Man Who Loved God

Eight

It was a pleasant late afternoon in Detroit.

Waiting for his sister-in-law to pick him up, Father Tully decided a little exercise was in order. Thus, he paced up and down the corner of Jay and Orleans next to St. Joe’s rectory.

After last night’s award-winning confusion, this had been a pleasant and relaxing day.

Tom Adams had not made any contact. Father Tully had expected a call. He thought that once Adams came to terms with whatever had disturbed and distracted him last night, he would have attended to the visitor. Shown him the sights, given him some sense of the history of this place.

Father Tully had not for a moment expected that the CEO himself would be his guide; some nonessential employee would, he knew, be assigned to conduct the tour.

Nothing. Not a word.

The most eventful, occurrence of this day had been trying to get Father Koesler off on his vacation excursion. The way things developed, it fully seemed that Koesler was going to cancel his trip.

He even stayed to concelebrate the noon Mass with Father Tully.

After Mass, Father Tully began carrying Father Koesler’s baggage and incidentals down to the car. Reluctantly, the pastor helped stow his things in the trunk and, at long last, left. As Father Koesler’s car cleared the parking lot, Father Tully and Mary O’Connor waved good-bye.

It had taken Father Tully and Mary no time to hit it off. He had quickly perceived that Mary played the factotum role with grace and r diplomacy. If he got out of her way-which he fully intended to do-everything would run like a finely crafted timepiece.

Mary liked Father Tully immediately. He was a priest, which started him off on the right foot. And his personality seemed much like Father Koesler’s. She very much prized Father Koesler.

After peeling Father Koesler away from St. Joe’s rectory, Father Tully spent a relaxing afternoon getting acquainted with the buildings and the “feel” of St. Joe’s.

Also, it was fun anticipating meeting his brother and sister-in-law-two entities whom, up until just days previously, he hadn’t known existed. By the time the late model Ford Escort pulled up to the curb, Father Tully was more than ready to meet his spanking new family.

He was not surprised that the attractive woman driver was alone. Anne Marie, his sister-in-law, had phoned earlier to explain that his brother couldn’t get off work until at least five-thirty at the earliest. She would pick up the priest at that time and they would all meet at their home.

As he reached to open the car door, she leaned across the passenger seat and smiled up at him. “Father Tully, I presume.”

He thought his ears would crack from the width of his answering grin. “Mrs. Tully, I presume,” he replied as he entered the car.

“That title seems so foreign to that last name,” Anne Marie said. “I still can’t imagine somebody named Tully being a priest. Father Tully,” she murmured with reverence and amazement.

“If you feel uneasy about the title, how about me? The only Mrs. Tully I’ve ever known was my mother.”

They both laughed as they began the short trip to the Tully condo.

It would be a while before they became sufficiently comfortable to be in each other’s company in silence. For now, conversation seemed necessary. Besides, there was lots of ground to cover.

“I don’t know everything you and Z-uh, your brother talked about on the phone the other day. But I thought we could clear up some ticklish areas before you two meet in person.”

“Sounds good.” Father Tully was aware that each time the car stopped, for traffic or a streetlight, Anne Marie turned to study him. Undoubtedly she was searching for a resemblance to his brother. Her husband.

“We’re taking a slightly roundabout route to give us a bit more time,” she said. “First off, your brother has been married and divorced. And in between that marriage and me, there was a significant other.”

“I didn’t know.”

“The marriage produced five children. They and their mother moved to Chicago when the divorce was final. The girlfriend and your brother parted amicably.”

The priest nodded.

“I’m telling you this specifically, Father, because it is important for you to know about your brother and me.”

“You don’t have to-”

“Yes, I do. It’s probably going to make you wonder. See, I’m Catholic. And we were married in the Catholic Church.”

“Alonzo got an annulment for his first marriage?”

Anna Marie sighed. “There’s the rub. Your brother is not Catholic.” Sometimes, she thought, I wonder if he’s even religious. “We went to a priest friend of mine who is pastor of a core-city parish in a very poor neighborhood. Mostly because I wanted it, he tried to find some reason why an annulment might be sought, let alone granted.”

“Nothing there?” The priest began to anticipate the outcome of this story.

“The Church does not consider an overwhelming devotion to job, and duty a reason to grant an annulment.”

“Married to his job, eh? I’ve known a lot of cops in that fix. By the way, does he-or do you-object to the word ‘cop’?”

