Embrace the Wolf

by Benjamin M. Schutz

  “We got a phone call just a little bit ago. A man said come see you. That you knew where Tony was. Well, what did he mean?”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t know. I don’t know where Tony is. I don’t know why someone would say such thing.”

  “Yeah. That’s a good question. Why? He told us why. He said there’s a killer here in our town. A child killer and he’s got Tony. That he’s seen you in confession and you know who he is. Is that true?”

  Mr. Magliotti was on his feet, vibrating with rage. His wife was shredding a tissue and looking back and forth at the men like a manic metronome. “So, so tell me. Is this true, huh?”

  Oh God. Yea, though I walk through the valley … “Yes, it’s true.” At first the priest couldn’t look at him, then slowly he did.

  “How could you do this? How could you do this? It’s Tony. He sings for you. He wants to grow up and be just like Father Gus. This is no newspaper story. He’s one of ours. It’s my son. Tell me. Tell me, God damn you.”

  He jerked the priest back and forth. In his fury, he was tearing off the lapels of his coat.

  “I cannot. It’s sacred. Anything I know from the confessional is sacred. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.” Father Shannon waved his arms, but Magliotti was not a dream. He didn’t go away. Father Shannon kept swatting until he freed himself.

  “Listen, we’ll keep it a secret. No one needs to know. It’ll be just between us. I swear to you. I promise. So help me God. Just tell us where the man is, what he looks like.” Magliotti’s hands were open now in entreaty, asking the priest to intercede for them. It was in his power.

  “I can not. God forbids it. It is my duty as a priest. I wish I could. Lord knows. But I cannot break that vow. You are Catholics. You know that.” He hoped they did or would at least tell him so.

  “So it’s your duty. Who says you’ve got to be perfect. You can’t slip, make a mistake, sin, and repent. Don’t you teach he’s a God of mercy? He’ll forgive you. Look what’s at stake here. A life, a human life. A one-time gift from God. When it’s gone, it’s gone. You don’t think your precious duty could recover a little easier. Tell me that, priest. Are you so much a man of God that you’re no longer a man of the people?”

  Father Shannon was tired. He wanted to answer him. He understood his feelings. He also felt he shouldn’t be burdened with understanding him. Though we all live our lives in God’s drama, the plot is not revealed. He could only play his part as his heart and whole being told him to. He prayed Tony would be found. How would he live with it if he wasn’t? He scourged himself: a duty to uphold can be laid down. It was a choice: his faith or a life, perhaps. Was he that selfish, that narcissistic, was his faith all important? No. An easy faith is no faith, a comfortable faith is no faith. You can’t don it like a smoking jacket and then shuck it when it binds. This is God’s will, God’s way. I am his instrument, He alone is my judge. He who asks much of us, so very much of us as He did of his own only begotten son.

  Father Shannon had found his knees. “Help me, Father, to be strong enough in this time of need, to submit to your will, to know that in the end, each act of faith hastens the return of Jesus, our savior. To believe that the good and the innocent, Tony Magliotti perhaps, will at that time and forever more sit in perfect bliss and harmony at your side. To remember that these tests are bitter, the pain so real, because only love of such strength as to endure them forges the bonds for your eternal domain.

  “It must be ‘I cannot go farther’ not ‘I will not.’ If I fall, it must be from exhaustion at trying to stay upright, not from finding the bow a better posture for a while. I can not choose to sin. I may be weak. I may fall. I may ask for his mercy and strength to help me rise up. But I can not do it on purpose as a sham. I cannot demand forgiveness because it was just too hard back there. I would be using God to ease my burdens, to accept less.”

  Magliotti stared at him, enraged, horrified perhaps. He grabbed his wife. “You’ll answer for this. I swear it. Somewhere: to the law, to the Church. I won’t let this rest. This won’t go away, Mr. Shannon. Everyone will know. I’ll spread it all over town. You’ll answer for this, you better believe it.”

  “Oh, I know, Mr. Magliotti, I will answer someday for this as I will for all the deeds of my life, and until then, I’ll question this every day I have left.”

  Magliotti grabbed his wife and hauled her to her feet. “C’mon, let’s go.” As she stumbled out behind him, a black clad reluctant pull-toy, she turned back, “Pray for us, Father. Pray for all of us.”

