“I see.”
“Now adultery, on the other hand – gotta clean slate on that one.”
“OK.”
“I mean, don’t get me wrong, Father, I’m just a man. I’m not immune to the urges. That Angelina Jolie, for example – I’d drink a tub of her bathwater if she wasn’t a married woman.”
“She is actually divorced now.” It surprised Father Gabriel, who didn’t read the papers or watch TV, that he knew this, but somehow, he did.
“Is she? Right, well, I’d better get a move on then. See you, Father!”
Despite himself, Father Gabriel smiled.
“Wait, does the Catholic Church still take a dim view on divorce?”
“It does, but I’m not sure that’s your biggest obstacle.”
“Ouch,” laughed the man. “Low blow, Padre. Low blow.”
Gabriel tensed. “Oh Lord. I am very sorry, that was completely inappropriate of me.”
“What? Relax, Padre – ’twas a good joke. I was only messing with you.”
Gabriel breathed a sigh of relief. “OK then.” He had also never been very good at jokes. He had tried to learn that too, but levity, again, was not in his nature. “Let’s get to your confession then, shall we?”
“Fair enough,” said the man. “Where was I? Stealing – haven’t done any of that.”
“Good.”
“Actually, well – now, let me think. I suppose technically I’ve, well – no, no. I think I’m alright. Don’t mind me. Where was I?”
“I’m not exactly sure.”
“Keep holy the Sabbath? Not great. I used to be a copper. Had to work it a lot.”
“Working on Sunday is fine. All God asks is that you make time to come to Mass.”
“Right.” There was a pause. “I’ve not really been doing that either. Sorry, Padre.”
“OK.”
“Honour thy father and mother? That’s a long story. Also – side note – I don’t know if you can pass this up the tree, but I could really get behind a few additional Commandments.”
“You would like to rewrite the Ten Commandments?”
“Not rewrite, just, y’know, add to them. Like, for instance, no littering. I think we could all get behind no littering, couldn’t we?”
“It is very annoying.”
“Right. And people with loud car stereos and the windows down, that annoys the bollocks off me. Oh, and adults riding their bicycles on the pavement – sorry, ‘the sidewalk’, as you call it over here – that drives me fecking spare.”
“Yes. I think perhaps we should get back to your confession, don’t you?”
“Right. Sorry, Padre. Sorry.” The man’s voice lowered in tone and became quieter. “Thou shalt not kill.” There was a long pause. “That’s a tricky one.”
Father Gabriel sat back in his seat; this had taken an unexpected turn. “How so?”
“Well, there’re justifications, aren’t there?”
“Are there?”
“Like in a war, soldiers have to do what they have to do. I mean, within reason.”
“Have you fought in a war?”
“No.”
“Did you say you used to be a policeman?”
“That’s right.”
“Well, deaths in the line of duty, while unfortunate… If you were acting to protect others, those are not a sin.”
“Yeah.”
“Provided there was no other option. As the Bible says, vengeance is the Lord’s.”
Gabriel, his ears ever alert, heard a rustling sound from the other side of the latticed wall and, on instinct, his left hand slid down to the small blade strapped above his ankle, hidden under his sock.
“Right, yeah. The vengeance thing, that’s tricky. First time I killed someone was – well, whenever Princess Diana died.”
“Ah, I see.”
“Oh God, sorry – that sounded wrong. I mean, not her. That wasn’t me.”
“I didn’t think…”
“Right. Good.”
The silence hung between them. Gabriel pulled his left hand back to his lap, holding the rosary beads as he worked them through his fingers.
“He was… If you know a man is going to kill – going to kill again – then ending him is sort of justified, isn’t it?”
Gabriel pushed up his glasses and pinched his nose between his fingers. “This man – could he have been brought to justice?”
“No. It wouldn’t have been possible.”
“I see.”
“Here’s the problem though. A part of me was glad about that.”
“Ah.”
“Yeah. That was the first time I ever…”
“There have been others?”
“Oh God, I’m not some serial killer or something. I mean, I killed somebody last year, but they were trying to kill me. That was one hundred per cent self-defence.”
“OK.”
“Two other people died too, but technically I only wounded them, and they were all there to kill me. I mean they were properly assassins, like.”
“I see.” Gabriel slid his hand down towards his ankle again. “And why were these people trying to kill you?”
“Well, ah… Now, this is going to sound bad.”
Gabriel said nothing, deciding to let the man say what he needed to.
“They were trying to kill me because I’d killed somebody about twenty years ago.”
“Was this the person you mentioned previously?”
“No, somebody else.”
“Right.”
“But, again, that was in self-defence. Not lost a wink of sleep on that one. That fella was a monumental prick – pardon my French.”
“Do you consider yourself to be a violent man?”
There was another pause. “Well now, I’d… You’d have to say that, I suppose. Thing is, with all due respect, Padre, I’ve seen a different side of the world than you probably have. I’ve fought for what I believe is right and I’d like to think I’ve been on the side of the angels. I’ve tried to protect those that needed it and stop those that needed stopping.”
“I see.”
“If you don’t mind me saying, you say ‘I see’ a lot, Padre.”
