"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 40

Tuesday, November 30th,  6:35 a.m.

            Mike and Fr. Dan finally let go of each other and sat back in their seats inside the police cruiser. Fr. Dan explained what he had learned about the vigilante group from his phone call with Pit Bull Peterson the previous evening.

            Mike whistled and said, “Wow, that’s amazing.” Then he added, “Well, we should get over to the station now and try sort through all this.”

            “Not just yet,” Fr. Dan replied. The priest reached up and grabbed Mike’s pistol from the dashboard. He held the weapon with both hands, cupping his left hand under his right, in the classic shooting grip. He pointed the firearm toward the windshield, aiming at an invisible target.

            “No, first we have to take a little ride,” Fr. Dan said solemnly. “We have to visit Rev. Morton’s house. It’s time that we purged the evil from among us.”

            Mike looked on horrified. “Danny, what are you saying?” he exclaimed.

            Fr. Dan ignored his brother and gazed off into the distance, his jaw clenched with determination.

            “Danny, c’mon man, you’re scaring me,” Mike said. The cop suddenly became acutely aware that he was unarmed, while the man sitting next to him, although his own brother, was clutching a powerful .40 caliber pistol.

            “Don’t you think he deserves it, Mike?” Fr. Dan asked coolly. “After all, he’s the one who shot Anna’s son in the back of the head. Don’t you think justice ought to be true and swift,” he waved the pistol when he said the word justice, “rather than whatever the courts end up doing with him after who knows how many years?”

            Mike sat frozen. He didn’t know what to say. Fr. Dan continued to gaze straight ahead. Then Fr. Dan turned his head slowly and looked directly at Mike. His eyes squinted and his lips sneered with anger. Then, ever so slightly, he winked.

            Mike wasn’t sure he saw what he thought he just saw. Fr. Dan winked again. Then his clenched-jawed, tight-lipped expression gave way to a small smile. He blurted out one word: “Kidding!”

            Fr. Dan sat back and exhaled. He turned the pistol around, grabbed it by the barrel, and handed it to Mike. “Here, get this thing away from me,” he said.

            Mike finally began to breath again. “And you call me a knucklehead?” he muttered.

            Fr. Dan chuckled and said, “Mikey, I’m way too wimpy and weak to play God. I’ve been trying to do that lately, but it’s not working out so well. I suspect Rev. Morton and those other guys were trying to play God, too. Man, if we would only let God be God and get out of his way, this world wouldn’t be so screwed up.”

            Just then Mike felt a buzzing in his shirt pocket. He reached inside his jacket for his cell phone. He flipped it open and said, “Cavanaugh here.”

            After two minutes of saying only, “Uh huh,” “You’re kidding me,” and, “OK,” Mike hung up the phone. “Guess what?” he said to Fr. Dan. “That radio announcer guy, Pit Bull, he showed up at PD headquarters at 3 a.m. to turn himself in. Apparently he fell asleep in his car in the parking lot of a bar last night, and when he woke up, he drove straight to headquarters. He’s been giving a taped confession for the last three hours. When I was over there in my office a half-hour ago, I didn’t even know he was inside the building. Well, he told us everything about the vigilante group. Arrest warrants are being served right now on the minister and the car dealer.”

            Fr. Dan shook his head. “You know what, Mike, I need a drink.”

            “Whoa, it’s not even seven a.m.,” Mike said.

            “OK, then,” the priest offered, “I need to say Mass. But I’ll tell you one thing, there’s gonna be a lot of wine in that chalice this morning!”

            “Fine,” Mike laughed. “But don’t get too sloshed, because you’re gonna be giving statements at headquarters for the rest of the day, big bro’. And by the way, I’m coming to Mass this morning—and every morning from now on!”

#

The following day, Wednesday morning, four people walked out of the Sacristy door of St. Lawrence church after morning Mass. Fr. Dan Cavanaugh, Det. Mike Cavanaugh, Anna Rivera, and Maria Rivera entered the Rectory through the kitchen door.

“You’ve got to try the coffee from my new coffee maker,” Fr. Dan announced. “It tastes so much better than my old one. I’m kind of glad now that I smashed the pot on the floor.”

            The priest busied himself with the coffee, while Mike and the two women went into the living room and sat down. Mike began to explain, as gently as possible, exactly what the police had learned about the death of Jitterbug. Anna and Maria sat on the couch next to each other and listened intently. Maria held her mom’s hand when she noticed a tear streaming down her cheek.

            A couple of times Anna interrupted to ask a follow-up question. Mike attempted to clarify without being too graphic. As Mike spoke, Fr. Dan came into the room. “Coffee will be ready in a minute,” he said.

            Maria stood up and motioned for Fr. Dan to sit down next to Anna. Fr. Dan smiled and made eye contact with Anna. “No, that’s all right,” he said. “You stay there. I’ll sit over here.” He plopped down in a wooden rocking chair. Anna smiled at him and nodded.

            When Mike was finished he said, “And that’s pretty much the whole story, at least what we know right now. I’m really very sorry this happened, Anna, but I’m glad the people who did it are locked up.”

            “Thank you, Officer Michael,” she said. “I appreciate all you did to track down the men who did this.”

            “Well, don’t forget to thank my brother,” the cop said. “If it wasn’t for him we never would have caught them. And if it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t even be here right now!”

            Fr. Dan offered an embarrassed smirk, and his face began to turn red.

            “Oh, don’t worry,” Anna said. “I will thank him—later.”

            Thoroughly embarrassed now, Fr. Dan stood up and announced, “OK, coffee is ready. Let’s go in the kitchen.”

            Fr. Dan proudly held up his new, gleaming, stainless steel coffee pot. “I don’t have to worry about dropping this one,” he said with a laugh. Mike opened the refrigerator door and took out a carton of milk. The sugar bowl was already on the kitchen table. After Fr. Dan searched for some clean spoons in the silverware drawer, the four people prepared their cups.

            Everyone took a sip and then complimented Fr. Dan on his coffee-making skills. Anna put her mug down on the table and said, “We have an announcement. I wanted to tell you two first, because you’ve done so much for me,” she looked at Mike when she said this, “and you mean so much to me.” She looked directly into Fr. Dan’s eyes when she said this.

            Fr. Dan looked directly into her eyes, and he felt his face turn red again. Anna continued, “I have relatives in Albany. My uncle said he can get me a job at the state Capitol up there. And we can stay at their house until we find a place of our own.”

            “You’re moving?” Fr. Dan blurted out.

            “Yes,” Anna answered. “It’s best if we get away from the Hartford area. There are too many bad memories here.”

            Fr. Dan stood up. “Wow, I’m sorry to hear that,” he said. “But if you think it’s best…”

            Anna stood up and stepped toward the priest. She nodded her head, silently affirming that she thought it was best. Then she smiled and said, “Of course, not all the memories here are bad.”

            With that, the gorgeous woman stepped toward the priest again and gently kissed him on the cheek. Then she wrapped her arms around him and hugged so hard he gasped.

            Anna and her daughter thanked the two men again, then gathered up their coats and left. When the door closed behind them, Mike turned to his brother and said, “Uh, Danny, do you need to go to confession?”

            “Of course I do,” Fr. Dan replied. “But not for what you’re thinking, you knucklehead!”

THE END

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