"Purge the Evil" - a novel

by Bill Dunn

(Note: this is a work-in-progress attempt at writing a novel. Feedback, critiques, plot suggestions are more than welcomed.)
 

CHAPTER 12

Friday, November 5th, 8:35 a.m.

Most of the dozen or so people who regularly attended the 8 a.m. weekday Mass shuffled out of the church. Fr. Dan figured the youngest of the group was about age 70. Standing near the altar Fr. Dan looked anxiously toward the entrance of the building. He was exhausted from staying up most of the night worrying about Anna Rivera. They hadn’t said much when she was at the rectory. He just held her in his arms for about an hour. Then he suggested that she return home to be with her daughter and try to get some sleep. Fr. Dan escorted Anna to her apartment. When he left the rectory, arm in arm with the beautiful woman, he was seen by a couple of parishioners who wondered why their pastor had not appeared at the Liturgy Committee meeting. Immediately, the gossip mill began to buzz.

Fr. Dan didn’t doze off until almost 4:30 a.m. At most he had gotten two hours of sleep. Now, besides feeling exhausted, he also felt guilty because he had enjoyed Anna’s embrace so much. She’s grieving and you’re lusting after her, he thought to himself numerous times while he had been holding her. Oh that’s real nice, you creep, his mind accused sarcastically, as an internal war raged between Fr. Dan’s fleshly desires and his spirit. “This is getting too complicated,” he muttered to himself.

As the last few senior citizens exited, Fr. Dan saw a much taller, spry figure enter the church. Fr. Dan made eye contact and waved the man forward. “Hi Mike,” he said in a stage whisper when his brother reached the altar, “Thanks for coming on such short notice.”

“Sure, Danny,” the detective replied. “What’s up?”

The priest did not answer, but instead escorted Mike into the Sacristy, a small room behind the Sanctuary. Fr. Dan began to change out of his vestments while Mike waited impatiently.

Finally, Fr. Dan spoke. “Mike, I know you’re busy. I know you have another murder investigation to deal with.”

“Yeah,” Mike said. “You heard about it on the news?”

“No. I heard about it from the mother of the murder victim,” Fr. Dan answered. “They’re parishioners here. So now I do have to do a funeral for a—how did you phrase it?—a ‘lowlife bum’.”

“Really?” Mike said. “Luis ‘Jitterbug’ Rivera was a member of this parish? He didn’t seem like a church-going kind of guy.”

“Well, his mom and sister come to Mass a lot. I haven’t seen much of Jitterbug since his confirmation a couple of years ago, but the times I talked with him he always struck me as very nice, polite young man.”

“Hmm, that’s not exactly the way the Police Department would describe him.”

“Yeah, I figured that, Mike,” Fr. Dan said. “I mean, he must’ve been involved in some pretty nasty stuff. His mother told me he hung out with druggies.”

“Well, his mother’s partially right,” the cop said, trying to be diplomatic. “He did hang out with druggies—but mostly so he could continue to sell drugs to them.”

Fr. Dan paused in the middle of putting on his jacket. “Really?” he said with a raised eyebrow. “Jitterbug was a drug dealer?”

Mike nodded. Fr. Dan finished putting on his jacket, and the cop added, “Um, apparently he was a pretty nice guy, like you said. But he, uh, he must’ve just been one of those guys who decided that he’s gonna define what’s right and what’s wrong for himself. You know, the worst sin: deciding to play God.”

Fr. Dan paused again, then broke out in a smile. “Hey, have you actually been listening to my homilies?” he asked with mock surprise.

“Sure, whataya think?” Mike replied defensively. “I go to Mass…sometimes. I pay attention…sometimes. I’ve heard you preach about people who decide to play God. People who define right and wrong, good and evil, for themselves, based on whatever is best for them. Hell, Danny, I see that all the time in my line of work. You wouldn’t believe how many people—right after we arrest them, of course—who sincerely say, ‘I thought I was doing the right thing.’”

“Well, I’m impressed, little bro’. I’m glad you pay attention…sometimes.”

“Yeah, I hate to admit it,” Mike said with a smile, “because you’re such a pompous know-it-all!—but sometimes you do help me keep my head screwed on right. You know, sometimes we cops get so caught up in the craziness of trying to maintain law and order, we actually lose sight of what’s right and wrong ourselves. I’ve seen it happen on the force. It’s tempting to rationalize that if something works best for us, it must be right. So, big bro’, I hate to say it, but you do help me…sometimes!”