Gabriel shifted in his seat. “Well, you see…” He grimaced. “I mean, it is not my job to judge you, my friend, it is God’s. I am here to simply connect your call.”
“Right, yeah. Course. Sorry. Although, speaking of that, that’s sort of why I’m here.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“I think you might be able to help me.”
Gabriel slipped the blade out this time.
“You see,” continued the man, “this guy from twenty years ago. He had taken a friend of mine prisoner – a good friend of mine. A woman. Well, we were together, if you get my meaning.”
“Sure.”
“And he was going to kill her. She was an American who’d been snuck out and brought to Dublin for her own protection. A lot of bad stuff had happened to her.”
“And she needed protection from this man?”
“Yeah. Him and his ‘fellow travellers’, if you like. The woman, her name was Simone and… I loved her.”
A silence descended again, as if the other man was lost in thought. Gabriel decided to give him time. Eventually, the other man coughed, bringing himself back from wherever he’d gone. “Sorry, Padre, I just… Y’know, I don’t think I ever said that out loud before. I said it to her once, and that went badly. Still. It’s the truth. Most everyone who knows me thinks I’m dead. I left behind my whole life in Ireland – the world I’d built for myself and everything else I love – because this woman, Simone, is in trouble and I had to come here to try to help her.”
“I see.”
“Maybe she doesn’t need it. Maybe what I feel isn’t what she feels. Regardless, she has a lot of people after her. Although, d’ye know, it weirdly only occurred to me last week… Twenty years. She could be dead from natural causes or… y’know. I co
uld be over here like Don Quixote, tilting at windmills. But still, for all that, the woman is in danger and bad people are looking for her. If she’s alive, I’ve got to find her first.”
“If what you say is true, I wish you luck, but I do not see how I can help.”
“Well, funny you should ask. A few days ago – Christmas Eve, to be exact – well, myself and a couple of friends, we try to help out women in need of assistance. Y’know, dealing with violent partners. And we helped this woman, Helena. Her ex-husband had tracked her down.”
“Do I want to ask how you ‘helped’ in this situation?”
“Actually” – the man’s voice brightened – “you can. I didn’t even punch anybody, ’twas all non-violent.”
“That is good.”
“Yeah. I mean, there was a bit of Tasering and a pinch of tranquillising, but very little actual violence. The fella and his helper got arrested.”
“So you worked with the police?”
“Not exactly. The point is, it was handled in a mostly – almost entirely – non-violent way.”
“Good.”
“We even broke into an orphanage and left presents.”
“That was you?” Father Gabriel had heard about that; Rosario had shown him an article at the time. The paper had called it a Christmas miracle.
“Yeah, that was us.”
“How does that relate to this woman?”
“Ah, it’s a long story. Point is – stick one on the good deed column. Now, where was I? Right – this woman, Helena. She knew someone who knew someone. Said a friend of hers had heard about a Father Gabriel in the Bronx and how he’d helped a woman escape from a bad situation by putting her in contact with a group of nuns.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about.”
“With all due respect, Father, I think you do. You see, my Simone, how she got out of New York was with the help of a bunch of nuns. The Sisters of the Saint.”
“I have never heard of these sisters.” Gabriel winced; he had said it too fast.
“They’re not proper nuns. I mean – well, they are – but they’re excommunicated or something. I dunno, nobody ever explained the exact details. What I do know is that they help women who need help and they fly so far below the radar they’re almost impossible to find. I’ve been in New York for nine months, Padre, and you’re the first decent lead I have.”
“I cannot help you.”
“Respectfully, Father, I don’t believe ye. All I’m asking is that you contact them. Bernadette. Assumpta. They know me. Tell them it’s Bunny McGarry, and that Simone is in danger.”
“I am sorry, sir, but I do not know these people. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“That’s like telling a man in a burning building that no, you can’t have the water, but how are you for marshmallows? Here.”
A piece of rolled-up paper was pushed through the slats in the wood. “That’s a number that I can be reached at. I’ll have it on twenty-four hours a day. I’ll be waiting for your call.”
“Please, sir, you need to listen. I cannot help you, because I do not know these nuns of which you speak.”
“I really hope that isn’t true, Padre, as you might be the only thing standing between an innocent woman, a good woman, and a pack of evil bastards who will stop at nothing to get what they want.”
Father Gabriel sat in silence as he listened to the man stand up at the other side of the booth. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a long walk and they say it might snow.”
Father Gabriel sat and looked at the piece of rolled-up paper, stuck between the slats.
Chapter Two
B danced along the edge of the world and threw punches at the sky.
“S… s… stop doing that.”
She executed a neat pirouette and worked her way back along the two-foot-wide stone wall. “Float like a butterfly, sting like a B!” She threw a five-shot combo and then raised her hands above her head.
Emilio rolled his eyes. “You’ll drop like a st… st… stone if you’re not careful.”
“Not even gravity can defeat me! You feel me?”