“Not at all.”

“So what happened? When you had to forget the declaration of nullity, I mean?”

“My priest suggested something he called ’a pastoral solution.…

“You just get married in civil law,” Tully completed the explanation, “and look on that as your valid marriage and go from there. Go to Mass. Take Communion. Count on your conscience to lead you.

She glanced at him, surprised that he was familiar with a procedure that she had thought most rare-probably reserved to a few inner-city priests, and maybe only in the Archdiocese of Detroit at that.

He read her thoughts. “Surprised?.”

“Yes, frankly.”

“Don’t be. The procedure’s been around a long time. Another spillover from the Second Vatican Council … although not specifically conciliar. More a theological development from the spirit of Vatican II. It’s just an admission that Church law isn’t equipped to handle some problems.

“The trouble is, of course, that it isn’t canonical. So it can’t be applied openly. You called it ‘a pastoral solution’-and so it is. But it might just as well be called ‘a triumph of conscience.’ Because whatever it’s called, it recognizes the supremacy of conscience.

“So, you followed your priest’s advice.”

“No.”

“No!.”

“I needed something more. Blame whatever, I needed more than my conscience told me.”

“You needed … a ceremony?”

“Exactly. And that’s what my priest gave us. It was a simple ceremony. No Mass. But in the church, at the altar, with two witnesses. With that I felt secure.”

“One of the problems-maybe the only problem-is that a lot depends on the tone of the diocese. And that’s set by the bishop. And bishops come in assorted sizes, shapes, and dispositions. Your bishop, Cardinal Boyle, is reputed to be open. Which, in this case, means merely that he wouldn’t take any action against one of his priests who applied the ‘pastoral solution.’ Not unless his back was against the wall.

“I think your priest, whoever he is, was taking a larger than usual risk.”

“Why?” Anne Marie hadn’t considered that there could be any risk attached to that quiet ceremony.

“My brother! He’s an officer in the Homicide Division, isn’t he?” The priest didn’t wait for an answer to his rhetorical question. “He’s in a position where he can and probably does appear in the media-the papers, radio, TV. It’s always possible for someone to learn that Lieutenant Tully got married in a less than strictly orthodox way. If that happens, he gets some coverage. Then, even with a bishop like Cardinal Boyle, a whole bunch of stuff can hit the fan.”

“It didn’t.”

“I’m glad. I’m truly glad. But the priest here really took a chance.”

Anne Marie felt an even deeper gratitude to her priest, now that she realized how he had gone out on a limb to satisfy her need for a ceremony.

They were silent for a few moments.

“May I ask you, Father, did you ever counsel anyone in the ‘pastoral solution’?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Did you ever conduct a wedding service like I had?”

“Yes. But there were times when I was able to convince a couple that it was wiser to stay in the internal forum-just trusting everything to God and a conscience that is not attempting to deceive God.”

“Just out of curiosity, Father, why would you counsel against such a ceremony?”

The priest snorted. “Not because anyone I married or counseled was famous or likely to get a picture in the paper. My parishes don’t run on that level. We-all the Josephite parishes-aren’t moving in the fast lane.

“But, you see, we aren’t diocesan priests. We’re a religious order. We don’t belong to any one diocese. We have parishes in lots of different dioceses. And when we move into such a parish, we fall under the jurisdiction of the local ordinary-the bishop. And, let me assure you, all bishops are not Cardinal Boyle.”

“Well,” Anne Marie said, “anyway, I wanted you to know. And I wanted to explain our situation to you before, the three of us got together. It would be awkward for Zoo. He just went along with everything because he wanted to please me. He didn’t know or care about what was going on. From that time on, it was ‘What you don’t know can’t hurt you.’

“That, by the way, was why I suggested to Zoo that I pick you up. So we could have this little talk beforehand.”

“It was a good idea. I agree entirely. I’m clear on-wait a minute! What did you call him … my brother?”

“What did I …? Oh, you wouldn’t know, would you? His nickname … he picked it up some time ago. Most people call him ‘Zoo’ instead of Alonzo.”

“But his given name is Alonzo. Zo, not Zoo.”

“I know. But that’s the way it is. About the only person I know who calls him Alonzo is his boss, Inspector Walt Koznicki. He’s kind of old-worldly. He wouldn’t think of using a nickname.”

Father Tully thought for a minute, then began to chuckle, until the chuckle became a roar of laughter.

