by Sandra Brown
laughed. I said the taxi driver must've gotten his churches mixed up.
Or his saints," says the Father. And we laughed some more.
"To keep him occupied a while longer, I asked if he was a New Orleans
native, and he said he'd been here ten years. But he knew all the good
restaurants. Not that he could afford them, he rushed to say, but some
of his parishioners could, and they were generous enough to invite him
out frequently. Duh-da-duh-da-duh-da. So we killed maybe ten minutes.
Enough?"
"Plenty. Now will you shut up?"
He didn't want to chat with Gregory. He wanted to reflect on those few
minutes he'd been separated from Remy Duvall by only a thin wall and a
screen. He'd been close enough to smell her perfume and to hear her soft
sobs as she confessed a sin Burke hadn't expected.
Drugs, drunkenness, adultery none of that would have shocked him But
guilt over a miscarriage? He hadn't expected that, and it had knocked
him for a loop.
All the same, he would use it to his advantage. Even while her perfume
was making him damn glad he'd never taken a vow of chastity, he'd been
in his policeman's mode, wondering how he could apply this confidential
information to the job that must be done. In a burst of inspiration not
necessarily divine inspiration he'd dreamed up a penance that fit her
sin and worked nicely into his overall plan.
But he wasn't all that happy about it.
He wished he didn't know about the baby she'd lost. That made her human.
He wished he hadn't touched her hand through the screen.
That made him human.
"Say, Basile, did you undergo a religious experience or something?"
Drawn from his thoughts by Gregory's question, Burke shot him a dirty
look.
"Because you're acting really weird. You came out of the cathedral
looking like you'd seen God." Again, Burke gave him a disparaging
glance."Okay, forget it. I guess I'm just not used to you sans mustache,
and with your hair slicked back like that. I don't think your own mother
would recognize you. The glasses are a nice touch, too."
Realizing that he'd forgotten to remove the square, horn-rimmed
eyeglasses, he did so now, dropping them on the console between him and
Gregory. The lenses were only clear glass, but it was strange that he
hadn't thought to take them off. A guy could get himself killed
overlooking a detail like that. Cop or criminal, it was the small stuff
that tripped you up.
He ordered himself to snap out of it, whatever it was. If he started
second-guessing his decision, he might waver in his determination to
avenge Kev's death. If he couldn't go through with it, he couldn't go on
breathing. It was something he had to do or die trying. His right hand
flexed around the steering wheel.
When they reached Gregory's townhouse, he wheeled into the driveway and
applied the brakes with such resolve that the car rocked to a halt.
Gregory reached for the door handle."Reluctant as I am to admit it, it
was fun. See you around, Basile. But only if I'm very unlucky."
To his consternation, Burke got out of the car along with him and
accompanied him up the brick walkway."I'm glad you had a good time.
Because you're not finished yet, Father Gregory."
Pinkie cut into his rare filet mignon."What's it called?"
K} Remy looked away from the blood-red juice oozing across his plate.
"Jenny's House. Named in honor of a three-year-old girl whose mother
abandoned her. She was starving when they found her. They couldn't save
her."
"That's incredible," Flarra exclaimed."In America, a nation of
overweight people who spend fortunes dieting, a kid actually starved to
death?"
"Horrible to think about, isn't it?"
Remy had carefully chosen a night when Flarra was joining them for
dinner to broach this subject with Pinkie. She knew Flarra would rally
to her side. Her sister was a crusader against any social injustice.
Pinkie swirled his stem of Merlot."This priest, Father?"
"Gregory," Remy supplied."He called and asked if he could meet with me
to discuss the special needs of the facility."
"Needs, meaning money." She conceded with a nod."He said they're
struggling financially to get Jenny's House open and operative."
"Places like that are always begging for donations. How come you're not
eating?" he asked, motioning down at her plate.
"I'm not very hungry."
"Your appetite was spoiled by all this talk of starving little girls.
My wife, the soft touch." He reached across the table and stroked her
hand."If it'll make you feel better, I'll have my secretary send Father
Gregory a check tomorrow." "That's not good enough," she said, sliding
her hand from beneath his.
"I want to become directly involved."
"You don't have time to become involved."
Believing that he'd put an end to it, he went back to his steak.
But Remy couldn't let the matter drop. This was more than just a need
for a hobby. It was a spiritual matter. The priest had said, "Maybe if
you did something to benefit children ..."
