Vespers

III

“What's this case you're working, anyway?" said Parker, turning to Carella.

Carella told him they had a D.O.A. stab-and-slash, weapon unknown, housekeeper secretary last ones to see him alive, wild prints over the church and the rectory, random latents from the papers here, but they were most likely secretary's. He also told Parker that the thought the Devil had dusted the priest and addition to the Devil the priest had also pissed some local youngsters as well as his o, congregation.

Parker thought this was very comical. He laughing. So did Genero.

"This is his correspondence here," Carella Hawes. "Just dig in.”

“You're gonna have a lot of fun there," said, "reading a priest's mail," and burst laughing again. Genero started laughing again, Both men sat there giggling like teenagers. Hawes ;d it was spring fever.

At his own desk, Carella went back to the letter Father Michael's sister:

My dearest brother, I am now in receipt of yours of May 12th, and I cannot tell you with what a saddened heart I hasten to respond. Michael, how have you managed to construct such a tower of doubt for yourself?. And don't you feel you should relate your fears to the bishop of your diocese? l just don't know how to counsel or advise you.

I wish I could be closer to you during this difficult time. What makes matters worse is that Roger and I are leaving for Japan this Saturday, and we won't be back till the tenth of June. I'll try to call you before we leave, so we can have a good long telephone visit. Perhaps, by then, the skies above will look a bit clearer.

Meanwhile, let me say only this: I know that you are a devout and loyal servant of God and that however troubled you may now be, you will find through prayer the way to enlightenment and salvation.

Your loving sister, Irene

He turned over the envelope again.

pulled the phone to him, lifted the receiver, asked the operator for the San Diego area dialed 1-619-555-1212 for information, and listing for a Roger Brogan at the address on the of the envelope. He dialed the number and let phone ring twenty times before hanging up.

"Here's something," Hawes said.

She did not think they were policemen. If they policemen, they'd have identified themselves once to the street-corner cops she'd Flash the tin, reveal themselves as part of the fraternal order of law enforcement officers. So they weren't cops.

They were Spanish-speaking. This fri They had known the name Mary Ann and had known the nickname Mariucha. This frightened even more. They could have got the Mary Ann Houston, but not the Mariucha. This had to come from either La Fortaleza or Buenos either they'd been asking questions at the else they'd been snooping around B.A. Either they were here. Moreover, they had tracked the school. Which meant they probably knew she lived as well.

She knew she should tell Willis, but she afraid of losing him. Afraid, too, that the these men represented might somehow rub him, cause problems for him on the job. She him too dearly for that. So no, she couldn't 'd brought this trouble upon herself, whatever it out to be, and she had to handle it herself.

Which was why she had to get a gun; the :h-blade knife seemed suddenly inadequate for defense, especially against the big, ugly one. But how?

And where?

The gun laws were tough in this state. You needed a permit before you could walk into a shop and pick off the shelf. And you needed a damn good k, ason for wanting that permit. So how far would she to travel to buy a gun? Even in the immediately joining states, didn't ship-owners have to file applications well before letting you walk out a gun? So where did the gun laws get easy? far across the river and into the trees? How far east, south or west? Where in these g United States could a person legally buy to kill her husband or her mother or, better yet, Spanish-speaking goons who'd called her by her name, her Buenos Aires street name?

Where?

She was living with a cop and personally knew at three dozen cops in this city, had gone out to with them, been in their homes, but there a single one of them she could ask about ,tting a- well, maybe.., yes, that was a . Eileen Burke. Call her up, ask her out to Eileen was a cop, casually swing the an around to how and where a person acquire a hot gun in this. no, she was too smart, she'd tip in a minute, know immediately it was Marilyn herself who was looking for the Besides, she wasn't sure Eileen even liked Wasn't sure, for that matter, that any of friends liked her. A hooker. A former hooker.

Hookers knew people who knew where to' guns. In Houston, she'd have known where to gun.

In Buenos Aires, she'd have known where a gun.

But this was here and this was now, and been out of the life too long.

Or had she?

"If you're looking for a motive, this could motive," Hawes said, and handed a sheet of across the desk. It was the sort of newsletter years ago would have been typed first and mimeographed. Today, it had started as a printout and had later been photocopied, copier streaks across the page being the only duplication. Carella wondered how many of had been distributed. He also wondered how had got along before Xeroxing was Xeroxing? That was already the Stone Age.

Clerical Office's new fax machine was the miracle.