“What is it, Father? Something I’m not tuning in on?”

“Know what my first name is?”

“Uh … let’s see … I was geared to just use your title. It’s … wait: It’s Zachary!”

“And my natural nickname?”

“I suppose … Zack.”

“That’s right. Just think: Zoo and Zack. Zack and Zoo.”

They both began to laugh until the car almost shook. Fortunately, they had arrived at the Tully home; otherwise, Anne Marie might have caused a traffic accident.

As they drove into the attached garage, Father Tully thought he saw a window curtain move, as if someone were watching from inside. Obviously Zoo had arrived. His car was parked in the garage.

They waited until they got control of themselves. Then they entered the condo. They were still grinning broadly as they walked into the living room where Zoo Tully waited.

The police officer and the priest stood motionless as they looked at each other.

“In all my life,” said the priest finally, “I’ve never known what it’s like to have a brother or a sister. And now I’m standing in this room with my brother and my sister.”

“In all my life,” said the officer, “I’ve never had a priest relative, let alone a priest brother.”

They stood as a tableau for several moments.

On impulse, Anne Marie took each brother by the arm and moved the two of them together as all three embraced. Tears flowed. The two men tried, with little success, to cover their emotion.

After a few moments, Anne Marie moved apart. “You two guys sit down and get acquainted. I’m going to stick some things in the microwave. You’ll have to excuse us, Father-oh, nuts, I can’t stop using your title. Anyway, what with my teaching and my dear husband catching the bad guys, we don’t cook much. Usually it’s either prepared food or eating out. We would’ve gone out tonight, but we thought it was better to be home and get used to each other. It’ll just be a little while. Why don’t you two figure out what you’re going to call each other?”

Father Tully and Anne Marie began laughing again as she went to the kitchen.

“Want something to drink?” the officer asked.

“Gin and tonic would be nice … heavy on the tonic.”

Zoo made two virtually identical drinks. He handed one to his brother as they sat down in facing chairs. “Now then, what’s this about what we’re supposed to call each other?”

The priest chuckled. “Anne Marie and I got to talking on the way over. In the course of conversation, she referred to you by your nickname.”

“Zoo? Yeah, just about everybody calls me that.” “That’s what Anne Marie said. Then I told her my nickname.”

“Which is?”

“Not nearly as colorful as yours. It’s Zack … from Zachary.”

Zoo thought about this for a very brief moment. “Zoo and Zack.”

“Zack and Zoo. I should get top billing. I’m a priest.”

“I’m older.”

“You comfortable using our nicknames? People are bound to find it humorous.”

“That’s their problem.”

“Then it’s done.”

“Done.”

“Have you been doing what I’ve been doing?” the priest asked.

“Checking you out to see if there’s any resemblance?”

“There is, isn’t there?”

“A bit.”

“We sure had different mamas!” Zack observed.

“But the same daddy. I can see him in you … and you in me, for that matter.”

“I was only five when Dad died. Ma told me some things. But she didn’t know him much longer than my five years. What do you remember?”

“Not much more than you. I was just a kid when he left. I don’t know what happened. From what my-our-brothers and sisters said, he was a hardworking guy. Worked the assembly line … probably what Detroit is best known for. He had plenty of trouble from the rednecks. It was lots different then. Everybody took it for granted that he’d work here and go on supporting his family till he dropped.

“But one day he just up and left. That was it. I hardly knew him, and then he was gone.”

“It was my mother’s first marriage ….” Zack took up the story. “I came along after about a year. And I hardly got to know him. And then he was gone.”

Zoo looked at his brother intently. “Your mama must’ve really been religious … I mean you becoming a priest and all.”

“Oh, yes, she was. I think it was maybe the happiest day of her life when I was ordained.

“How about you? I gather from Bob Koesler and Anne Marie that you’re not exactly a Bible thumper.”

“We grew up entirely different. I don’t have any religion. If someone really pressed, I’d have to say I’m Baptist. But they’d have to press very, very hard.”

“Well, don’t worry: I’m not going to try to make a Catholic of you.

“Good. That attitude will eventually make you a happier man.”

“Okay, you two.” Anne Marie in an apron appeared in the door. “Everything’s ready. Father, I hope you like chicken. We’re trying. to keep your brother off red meat as much as possible.”

“Chicken’s fine. And it’s Zack to my brother, and I hope to my sister too.”

Zoo was about to stab a chicken leg when Anne Marie invited their priest brother to offer a prayer, which he did.

