishments meaningless. I couldn’t save you. I wasn’t good enough to save you. My guard was down. Some cop I was. Maybe if someone, some terminally ill hero, had taken out that bastard that shot you earlier, you’d still be around. We might be drinking a few beers, reminiscing on some fishing trip.
He checked himself in light of his wife’s recent revelation. Not if I’d found out about you and Margie though, you bastard. At least then I could’ve kicked your ass for that. Some friend; you only used me to be close to Margie. Fuck you, pal.
He looked at the few mementos from his four years in the Marine Corps. They taught me discipline and toughness. I was a warrior. He picked up a piece of paper from his desk and tacked it to the wall. It was a crayon drawing of a cop with a gun drawn, and a robber on the ground with Xs in his eyes. I always wanted to be a hero.
He sat at his desk and went over the plan again in his head. That was the agreement with Moses—nothing would be written down. No evidence. It all had to be perfect. He’d summoned all he’d learned in his years on the street and as a cop to come up with it, and he trusted his new friend and partner with his life. Now he would have to go it alone. He didn’t care about himself—he really didn’t have much to lose or live for at this point. I wasn’t a good father. I wasn’t a good husband. It will silence the demons.
He opened his gun case and inspected each weapon carefully. Each of the handguns was immaculately clean, loaded with an extended clip of hollow-point rounds, racked and ready with the safety on. One by one, they went back into the case. Tucking the kids back into bed. Tomorrow will be a long day.
He left the office and entered the darkened kitchen. Opening the refrigerator, he took a long, cold slug from the container of milk on the top shelf. After replacing it, he shut the refrigerator door, then reached up and opened the rarely used cabinet well above and behind it. It was high enough that he couldn’t see inside, but he moved his hand around like a blind tarantula until he found the bottle he knew was there and pulled it down. It was almost empty. She’s been busy with this stuff.
He opened the top and smelled the scotch inside. The scent was heavenly and filled him immediately with desire to consume it. The wave of electricity through his body was not unlike sexual arousal, and his heart, mind, and physical being all urged him to tip it up and empty it into himself. Go for it—what does it matter now? Might as well enjoy it one more time. What the hell, she does.
He held the bottle up toward the window. The light from the full moon illuminated the amber contents and made it glow like liquid gold. It called to him. You’re a stupid fucking drunk. You stayed in the patrol car so you could have the last of that flask while Paulie went in for your lunch and died. You were drunk and slow, and Paulie died.
His gaze caught the rows of pill bottles on the counter—some his, some hers, even some for the kid. They called to him as well. Why not? Because you have a job to do.
He opened his and took the prescribed amounts of each, washing them down with a handful of tap water. He picked up Margie’s pill containers one by one until he found the one labeled Xanax, opened it and removed two of the pills.
He went to the living room next and eased into the recliner. He placed the bottle of booze and the pills on the stand next to it. Without having to look, he placed his hand on the remote control and hit the power button. The local c
hannel had a classic movie running. He leaned all the way back, almost horizontal, and the chair seemed to cradle and consume him. He reached his arms back and interlaced his fingers behind his head, finally letting himself relax. His mind continued to wander, tired but restless.
THE PRIEST DIDN’T ENJOY the rigorous routine but found the anticipation that built through each step of it arousing. He moved through his small, darkened quarters, stepping around his packed suitcases to close window shades and check that the doors were locked. When he was satisfied, he entered the small study and seated himself at his desk. He disconnected his laptop’s Ethernet cable and wireless connection, and then turned it on, booting into safe mode as an extra measure of precaution. Time to relax for a bit before heading to the airport.
After the boot was complete, he opened a command shell and typed the instructions to mount an encrypted drive from its hidden partition. He entered the password carefully, as it was set to wipe the drive clean on a single bad attempt.
As he waited, he spun in his chair and double-checked that the room was properly blacked out. He turned back to the computer and opened the false calculator app, entering the proper numeric sequence to unlock the entryway to his final destination: his cherished gallery of pictures.
The secrecy and waiting had fully stimulated him, and he began to massage himself through his pants with one hand, while his other deftly controlled the mouse, flipping through the photos of his prizes.
Oh yes, this one. Such a sweet little boy. My little cherub...
Ah, Danny. So feisty. Such a difficult conquest. I so much enjoyed the challenging ones...
Little orphan Lucy, not quite my cup of tea, but variety is the spice of life, they say...
As his level of stimulation came close to its peak, he rose from the chair and moved to his small bedroom. After removing his clothing, he lay on the bed, reached over and squirted lotion onto his hand from a small container on the nightstand.
He serviced himself but struggled to get back to the pinnacle. He found his mind drifting from the laptop images to the confrontation earlier in the day. His frustration mounted as he tried to focus on the more pleasurable of the two, but was unable. He removed his hand from his now-limp dick and wiped himself clean with the bedspread as his excitement slid to anger.
Vigilante Angels Trilogy Page 12