My Fellow Parishioners: For the past several weeks now, Michael Birney, the pastor assigned to guide the flock of St. Catherine's Church, has on more than one occasion seen fit to use the pulpit as a scolding board for our...

"What's a 'scolding board'?" Carella asked.

"Just keep reading," Hawes said, "it's self-explanatory.”

... scolding board for our congregation. On these occasions, he has taken it upon himself to rail, nag, upbraid, revile, and berate...

"See what I mean?" Hawes said.

"Mmm," Carella said.

... the good and decent people of this parish for failing to meet their financial obligations by way of the weekly tithe to the Lord Our God.

He has pointed out that there are no less than forty-eight references to the tithe in scriptures. He has seen fit to quote many of these Old Testament passages, the most recent of which he included in last Sunday's sermon at a time of the year better suited to more spiritual matters. I quote it again now:

"From the days of your fathers you have turned aside from my statutes and have not kept them. Return to me, and I will return you, says the Lord of hosts.

But you say, "How shall we return?”

Will man rob God? Yet you are to me.

But you say, "How are we robbing In your tithes and offerings! You cursed with a curse, for you are robbing Bring the full tithes into the storeho that there may be food in my house!”

This from a spiritual leader, who has nothing but kindness and generosity from good people of this parish. My fell parishioners, I would like to offer my own from the Holy Bible. This is from the According to John, Chapter 2, verses 14 to

"In the temple he found those who selling oxen and sheep and pigeons,., the money-changers at their business. making a whip of cords, he drove with the sheep and oxen, out of the and he poured out the coins of money-changers and overturned tables. And he told those who sold pigeons, "Take these things away; you not make my Father's house a trade!”

Father Michael Birney is making our Father's House a house of trade!

We are all well aware of our obligation to the Lord, we know full well that five percent of our annual income is expected by way of a weekly offering to the church. But we refuse to be turned into a congregation of bookkeepers. Let Father Michael count the offerings again and yet another time, and then let him count his blessings as well. A noble man of God might then do well to apologize from the pulpit for accusing his parishioners of robbing from...

"Catch the last line," Hawes said.

... robbing from the Lord! Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.

Yours in Christ, Arthur L. Farnes

"Well..." Carella said, and handed the letter back.

"I know. You dismiss a loony right off because think nobody mails such a letter to the whole ation and then actually goes out to kill ,. But suppose...”

"Uh-huh.”

suppose this guy really was mad enough to go juke this priest? I mean, he sounds pretty angry, doesn't he? I'm not a Catholic, so I don't...

"Me neither," Carella said. He considered a lapsed Catholic; his mother said, "Shame on "Okay, so I don't know how far you can go yelling at the priest assigned to your church, if in he is assigned, that's something I don't know.”

"Me neither.”

"But let's say he's assigned and let's say youl unhappy with the way he's bugging you paying your dues...”

"Your tithe." .

"Same thing, so you write a letter.., for purpose? To get him recalled?

Do they do that in' Catholic Church? Recall a priest who isn't along with his congregation?”

"I really don't know.”

"Neither do I.”

"Or do you write to warn him that if he doesn’t t it out you're going to overturn his tables? I really, Steve, a lot of the stuff in this letter like a warning.”

"Where does it sound like a warning?”

"You don't think this wh money-changer-in-the-temple stuff sounds warning?”

"No.”

"You don' t?”

"I really don't. Where else do you se warning?”

"Where else? Okay, where else? How about here, example? Dit-dah, dit-dah, dit-dah, di... here. "Let him count his blessings.' Doesn't that sound like a warning?”

"No.”

"Let the man count his blessings? That doesn't like a warning to you?”

"No, it doesn't.”

"Let him count his blessings before it's too late!”

"Where does it say that?”

"Say what?”

"'Before it's too late.' “

"It doesn't. I'm extrapolating.”

"What does that mean, extrapolating?”

"It means to infer from what you already know.”

"How do you know that?”

"I just happen to know it.”

"I still don't think if you ask a man to count his it's necessarily a warning.”

"You don't.”

"No, I don't.”

"Okay, how about here?"A noble man of God ght then do well to apologize from the pulpit for his parishioners of robbing from the Lord!" else, right?”

"Where does it say. "Or else'?”

here. "Pride goeth before destruction, and spirit before a fall.' “

3esn't say. "Or else.' “

the code for. "Or else.' Look you clcn't want to go talk to this guy, we won't go talk to forget it. I just thought...”

"He sounds like a very religious man, that's Carella said. "There are people like that in world.”