All in all, it was an appetizing dinner. In addition to the chicken, there were vegetables and a salad. It could not begin to challenge last night’s feast at the Adams suite. Still, this was several levels up from what Zack would have prepared for himself were he back at the rectory.

More important, this meal was punctuated with warm smiles from everyone.

“I’m not exactly in love with my nickname. Zack. But, somehow, coming from you two it has a down-home ring.”

Zoo smiled. “There’s one person you’re bound to meet who will never, under any circumstances, use the nickname. In fact, if I’m not proven wrong, he will never call you anything but Father Tully.”

“Wait a minute …” Zack held up one hand. “Anne Marie mentioned the name … I can’t think of it right now. Polish?”

“You bet. Inspector Walter Koznicki. My boss-head of our Homicide Division.”

“I’m really looking forward to meeting him … and your other friends. I can’t tell you, what a kick this is for me.”

“And for us,” Anne Marie said.

There was no sense of haste to this meal. They knew they were in for a long evening of getting acquainted. Probably at this table in the kitchen.

“By the way,” Zoo said, “before supper, you mentioned Father Koesler. I hope he didn’t get the impression he wasn’t welcome to come along.”

Zack looked puzzled. “Didn’t you know? I thought he-or somebody-would tell you. He’s gone. A vacation.”

“A vacation!” Zoo’s reaction seemed out of proportion to the event;

“That’s right. I don’t know how long it’s been since he’s had one. I don’t think’ he even knows himself. But if anybody deserves to get away, it’s gotta be Bob Koesler.”

Zoo seemed stunned. He had stopped eating.

“It’s funny with people who don’t vacation,” Anne Marie said. “They get to resemble big oak trees that are sort of dependable. They’re always there.”

“That’s just it ….” Zoo seemed to be coming out of his self-inflicted daze. “He isn’t here.”

Anne Marie was concerned. “Of course he isn’t here, dear. He’s on vacation.”

“What if we need him?”

“What do you mean, ‘What if we need him?’ Why would we need him?”

“Hey,” Zack said in a joking tone, “what am I, collard greens? I’m a priest! It isn’t that you’re left with nobody to take care of your spiritual life. Besides, after what you said, I didn’t think you’d panic if there wasn’t a priest to bring you sacraments!”

“It’s not me.” Zoo was deadly serious. “What if we come up with one of those cases like the ones that Koesler always helps us with … you know, where we’ve used him as a resource person?”

“What kind of chance would that be, honey? I mean, what are the odds?” Anne Marie said. “It’s not as if Father Koesler were on a retainer for the department. Or even that you. really expect to use him some more. For all you know, you’ll never need his expertise again.”

“Still and all, I’d feel better knowing he was here … that he was available if we did need him.”

“Zoo, he’s not that far away,” Zack said. “He’s just up in Georgian Bay.”

“Where’s that?” Zoo shot back. “I can’t place it off the top of my head.”

“It’s in Canada.”

“Canada’s a big country.”

“Well, it’s in Ontario, that much I know.”

“Can you reach him?” Zoo asked.

“It’s more a question of will he leave us alone down here,” Zack answered. “He left this afternoon, after making sure I knew where all the nooks and crannies are. I didn’t think I’d ever get him out of here.

“And then-can you believe it? — who should phone from en route late this afternoon but our reluctant vacationer, Bob Koesler.”

“He’s really not that far? He’s in touch? We can reach him?”

“Zoo …” Anne Marie maintained her light tone. “You never seemed so dependent on Father Koesler in the past. Why, I’ve even heard that there was a time when you resented his involvement in a homicide investigation.”

“That was before I got to know him. After I got convinced that his involvement wasn’t just because he wanted to meddle in police business. He’s not pushy. He just puts himself at our disposal when we invite him to help out.

“I guess I must’ve grown to depend on him being here.”

“Brother,” Zack said, “I am taking his place. Why don’t you lean on me if you come up with some problem that needs help? I had a talk with Father Koesler before he left yesterday. He explained to me, and gave me some examples of how he’s helped you over the years.

“All he was doing was leading you through the maze that the Catholic Church is so good at creating. No reason why I can’t help you out if, by rare accident, you happen to come up with a ‘Koesler situation.’“

“I don’t know … he’s good.”

It was all the priest could do to stop himself from laughing out loud. “Well, for what it’s worth-and it looks like you don’t think it’s worth all that much-I offer my services.