Jenny's House had been a direct answer to her prayers. She'd asked for
an opportunity to atone, and it had come in the form of Father Gregory's
telephone call this morning. If this is what God wanted her to do, not
even Pinkie Duvall could deter her.
Keeping her voice casual, she said, "I have a i that aren't committed to
anything else."
"I think it would be good for her, Pinkie," Flarra chimed in.
"She's been so despondent lately."
"I have not," Remy said.
"You've noticed, too?" Pinkie ignored Remy's protest and addressed
Flarra.
She nodded, her black curls bouncing."For months she's been a real
drag."
"Thank you."
"Well you have, Remy. It must be true if both I and my favorite
brother-in-law noticed." She batted her eyelashes at him."May I please
have some wine?" "No, you may not," Remy said, answering for him.
"Jeer, no public school. No boys. No wine. I might just as well live on
Mars."
"Sister Beatrice would have a fit if we returned you to the convent
tipsy."
"I bet Sister Be takes a nip on the sly. Can we talk about Mardi Gras?"
"Not tonight." Pinkie had let the conversation between her and Flarra go
uninterrupted, Remy noticed. He was focused on her, and his hard
scrutiny made her uneasy."What are you thinking, Pinkie?"
"I'm thinking how much I hate the idea of my wife rubbing elbows with
riffraff."
"I don't even know what Father Gregory plans to propose," she argued.
"He may only want permission to add our name to their list of
supporters, or to ask that we encourage our friends to contribute I
won't know until I meet with him, but I'd really like to get involved in
this project. At the very least, I'd like to personally present our
check." few hours a week "Where is this new facility?"
"He didn't say specifically."
"Where did he propose the meeting take place?" "He said I could pick the
place."<
br />
His index finger impatiently tapped against his wineglass."Why is this
so important to you, Remy?"
How she answered was critical. For Pinkie to agree, he must hear
something he liked."It's important to me because little Jenny didn't
have a Pinkie Duvall appear in her life in time to save her. She wasn't
as fortunate as Flarra and I." "That gives me goose bumps," Flarra said.
Pinkie relaxed and signaled Roman to refill his wineglass."All right,
Remy, you may have your meeting. Here in the house. During the day."
"Thank you, Pinkie." "Cool," said Flarra.
Father Gregory hung up the pay telephone and turned to Burke.
"Their house, tomorrow afternoon."
During their previous conversation Father Gregory had given Mrs. Duvall
the number of a telephone in the men's room of one of her husband's own
strip joints. The sounds of bass instruments vibrated through the
paper-thin walls.
"Their house?" Burke repeated, rubbing the back of his neck."I was
expecting to meet in a public place."
"Well, no such luck," Gregory said."So it's no go, right? You have to
ditch the plan." Upon reflection, Burke said, "Actually, this might work
out better.
What time did you set the meeting?"
"Didn't you hear what I said, Basile?" "Yes. You said, their house
tomorrow. And I asked you what time."
"This is never going to work."
"It'll work. If you keep your cool and do everything I tell you to do,
it'll work."
"Maybe you think you know me, Basile, but you don't. Basically I'm a
coward. When it comes to choices, I always think of myself first."
Good. That's good. Think of yourself. If you leave me in the lurch, or
choke up and blow the sting, think of yourself in jail for a very long
time."
Gregory moaned forlornly."Even if something goes wrong that's not my
fault, you'll probably blame me."
"No, I won't. I promise," Burke told him, meaning it."No matter how this
goes down, you'll walk away free and clear."
"Free and clear? From Pinkie Duvall?" Gregory snorted scornfully.
"I nearly shit bricks just calling his house on the telephone. I
remember my folks talking about him around the dinner table when I was
still in grade school. He's a freaking legend, one of the most powerful
men in this town, if not the most powerful." "I know all about him."
"So then you know he's a damn scary character. It's rumored that he's
had people killed if they crossed him."
"It's more than rumor."
Gregory's jaw dropped open with incredulity."Yet you expect me to walk
into his house impersonating a priest, meet his wife face to face, and
take money from her?"
"Unless you want to go to jail and become the sweetheart of a guy
everybody calls Bull."
"You've used up that marker. I went to the cathedral with you and acted
out my scene. Brilliantly, I might add. That squared us." "I never said
that," Burke countered blandly."I said that if you agreed to play Father
Gregory, I'd let you off the hook."