  Chapter 24

  Herb Saunders watched them leave. It had been quite a break hearing that lady cop talking in the restaurant. He knew beyond a doubt that Randolph was here and he’d done his work. The priest would soon know that Randolph was the rock and he the hard, hard place. He muttered to himself, “You wanted a test of faith. Okay, I’ll give you a test of faith. I told you, get between me and my girls at your own peril. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do. That was no threat.”

  Father Shannon stumbled out of the church. Saunders could see he’d had a rough go of it. Saunders prayed silently: You can save a life here. You won’t talk about him, but you could go talk to him. As the priest began to cross the street, he silently cheered him on. That’s it, look both ways, c’mon. Find him for me. Bring him to me. Come to papa. C’mon. Do it, do it, damn you. All right. Let’s go. I’m coming girls.”

  Chapter 25

  We were on the end of a caravan. An ecumenical pilgrimage to a most unholy shrine, Justin Randolph’s home, I guessed. Up ahead, a priest was leading the way. Behind him, a supplicant in search of justice. At the end of the line were the two witnesses. That’s the purest heroism left for late twentieth century man. To witness and then to testify. Anything more decisive seems to have the stature of a lesser evil. So far, that’s been good enough for me.

  The priest was the missing link. I knew Saunders. Saunders knew him. Unless there were more links to the chain he knew Justin Randolph. An unlikely pairing.

  There was a palpable intensity to the procession. The priest never looked about him, only straight ahead at the house at the end of the block. Saunders only had eyes for the priest. I felt myself dragged along in that magnetic field, knowing that something awful was waiting for us in that house. As it became clear there was only one place we could be going, I sheared off from the procession and jogged with Wendy down a parallel alley that would bring us up alongside the house. There we waited. I looked around the house. There was a back porch and deck. Across the alleyway was an apparently abandoned dry dock office. Beyond that, a small stand of concrete blockhouses painted a mushroom color and entitled U-Rent-A-Locker.

  The priest was coming up to the house. He stopped and walked around to the car in the driveway. After looking in the windows, he tried to open the doors. They were locked. The front door opened. From my position, I could hear but not see Randolph. The priest looked up at him, then bounded up the stairs, shouting “Where is he? What have you done with him? Answer me!” All he got in reply was laughter.

  The front door slammed twice. Saunders was on his way up the stairs. Things were going to get wild real soon. I turned to Wendy, “Stay right here. Don’t move. I’m going to try to go in the back way and keep Saunders and Randolph apart. If I don’t come out and tell you it’s okay in five minutes, run back to the car, right down the middle of the street yelling fire at the top of your lungs. Go to the nearest phone you can find and call Hungerford.”

  “Okay, I will.” She slipped a brief smile into my memory. I held it there like a good luck charm.

  I crouched, crab-walked down the alley’s low retaining wall, and then vaulted it into the backyard. The front door slammed one more time. Now playing: Murder in the Cathedral. I loped up the back stairs and flattened myself against the wall. Slowly, I peeked around the window frame. Randolph had a gun in his hand. He waved it back and forth between Saunders and the priest.

  The priest was livid. “Where is h
e? What did you do to him? I beg you, return him. I never revealed your secret. Why do this?”

  Randolph laughed, “You fool. You pathetic simpleton. You still don’t know what this is about. You’re a carrier, a messenger like all the rest. And the message is ‘death to you all.’” Randolph snarled as he spoke. Saunders’ face was placid. He’d found what he was looking for and it was everything he’d hoped it would be. I watched his hand move in the black bag that dangled from his wrist. “My tale to you would have been meaningless without a death for you to be responsible for. Yes, keep the secret by all means, take it to your grave, rot with it. That’s what I intended for you to do.

  “Live long, priest. Scourge yourself every day. You can’t kill yourself and you can’t share it. What an exquisite gift. A life ruined and inescapable. Any way out of this life costs you heaven. What a creation. Oh, you’re my crowning achievement, Father. What a burden you take for yourself. ‘Lamb of God, accept our sins and cleanse the world!’ Okay, you’ve accepted my sins, now live with them.” Randolph shook his head and sneered. He was delighted with himself.