“Besides, with Bob Koesler you were dealing with a working pastor. All the while he was helping you, he was supposed to be caring for the day-to-day operation of a-busy, as far as I know-parish. But I’m not going to be weighed down with all that. Bob assured me-and from what I’ve seen it’s true-that the parish secretary can take care of the nuts and bolts of the parish. I’m just there for the ride.

“So: unencumbered with demanding parochial responsibilities, I am yours for the asking. If the need arises. And my hunch agrees with Anne Marie that neither Father Koesler nor I will be needed by the Detroit Police Department.”

The threesome seemed to be taking turns alternately talking and eating.

“Look at it this way, honey,” Anne Marie said. “Supposing that what we don’t think will happen does happen. What would you do? You wouldn’t call poor Father Koesler in, away from a very well-deserved vacation?”

Zoo looked off in the distance. Of course he would call Koesler. And not just for a phone consultation. Lieutenant Tully would fully expect Father Koesler to come right back and provide whatever help he could. And in fact, the supposition would have it that Father Koesler would want to return and help. It-this dedicated commitment-would be the exact way Lieutenant Tully himself would react.

“I know you,” Anne Marie said. “If you’re pondering my question that long, you don’t think it’s all that cut and dried. But your answer would be, Yes, you would certainly call him and expect him to come running home … wouldn’t you?”

“Well … yes, I would. I know what I’m supposed to say. But this is how I feel.”

Zack waved a chicken wing lightly. “We’re getting sidetracked. I want to get up to date with you folks. And here we are trying to provide for something that has little chance of happening.”

“No, Zack. I know the lieutenant.”

“I like to be prepared,” Zoo explained.

‘“Chance favors the prepared mind,’” Anne Marie quoted.

“That’s good,” Zack said. “Original?”

Anne Marie swallowed and smiled. “No. Louis Pasteur. But it is good, isn’t it?”

“I thought if Pasteur said something it would have to be, ‘Wash up.’”

“But,” Anne Marie said, “it does highlight Zoo’s approach to life … at least to his work-which is sort of his life.”

“That’s it,” Zoo affirmed. “I want to be ready for anything and everything. I’m in a business of reacting to things I have no control over. I mean, we’re sitting here eating and talking while somewhere in this city some guy is getting worked up enough to kill his enemy. Or he got burned in a drug deal. Or he thinks his woman is dissing him. Or his baby is making too much noise.

“And there are hundreds of like scenarios. He’s gonna shoot or stab or strangle or run over.

“But I don’t know this till we get called to the scene. We look at what he’s done. Then we’ve got to play catch-up. We’ve got to react to what he’s done. Already we’re behind. And the longer it takes us to track down the guy who did it and collect enough evidence to take to the prosecutor, the less likely we are to finish our operation successfully.

“So,” Zoo concluded, “the more I can depend on sources-like Father Koesler, or technicians, or. snitches-the faster I can make progress in wrapping up the case.”

“That makes sense,” his brother allowed.

“Right. See, I pretty much know by now how Koesler’s brain works. You’re unknown territory.”

“So you want to see beforehand what areas, if any, I could help you in before you need me. I’m maybe one of the ways you can be prepared. If I could be a good resource … if I could help you prepare your mind … chance or accidental slipups could favor you. Something like that?”

“Something like that.”

Father Tully laid his utensils on his plate. He had finished the main course, which had not been preceded by four other courses. “What can I tell you that will help you know whether or not I could be of any assistance to you?”

“I don’t know.” Zoo finished his meal. “Well … okay: Father Koesler keeps mentioning a Church council that changed everything-or at least lots” of things-for Catholics. It’s nothing that happened ages ago … more kind of recent.”

“Gotta be Vatican II.”

“That’s it,” Anne Marie affirmed.

“Okay,” Zack said.

“I’ll get dessert. Everyone for ice cream on your apple pie?”

Two nods favored a la mode.

“Okay. I think I’ve got what you want to know.

“First off, I’m forty-five-which I used to think was old. But not anymore. Bob Koesler is sixty-nine. Which from where I’m sitting looks pretty old. But Koesler doesn’t strike me as being old. Everybody’s different, I guess.

“Vatican II ran from 1962 to ’65. I was about thirteen when it ended. So, among other things, I was used to segregated rest rooms and drinking fountains, the back of the bus, theater balconies, and lots of other things for ‘colored only.’