"I assumed I only had to pose as Father Gregory that one time."
"Well, you assumed wrong. What time tomorrow?"
"You're crazy as hell, Basile."
"Probably."
Gregory had him there. This plan of his was crazy. Dramatic, yes.
Effective, assuredly. Crazy, definitely.
Since hearing Mrs. Duvall's confession, he'd thought the plan through
from every angle. There was always a damn good chance that something
would go awry, but he was taking every precaution against failure.
He'd vacated his apartment and, using a false name, had moved into
another place that was equally as disreputable. He'd ditched the Toyota
for an older model.
When in the new car, he kept an eye on his rearview mirror. On foot, he
checked frequently to see if Bardo, or someone of his ilk, was tailing
him. He was fairly certain no one was.
Had Duvall called off his dogs? After Burke declined his job offer,
Duvall might have dismissed him as insignificant. Maybe he was too
cocksure of himself to fear retribution from a bummed-out, broke,
besmirched ex-cop like Burke Basile. If he did expect reprisal, he would
be looking for it to be violent.
That's why this just might work.
"Why can't another cop play the priest?" Gregory whined."How come an
undercover cop can't be Father Gregory?"
"Because you're a better actor than anyone in the division."
Gregory still thought he was participating in a covert police action.
"Well, I quit," he said, taking a stand."I don't want to play Father
Gregory anymore. I'd rather go to jail than have Pinkie Duvall after my
ass."
Burke bore down on him."If you back out on me now, your skinny ass will
be fair game for every pervert in the Orleans Parish jail.
I'll see to it." He now had the younger man backed against the stained
wall of the men's room. Teeth clenched, Burke said, "Now, for the last
fucking time, Father Gregory, what time tomorrow?"
"What a pleasure it is to meet you, Mrs. Duvall." Gregory James smiled
disarmingly as he shook hands with their hostess."Thank you for agreeing
to see us."
She glanced beyond him to the second priest."Uh, this is Father Kevin,"
Gregory stammered."My colleague and cofounder of Jenny's House."
Burke had chosen his pseudonym in honor of Kev Stuart, which seemed
appropriate.
"Thank you both for coming," she said."I'm flattered that you want to
enlist my help."
The solarium into which the butler had shown them overlooked the rear
lawn and afforded a clear view of the gazebo. Looking at it, Burke
remarked, "You have a beautiful estate, Mrs. Duvall."
He wasn't worried about her recognizing his voice. In the confessional
he'd spoken in a muffled whisper and had faked several coughs Nor would
she make a connection between the spit-and polished Father Kevin and the
casually dressed, mustachioed man in the baseball cap who'd retrieved
her forgotten sack of oranges at the outdoor coffee bar.
"Thank you. Please sit down."
He and Gregory sat side by side on a wicker settee. She sat in a chair
facing them and asked if they would like coffee.
Father Gregory smiled at the butler."I'd love some. Decaf, please."
"Same for me," Burke said.
He withdrew, leaving the priests alone with Mrs. Duvall. And her
bodyguard.
The man's wide shoulders extended beyond the back of his chair and the
wicker seemed to be straining to support him. His dark suit was
incongruous with the sunny garden room. He looked as out of place as a
monkey wrench in a floral arrangement.
Burke had experienced a heart flurry when he entered the solarium and
saw the familiar bodyguard. Mrs. Duvall hadn't recognized him, but the
man was supposedly trained to be on the alert. Burke had given him a
pleasant smile and a slight nod. He'd grunted a greeting, his eyes
registering no recognition. Whatever Duvall was paying the dullard, it
was too much.
Mrs. Duvall addressed him as Errol."You don't h
ave to stay. I'm sure
you'll be bored with this discussion."
He thought it over, gave each of the priests a look that could have
passed for a stern warning, then stood."Okay. But I'll be right outside
if you need me."
When he left, Father Gregory turned to their hostess."Is he always like
that? Or is he sometimes dour?"
She laughed spontaneously. Burke silently thanked Gregory for putting
her at ease. So far the young man was doing an exceptional acting job.
They chitchatted easily until the butler, whom she referred to as Roman,
returned with a large silver tray and set it on a wheeled cart, from
which Mrs. Duvall herself served them coffee and small cakes frosted
with pastel icing. Her motions were fluid, effortless, natural. She
handled the heavy silver coffeepot as gracefully as she handled her
spoon, with which she stirred a single dollop of cream into her coffee.