  “Unfortunately, you’ve dragged this gentleman into things and complicated what was to be a vacation for me. Now I’ll have to kill you both. Fortunately for you, due to time constraints, I will have to settle for mere efficiency in doing you.”

  The priest was open mouthed, horrified, brain blasted, as if he’d just found himself on Golgotha when Jesus asked his Father to explain Himself.

  Saunders spoke softly, but without fear to Randolph as if he didn’t want to provoke him to flight. “Just one question before we proceed. You took my daughters from me. I want to know what you did with them.”

  Randolph smiled. “You must be kidding. Why should I tell you anything? You’ll be dead soon enough. What difference will it make?”

  “I need to know. I need to rest, to sleep. Even if it’s just for a moment before I die.”

  “Mercy’s not my department. Although if you begged and amused me, I might relent.” Randolph was enjoying every minute of this.

  The priest knelt and did the begging for Saunders. “For God’s sake man, I beg you, tell him where his children are.”

  Randolph howled. “Always the preface, the anchor for your sheep: for God’s sake, always His will. It’s always so clear. Well, you’ve done your part straight down the line and look where you are. Where’s your God now? I’m your god. The beginning and end.”

  “Bullshit.” The ferocity in Saunders’ voice startled Randolph. He was drawn, fascinated, to the man who, without hope or reason still defied him. “You’re a monster, Randolph. You love to hurt people and destroy things, plain and simple. All the rest is bullshit. There’s a God, and I fully intend to assist you in meeting Him.” Saunders began to pull something from his bag. The priest leaped on Randolph’s gun. I pulled back the screen door when the scream cut the air like a scythe and drew everyone’s eyes.

  “Leo. Leo. Help me!”

  I ran to the end of the deck. Wendy was gone. God damn. I’d been too damn interested in following Saunders and paid too little attention to our being followed. Damn it. I vaulted off the deck and went back down the alley. The front door to the dry dock was open.

  “C’mon in, Haggerty.”

  I focused on the voice: cocky, very cocky. Didn’t even bother with surprise. I stepped into the shadows. My eyes adjusted, picking up shades, forms, details. The slag heap on the desk spoke, “Made you a promise, city boy. You really shoulda took me up on that. Avoided a lot of trouble. Just forgot about it.

  “But you didn’t. I’m a-bettin’ you got some damn fool idea ’bout being a hero to this girl.” He shook his head to a corner where I could pick out Wendy frozen in the corner, clutching her purse to her chest and DuWayne holding her by a fistful of hair with his one good arm.

  “Now I’m sure if she didn’t think you were gonna protect her she’d know what to do. Get real forgetful like. I’m bettin’ you’re behind all this trouble. You’re what’s keepin’ her memory sharp. So’s I’m gonna show her how wrong she is. I’m gonna do such a hurt dance on you so’s you nevuh forget me.” He turned to his brother. “Bring that bitch up here. Let her see what happens to people who make trouble.”

  “What’s in it for you, Bubba? You’ve got no stake in this.”

  “Hell. He’s family. Don’t matter what he done. He’s family.”

  DuWayne dragged Wendy up to the desk Bubba sat on. “Lemme see what got you in so much trouble.” Bubba turned and took her face in his hands. He tried to eat her face. She cringed but couldn’t pull away.

  Carelessly, Bubba squeezed her breast. “Not bad. Might take a piece of you when this is all over, honey.”

  Wendy shrank back and spit in his face. I never saw him hit her, but she crashed into the wall and slid down it like a raindrop into a puddle on the floor. She wasn’t out, but definitely dazed.

  Bubba heaved himself off the desk. “Watch closely, DuWayne. You might learn something. I ain’t put a major league whipping on a man in a long time. The work’ll do me some good.”

  “What are you gonna do, talk me to death? If you want to dance, start the music.”

  When he got up, I got the bad news: Big Bubba no blubber. I took a deep breath. I knew I’d seen bigger men, but they were all made of marble. He balled up his fists and came straight at me. I moved out into the center of the floor. Bubba’s moon face had thin cornsilk hair and washed-out blue eyes. There was a mild sunburn on his heavy arms. Slope-shouldered and barrel-chested, he had bird legs and he moved well on them.