“Of course we didn’t have a parochial school. But I went to catechism regularly-Mama saw to that. And I went with her to Sunday Mass, which was in Latin. And we went to Forty Hours devotions. And benediction Sunday afternoons.

“I learned Latin responses so I could be an altar boy I learned the fundamentals of my religion out of a little book called The Baltimore Catechism. I thought that the only reason so many of my buddies were Baptist was because they weren’t smart enough to see that my Catholic Church was ‘The One, True Church.’

“And then, as I went through my teen years in the Josephite seminary, I saw all those Catholic things-those things that I was brought up to believe could never change-change.

“Mass and the other sacraments were in English. Soon enough the Baltimore Catechism became a collector’s item. My Baptist buddies were going to heaven just like that tiny elite minority of Catholics in our neighborhood.

“And eventually, as I grew to manhood, mostly in a seminary, I saw a Protestant minister-of all things-begin to free our people.

“So, Zoo: That’s where I am.

“And here’s where Father Koesler is: he was ordained in 1954, two years after I was born. He became a priest in a Church where nearly everybody believed-incorrectly-that nothing had ever changed and nothing would ever change. I was ordained in 1977, after everything changed. And everything would continue to change.”

Anne Marie brought dessert and coffee.

Zoo flattened the ice cream into a glob, covering the warm surface of his pie. “Then … you’re sort of a new breed of Catholic clergy?”

“Once upon a time I was.”

“Once upon a time! How could that be?” Anne Marie exclaimed.

“There’s a wave that came, after us,” the priest explained. “And, oddly enough, this latest wave pretty much resembles the earlier breed.”

“What?” Zoo and Anne Marie chimed.

Father Tully sipped his coffee. Since sampling Father Koesler’s brew, every other cup of coffee had been delicious by comparison. It couldn’t be the Detroit water. “I hope I can clear this up. Father Koesler is among the last of a long, long line of priests that goes back almost as far as the mind can imagine. He’s the kind of dedicated priest who attracted kids like me to follow him:

“I know you’ve heard about the council, Zoo, ’cause you just got done telling me that Father Koesler had told you about it. It really hit old-time priests hard. Koesler and guys like him landed on their feet. Some others didn’t. Some didn’t read the documents that came from the council. They didn’t understand the changes. They grew to hate and ignore everything conciliar. Most of all, they never grasped the special ‘spirit’ that came from the council.

“By and large, we, the new breed who matured in the wake of the council, were infected with the council and its spirit. Then a lot of the priests in Koesler’s age group and older got fed up. By their actions-and their attitude-they were saying, ‘Okay, it’s your Church now. It doesn’t resemble my Church. So, you can have it.’

“Some of these priests resigned their, positions as pastors and marked time until it was okay to retire. And that was another change that happened as a remote result of the council. Before this, priests didn’t retire; they died in harness.

“Some of the priests of my group got impatient with Church leaders who were scared by what was happening in all facets of theology, Church law, and, mostly, liturgy. Those leaders wanted to dig in and recapture whatever was salvageable from the past.

“That did two things: It discouraged my crowd; but they were too young to retire, so many of them left the priesthood outright. And it managed to turn seminarians around till they became more like the priests who are now retiring: they’re just marking time.

“So, Zoo, that’s the long way around answering your question of whether I represent the new wave or new breed. It’s a three-layer cake and my gang is the middle.

“Now you’ve learned something more about me: ask me the time and I’ll tell you how to make a clock.

“But it also should indicate that I’m not all that different from Bob Koesler. I wasn’t a priest before the council. But I was a Catholic who lived before, during, and after it.” He shook his head. “Just listen to me: I’m not asking for an extra job,” he explained. “I only thought I could put you at ease during what I’m sure will be a very brief vacation for one of your valued sources, Father Koesler. The way I’ve run on, anyone could swear that I was interviewing for the job.”

Now that dessert was finished they were on coffee refills.

Anne Marie smiled sweetly, leaned forward, and patted the priest’s arm. “Zachary, it helped. Believe me it did. I like to think I’m a pretty plugged-in Catholic. But some of what you said was new to me. Besides, it helped us understand what makes you you.”

“What about going into the living room? Let’s get comfy,” Zoo said.