Trey sat on the edge, his chin resting on the barrier’s thick metal bar, and let the bickering of his two closest friends wash over him. He watched the streets, eight storeys below, through a pair of old binoculars with a cracked right lens. He had spent a lot of time up here over the years – they all had – but he still found it mesmerising. “B, gravity can definitely defeat you. I mean, I know you’re still buzzing from being the state champion and all…”
“Undefeated!” she hollered at the top of her lungs.
“But think how sad a pancake you’ll make on the sidewalk. All that wasted potential.”
B pouted and stepped back onto the roof. “You two are downers. I need a couple of real hype men. Just for that, I ain’t gonna let you carry my belt to the ring.”
“Y… y… you don’t got a belt. You got a cup.”
“I don’t got a belt yet – yet! You heard that man last night, I’m gonna go to the Olympics, baby!”
“Where you get a medal,” said Trey. “Not a belt.”
Despite having taken up boxing only twenty-three months beforehand, Bianca had made all-state as of last night, when she won her match in the first round. In amateur underage bouts, stoppages were a rare occurrence, because of the thick headgear and padded gloves, but it hadn’t been much of a contest, in truth. It turned out that the girl Trey had known since she was two had grown into a fifteen-year-old with what one organiser described as “some of the fastest hands he’d ever seen on any boxer”. They’d gone back to teasing her relentlessly since then, but last night, he and Emilio had been hugging each other in the bleachers and hollering in delight.
Emilio was over by old man Dianelli’s pigeon coop, industriously scooping seed out of a bag and placing it in the feeder. His Dolphins cap, like always, was firmly on his head. Trey suspected he slept with it on. The only time he took it off was when forced to do so in school, and even then it went back on as soon as the bell sounded. A Dolphins cap was a ballsy move in New York, representing a rival football team that was in the same division as the Jets. Trey was one of the few who knew the truth. Emilio didn’t care for football, but the dude really loved dolphins.
“C’mon,” said B, “let’s go do something.”
“I gotta f… feed the pigeons.”
“Man, why do you spend so much time on them racist birds?”
Unnoticed, Trey rolled his eyes. They had gone around this loop a lot – pretty much every day for a month, ever since Emilio had taken responsibility for the pigeons.
“B… b… birds aren’t racist!”
“Those birds are owned by a racist. He used to always be talking to them. I bet he told them all kinds of messed-up shit.”
“Mr D is just old.”
“Yeah. Racist and old. Old racist honky.”
Bianca had a love of the word honky, despite being white herself. While they’d never discussed it, it was noticeable that, despite Emilio being of Puerto Rican descent and Trey being black, it was the white girl who got all fired up on the subject of racism. Trey supposed it made sense, with the weird way their tight little group worked. The three of them had been inseparable since damn near birth. Trey had got into it with Darnell Wilkes last year, when he’d been making up those lies about B; and B had gotten into more than a few fights over the years, if anyone dared to mock either Emilio’s stutter or his lack of a working right arm. A broken neck suffered as a child meant he could barely move it. It had also led to him being raised by his grandma. His parents had gone to jail, and that was the last he’d seen of them – except for a card that had turned up three months after his twelfth birthday.
“Grandma says Mr D is alree… r… right,” said Emilio.
“That’s only because she’s too deaf to hear everything he says.”
That was true. Mrs Fuentes was deaf and getting deafer, although she seemed
to always understand Emilio, even if everyone else had to shout.
B noticed Emilio’s glare and backed off. He was sensitive on the topic of his grandma. She held her hands up. “I’m just saying. C’mon, let’s go!”
Trey caught B’s eye. “Stop busting his balls, man. You know he’s gonna do the thing until it’s done. My boy ain’t never left anything unfinished. He is fastidious in his duties.”
“Yo, Emilio,” Bianca said around a toothy grin, “Einstein over here just called you a fast idiot.”
“Cool. I n… n… never been called f… fast before.”
Trey surveyed the area around them. Even on an overcast winter’s day, he could see the whole of Coopersville from up here. They’d come joint last in a “desirable places to live in New York” article in the paper last year. A run-down island of poverty in the Bronx that had so far withstood every wave of urban gentrification. Rich folks might always be looking for their next cheap property investment, but not in an area known for poverty, gang violence and drugs. Their building stood right in the middle. To his left was the Philpott housing project, Los Diablos Rojos territory; to the right, Bleacher Street marked the start of C-Boys territory; and behind them, that was New Bloods. Trey found it depressing that, despite the warfare that had raged as a permanent backdrop to his life, nothing ever really changed. It was like the trenches he’d read about in World War One – only here, whole generations had run into the machine gun fire, for no discernible ground gained.
“Hey, Trey,” said Bianca, “if you want to come back to school with us, I’d happily jab you a couple of times, see if I can knock some points off that monster IQ of yours?”
“I dunno,” said Trey. “If talking to you my whole life hasn’t done it, pretty sure nothing will.”
Trey didn’t look around as he felt the air move. Bianca had recently taken to throwing volleys of punches at his head, close enough that he could feel the breeze on his skin. Despite his instincts, he studiously ignored it. He knew that if she found out it annoyed him, she would do it a whole lot more. It was also noticeable that she never did it to Emilio.
I Have Sinned Page 2