The two brothers chuckled. “Well, now I need your help. I’ve got to do a funeral Mass for a murdered drug dealer, and somehow I’ve got to provide some comfort for his grieving loved ones. I can’t screw this one up. I’ve got to help them, but I can’t just B.S. it, either. So, I want to show you my sermon notes and have you tell me if I’m exaggerating too much or ignoring important facts.”

Sure, I guess I can do that,” Mike replied. “I mean, I never met the guy, but we have a pretty large file on him. I’ll just tell you the truth. If you say he was a saint, I’ll have to tell you no. If you say he was a nice guy who got caught up with the wrong crowd, I’ll tell you, yeah, probably. If you say he’s now in Heaven, well…that’s your department. I have no clue about that stuff.”

Suddenly feeling uncomfortable, Mike changed the subject and said, “You think you need help? I’m the one who needs help. We’ve got two execution-style murders in less than two weeks! This town is turning into Hartford or Bridgeport, for God’s sake!”

“Yeah, that is unbelievable,” the priest said. “What’s going on? Is it a drug war, or some kind of gang violence thing?”

“No, that’s what’s weird, Danny,” the cop said as he rubbed his chin. “Neither of the murders fit the usual profile. The first guy, even though he was a boozer and had some drugs on him, he had no connections with any criminal activity in the area. And the second guy, Jitterbug, nobody knows this, Dan, but we found over a thousand dollars in cash stuffed into his pockets. If it was a drug deal gone bad, I can’t believe whoever shot him didn’t check his pockets and grab the money. And it was point-blank in the back of the head, too, not a drive-by spray of bullets. There was no struggle. Whoever did it took him completely by surprise. It just doesn’t add up.”

“C’mon, let’s go over to the rectory and have some coffee,” Fr Dan said. The brothers walked out a side door of the church. Fr. Dan turned toward Mike and said, “I’m sorry, but I don’t really understand how you guys investigate these kind of things and draw your conclusions.”

“Yeah, that’s another thing,” Mike said sternly. “My psycho boss won’t even let us investigate properly. He’s making us treat these murders like a couple of jay-walking tickets.”

“Who’s that? Captain…um, what’s-his-name?”

“Captain Bradford. Ray Bradford. You’ve heard me complain about him before. A real law-and-order freak. Stickler for details. Now, all of a sudden, he won’t let us work a minute of overtime to investigate the biggest crimes this town has seen in the last 50 years? Go figure.”

They reached the main sidewalk and turned right toward the rectory, which was about 100 feet down the street. They saw a women dressed in black hurry up the rectory steps and ring the front door bell.

“Hey, look’s like you have company,” Mike said. “And looks like pretty nice company, too,” he added suggestively.

“What’s that suppose to mean?” Fr. Dan asked, his eyes fixed on Anna Rivera.

“Nothing, bro’, nothing,” Mike replied, feigning innocence. “I just figure your typical rectory visitor doesn’t often look like a Victoria’s Secret model.”

“Knock it off, dammit!” the priest muttered in anger.

“Sorry,” Mike said. “Guess I touched a nerve, huh? What’s the matter, Danny?”

Fr. Dan stopped walking and grabbed Mike by the elbow. They were about 25 feet from the rectory steps. Anna turned and saw the two men. She smiled and waved. Fr. Dan forced a smile and waved back.

“Look, Mike,” he said out of the side of his mouth while still smiling at Anna. “That’s Jitterbug’s mom. Please do me a big favor. Please pray for me. Pray that I’ll be strong. I’m awfully weak right now. I need a lot of help. Pray that I don’t decide to play God.”

“Yeah, sure, Danny,” Mike said, completely confused. “Whatever you say.”

“OK, take care. I’ll see you later, you knucklehead,” Fr. Dan said. He shook Mike’s hand then walked to the rectory steps. Mike watched him for a moment, then headed back toward the church parking lot. Weak? Play God? the cop thought to himself, What did he mean by that? A number of possibilities popped into his head, the most prominent of which included the gorgeous woman on the rectory steps.

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