Zachary felt reluctant to leave the intimacy of the kitchen. But, in the long run, it worked. The three newly introduced kinfolk talked far into the evening. They had so much to learn of each other. Anne Marie recounted her life before and since becoming a teacher. She spoke movingly of her first meeting with Zoo … how he had rescued her from a purse-snatcher. She counted the incident a product of Divine Providence. The priest found no reason to doubt that.

Zoo, ordinarily not garrulous, spoke sketchily of life in a large family-eight children. All the while his father was with them, they lived in modest lower-middle-class comfort. But after his unexpected departure, life hardened considerably. Now, five of the children had passed on. The remainder, aside from Zoo, lived in distant states. Anne Marie promised to give Father Tully addresses and phone numbers.

Zoo spoke of his life as a police officer and how he’d been “discovered” by Walt Koznicki and how close they’d grown. Koznicki had been Zoo’s sponsor in the Homicide Division-then the major league of the department.

Father Tully had already given a bit of a biographical sketch in trying to convince Zoo that there was life before and after Father Koesler. Now, he filled in the gaps.

So absorbed were they no one had thought to turn on any lights. They became aware of this only when it grew so dark they could scarcely see each other.

“Well,” Zoo slapped his knees as he stood, “it’s getting late. And I’ve got an early morning. What say I drive you home, Zack?”

“Good idea.” The priest felt stiff from sitting so long. “That way I’ll be up nice and early to take Father Koesler’s first call of the day.”

They laughed at the thought of Koesler’s lack of total confidence in his parish sitter. He was like a nervous parent phoning home repeatedly to make sure the children were still alive.

As Zachary prepared to leave, Anne Marie hugged him, then kissed his cheek affectionately. That one simple gesture more than anything else this evening made him feel as if he had found his family.

The two men entered Zoo’s car for the brief ride to St. Joseph’s rectory.

Zoo started the engine, but before he put the car in gear he turned and said, “This is good. I really didn’t know how it was going to go. But it was better than I hoped.” He extended his hand. “Welcome home.”

Zachary took his brother’s hand. “It feels almost as if we’ve grown up together, instead of just discovering each other. Tonight, I’m a happy camper.”

“Mind if I catch up on the news?” Zoo said, as he turned on the radio.

The lead story on the eleven o’clock newscast shattered the evening’s homey warmth. A police officer had been shot on the Lodge Freeway, not far from where they were now.

A car had apparently stalled on the shoulder of the freeway. A young woman had stood near the rear of the vehicle, in obvious distress.

A lone officer in a blue-and-white had pulled up behind the car. He’d got out and as he’d approached the seemingly empty vehicle, two men had jumped out. The first one had fired a single shot and the officer had gone down.

Several passing cars slowed as they reached the scene. The occupants saw clearly what had happened. With good reason, none of them stopped. But several with cellular phones immediately called 911. Some were so nervous and upset that they were not much help in identifying either what had happened or where. But one caller, who was regularly scolded for watching too much television, relied on what he had seen so often on cops-and-robbers TV. “Officer down,” he said tersely. Then he gave a calm description of the location. He answered all the questions asked him by the operator.

Zoo started his flasher and sped down the nearly empty surface street. His police band caught the organized chaos as his fellow officers operated on adrenaline. The police took care of their own in very special ways.

Father Tully volunteered to get out and hail a cab. At the very least, he urged his brother to drop him at the rectory and take off immediately. Zoo took the second option. Seldom had Zachary Tully ever been delivered and dropped so speedily and abruptly.

The priest preferred not to linger on a dark, abandoned street on the fringe of downtown Detroit. He hastened into the rectory, where he turned on the TV news to see if there was any more on the shooting.

Obviously, the shooting had been the lead story on the telecast. Father Tully recalled the TV news maxim: if it bleeds, it leads. Now the newscasters were reporting less momentous and lighter news items. Father Tully hoped they would return to the police shooting before they wrapped things up.

Just before sports and weather the anchorwoman announced that the new and controversial branch of Adams Bank and Trust would be opened for the first time and for the first customers at 9:30 A.M. Friday, the day after tomorrow. And, in a move that surprised many in the banking industry, CEO Thomas A. Adams had named Allan Ulrich as general manager of the new branch.

Until today, the anchor continued, front-runner for this position had been Nancy Groggins, wife of construction entrepreneur Joel Groggins. Mrs. Groggins, who also possessed many of the credentials of Al Ulrich, was African-American and a woman, which prompted some to speculate that she might have related better to the neighborhood.