  Coming forward, he was leaning. A tad top heavy. He smiled. The man was having a party, a regular ball. With big men you’ve got to be coy, staying just out reach. Don’t let them get you into close quarters where their strength and size pay off. And you have to be patient. Wear ’em down, not tear ’em down. Then you cut them up a little bit at a time, into bite-size pieces. Or so the theory goes.

  I danced in front of him, bobbing, weaving my hands up high to protect my head. I kept my mouth shut, not baiting him. He didn’t need any more adrenaline in his mix. I wanted him to work for me. It doesn’t matter how big the body unless the engine can move it. Heart and lungs: carburetor and pistons, oxygen and blood—fuel mix. They work just as hard swinging and missing as hitting. I wanted to work him and stay in one piece until he started to stall out, misfire—then make him pay.

  I stole a glance around the room. Wendy was propped up against the wall shaking her head. DuWayne sat mesmerized on the desk like he was watching a schoolyard fight with big brother. Bubba threw a right at my head that I just slipped and circled away from. The draft from the blow almost unlaced my shoes. I fired a right jab at his nose. It flowered on his face. Let him suck a little of his own blood for once. I moved away again. He sniffled and came at me lunging and threw a long overhand right barely missing me again. Lord, let me be quick, ’cause if he ever connects I’m gonna be dead on arrival.

  I moved in a circle, Bubba lunging past me off balance. His flank was an inviting as a butcher’s chart. I went for kidney, but got short ribs instead. My hand was okay. Bubba spun on me, his eyes slits, his teeth bared.

  I set up again, eyeing him for fatigue. No such luck. It takes a well-tuned engine to move that big a frame. Bubba looked fine. I could sense DuWayne behind me. He’d have to go sooner or later. I spun and slashed my hand across his throat, knife edge to larynx, crushing it. DuWayne clutched at his throat and toppled backward over the desk. Crouching, I spun through to face Bubba. He had brought both hands thudding down on the desk. “DuWayne, DuWayne, you okay? Talk to me.” DuWayne was drumming his heels on the floor and whooping like an asthmatic in a poodle parlor. I snap-kicked Bubba’s left knee. It buckled. A backhand lashed out high on my head. I hit the wall. Move. Move. I rolled away and got to my feet. I began to circle Bubba again. He cut off the distance. Bubba’s alligator brain was starting to work. I was in trouble.

  I wasn’t sure I could hurt hi
m enough to back him up. His hands were open and poised before him like a forklift. I got to a crouch. I wasn’t about to tie up with him. He charged. I put my right hand on the floor between us and scythed my left arm in a circle, snapping my body behind it as Bubba went by, going for the single leg sweep. I hooked his ankle, but went too far past, rolling over on my side. I held on to the ankle and pulled it to my chest. Bubba was on his back, but so was I. His boot loomed above my face, and I saw the razor in his heel. I rolled back to the left as he boot cracked down. We scrambled to out feet and circled each other.

  Bubba was starting to suck wind, to breathe through his mouth. His head wobbled on its perch. His engine was starting to shut down. Soon, he’d come to a grinding halt, all of his muscles twitching and misfiring in spasms. Like a toy soldier running down, the hands weren’t held so high. The gap between the will and its acts grew ever greater. Reflexes would soon halt. I hoped I’d be there to kick his tires.

  I snuck a glance at Wendy. She was up, braced against the wall, fumbling with her purse. “Get out. Get out now.” She was wobbly. I wasn’t even sure she heard me.

  Bubba took a deep breath and got low. I circled again. He favored the leg I’d kicked in, but I hadn’t ruined it for him. He fired out. I tried to read his charge, but he leaped into the air. Too fast. Too fast. Bubba was on me. We fell backward. I tried to knee him, but without force. I pulled my chin down as I felt Bubba’s hands on my throat. I slammed my arms against his, but he had three hundred pounds braced on them like pilings for a pier. He kept his head at a safe distance so I couldn’t butt him, his chin down protecting his own throat. I spread my arms out, cupped my palms, and slammed them against his ears, driving spikes of air through his eardrums. He howled. His grip loosened, but he didn’t let go. I reached for his left arm and grabbed his thumb, peeling it backward to his wrist like a banana. He howled again. I rolled out from under him. Our eyes locked. Get up, get up. He’s too close, too close. I crabbed away trying to loosen my throat like it was a tie. Bubba shambled in front of me, swinging the arm with the useless hand.