Day Of Confession

33

7:50 a.m.

'Warm tea,' Hercules said. 'Can you swallow?'

'Yes…' Harry nodded.

'Put your hands around it.'

Hercules guided the cup to him and helped Harry grasp it, the bandage on his left hand, like an oversized mitten, making what should have been a simple process awkward.

Harry drank and gagged.

'Terrible, isn't it? Gypsy tea. Strong and bitter. Drink it anyway. It will help you heal and bring back your sight.'

Harry hesitated, then took the tea down in a series of long gulps, trying not to taste it. Hercules watched him carefully as he drank, moving from side to side and then back again as an artist might while studying a subject. When he was finished, Hercules snatched the cup away.

'You are not you.'

'What?'

'You are not Father Daniel but his brother.'

Harry put an elbow under himself and raised up. 'How do you know that?'

'First, from the picture on the passport. Second, because the police are looking for you.'

Harry started. 'The police?'

'It was on the radio. You are wanted for murder – not the one your brother is wanted for. The cardinal vicar, that's a big one. But yours is big enough.'

'What are you talking about?'

'The policeman, Mr Harry Addison. The police detective named Pio.'

'Pio is dead?'

'You did a good job.'

'I did a -?'

In an instant it came back. Pio glancing in the mirror of the Alfa Romeo. Then sliding his gun onto the seat. At the same time Harry saw the truck directly in front of them. Heard his own voice scream for Pio to look out!

And now another part of it returned too. Something he hadn't remembered until this moment. It was a sound. Terribly loud. A thunderous boom that repeated quickly. A gun being fired.

And then he remembered the face. There and then gone, like a flashbulb illuminating something for a millisecond. It had been pale and cruel. With a half smile. And then, for some reason, although he didn't know why, he remembered the deepest blue eyes he had ever seen.

'No…' Harry said, his voice barely audible. Stunned, his eyes found Hercules.

'I didn't do it.'

'It makes no difference, Mr Harry, if you did or you didn't… All that matters is the authorities think you did. Italy has no capital punishment, but the police will find a way to kill you anyhow.'

Suddenly Hercules pulled himself up. Leaning on his crutch, he looked down at Harry. 'They say you are a lawyer. From California. You make money from movie stars and are very rich.'

Harry lay back. So that was it. Hercules wanted money and was going to extort it from him, threatening him with the police. And why not? Hercules was a common criminal living in filth under the Metro, and Harry had fallen into his lap. And whatever reason he had had for saving his life, with the new turn of events, he suddenly found he had saved a golden goose.

'I have some money, yes. But I can't get it without the police knowing where I am. So, even if I wanted to give it to you, I couldn't.'

'It does not matter.' Hercules leaned closer and grinned. 'You have a price on you.'

'Price?'

'The police have offered a reward. One hundred million lire. About sixty thousand dollars, U.S. A lot of money, Mr Harry – especially to those who have none.'

Finding his other crutch, Hercules abruptly turned his back and pushed off as he had earlier, swinging away into the darkness.

'I didn't kill him!' Harry shouted.

'The police will kill you anyway!' Hercules' voice echoed until it was lost in the distant rumbling of a Metro train passing at the end of his private tunnel. Afterward came the sound of the great door as it opened and thudded closed.

And then there was silence.