There followed film of a smiling Nancy Groggins refusing to be baited by reporters and congratulating Al Ulrich.

The next shot featured Ulrich stating that he felt fortunate to be selected by Tom Adams, a man and a business leader respected by his employees and the city at large.

Next there was the mayor with characteristic enthusiasm-so completely absent in his predecessor-marking the launching of this bank branch as turning another corner in the rebuilding of Detroit.

Next, weather and sports. While a happy sportscaster and weather forecaster interplayed with happy anchors, Father Tully pondered.

This made no sense. Just last night, Tom Adams had explained the choice of bank manager, asked Tully’s impression of the two candidates, and given the impression he would name the candidate the priest favored.

Trying to be conscientious in this modest commission, Father Tully had made a determined effort to talk with and learn about both candidates. He understood, especially after his conversation with Joel Groggins, what would be expected of the new manager. Father Tully sensed how well matched these competitors were. Where one was slightly stronger in one category, the other was correspondingly strong in another. And vice versa.

Nonetheless, Father Tully had duly reported his choice to an oddly distracted Tom Adams. The priest was in agreement with Adams that Nancy Groggins should be the new manager in this pressurized position. Indeed, he had-at least until this moment-taken her accession as a fait accompli.

What could have happened in less than a day to change Adams’s mind? Whatever it was, it must have been significant.

One more indication, thought Father Tully, of how little I understand big business. Hi diddlydee, the priestly life for me!

At this point in his rumination, the news program was all but completed. Before signing off, the anchor directed a return to the exterior of Detroit’s Receiving Hospital, where a TV reporter was doing a standup summation on the police officer who’d been shot.

Tully’s attention returned to the set.

“Carmen,” the sober-faced reporter said, “we’re told the condition of Officer Marcantonio is listed as serious. As we speak he has been taken to the operating room and surgery is under way. The doctors and other officers we spoke with were very guarded. As further details develop, we’ll keep you informed.”

Carmen Harlan’s face filled the screen. “Thank you, John. We’re running out of time. But before we go, here’s Dennis at the crime scene.”

“Thank you, Carmen. I have with me Lieutenant Alonzo Tully, who is the senior officer on the scene. Can you tell us, Lieutenant, what we have here?”

Father Tully leaned forward. He was so immensely proud of his brother.

Lieutenant Tully was occupied with something out of camera range. He appeared to be paying minimum attention to the reporter’s question. “It looks like one of those Good Samaritan set-ups.

“Can you tell our viewers just what that is?”

Both Tullys regarded the reporter as if he might be slightly retarded. Who would not know the original Bible story and/or its modern-day application in crime annals?

“It’s a scam,” Lieutenant Tully explained, returning his attention to what was occupying him off-camera, “where two or more people pretend they’ve got car trouble. They pull off the road onto a shoulder-usually, like tonight, on a freeway shoulder.

“A female stands by the car. She seems helpless and scared. Her accomplice, or accomplices, hide, usually in the car, but sometimes behind nearby shrubbery.

“They wait for some good-hearted person to pull off the road and-like a Good Samaritan-offer assistance. Then, when the would-be benefactor gets close enough, the accomplices jump out of hiding. They rob, maybe mug, maybe even kill the innocent motorist. Then they take off in his car-and theirs too if it’s not a klunker they may have swiped.

“Tonight they had bad luck. The one who stopped to give aid was a cop. So there went their scam. And they shot him.”

“Lieutenant Tully, do the police have anything to go on?”

Tully looked directly into the camera as if he were addressing those responsible for this attack. “Yeah, we’ve got a pretty good description of the vehicle they’re driving, as well as of the perpetrators themselves.” With emphasis, he concluded, “Their bad luck has just begun.”

Back to the studio for a speedy signoff, followed by a voice-over promising the “Tonight Show” “after these announcements.”

Father Tully would not wade through countless commercials. He turned off the set and headed for bed.

How silly it had been for him to even consider seriously helping his brother. There was nothing “Catholic” or “religious” about a Good Samaritan crime except the designation. Father Tully could take solace in the fact that even the redoubtable Father Koesler would be of no service to Lieutenant Tully in this case.

The priest decided right then and there that he was going to relax and enjoy this visit to Detroit and his prized contact with his newly discovered family.

Lieutenant Tully would just have to muddle through on his own.

But before he retired for the night, the priest prayed for the wounded officer, and for the surgeons who, as this prayer was being offered, stood between this brave man and death.