Like my father, Hawes thought, but didn't Who named me Cotton. After the Puritan Priest.

"You want to know something?" he said. "In world, there are a lot of very religious people are out of their minds, did you know that? And of them have been known to stick knives in people. Now I'm not saying this Arthur L. F which is the name of a lunatic to begin with ... dude who done the priest, but I am saying you letter like this one, it could be a death threat is I'm saying, and we'd be very dumb cops if we go knocking on this guy's door right this what we should do.”

"I agree with you," Carella said.

Schuyler Lutherson wanted to know who disciples had sprayed the inverted Catherine's churchyard gate.

Because, see," he said, "I don't want coming here.”

Schuyler Lutherson was not his real name, real name was Samuel Leeds, a nice enough except that the Samuel sounded like a prophet Old Testament (which was the last thing on to sound like) and the Leeds sounded like a manufacturing town in the north of England. his great-great-great-grandfather had been ironmonger in Leeds before coming to America, that was ancient history and Schuyler chose to his heritage more fancifully.

He had picked the given name Schuyler not se it meant a "scholar" or a "wise man" in (actually, he was quite unfamiliar with the language) but because it sounded like "sky," in the skies above, or the heavens above, or the ,m of God above, from which an angel once fallen. For was it not Satan himself who'd been y expelled from Heaven, hurled the upper stratosphere to the fiery lower And was not Satan simultaneously known as whose name Samuel Leeds could not out of worshipful humility, but whose he could at least echo alliteratively... Lucifer, .. and then rhyme slantingly... Lucifer, .-. the surname achieving grandeur in Lutherson, the son of Luther, the son of leader of the Church of the Bornless One, all Satan!

NOT bad for a kid of nineteen, which was how old had been when he originated his church in Angeles. He was now thirty-nine years old, that been twenty years ago, away back in the days of flower children, remember, Maude? When was preaching love? Except Schuyler Lutherson on the pulpit of the Church of the Bt One, where between the spread legs of a voluntary "altar" each week, he preached opposite of love, he preached hate, scorching after pussy with the white-hot scorn of his Everything in the worship of Satan was a opposites, an exercise in reversal or obversi Through hate, love. Through denial, Through darkness, light.

Through evil, good.

Even Schuyler's carefully cultivated supported the tenets of his creed.

Not for sham look of a bearded devil with arched e nor for him the silken crimson robes and hood. Was he a true and sacred priest of a dedicated to the Infernal One, or merely a caricature? Would the Devil on earth appear man as the Devil, or would he in his infinite evil guile assume the shape of some lesser form? likewise, and even so, would the son of Lucifer's Son, Lutherson. L lift the cuff earthly trouser to expose a furry ankle and a hoof?. Would he advertise his yellow eyes beacons to unbelievers? Would he blow the breath of brimstone and piss from his regurgitate purple vomit into the faces of would this be the proper behavior and Lord Satan's son and servant?

Schuyler Lutherson was blond.

He had blue eyes.

he'd served in a juvenile detention facility in fornia, back before he'd changed his name, and he still worked out at a gym near the church three .times a week. As a result, he had the slim, lithe, sinewy body of a long-distance runner.

His nose would have been Grecian perfection, had it not once been broken at that selfsame .etention facility, where the fair-haired, ,-cheeked as-yet-unborn Schuyler Lutherson forced to protect his ass from an older, huskier determined to have a taste of it at all costs. The costs”

he'd had in mind did not include the spleen he'd suffered after he'd broken the Schuyler's nose and declared his intention of him his "private and personal pussy." The used a two-by-four by of discouragement, picking it up from a pile of in the carpentry shop and wielding it like a bat. The older boy never bothered him Neither did anyone else.

Schuyler had a wide androgynous mouth, with the lower lip of a pouting screen siren, and the rather upper lip of a politician. He had even white the better to eat you with, my dear. That they capped was a matter of small import or note.

he smiled, the gates to the infernal chambers wide and eternal midnight beckoned.

was. smiling now, wanting to know who -- had painted the pentagram on the church He spoke deliberately and precisely.

"Who, exactly, painted the pentagram on fucking gate?" he asked.

Through obscenity, purity.

The three looked at him.

Two women and a man. Each of the women served as altars many times.

Through Schuyler knew them intimately. The man knew intimately as well, through the public rites of fornication that followed each ritual One of the women was named Laramie. The was named Coral. These were not their real The man was named Stanley. This was his name; who on earth would want to change his to Stanley unless he planned on becoming a Stanley was a salary-drawing church Laramie and Coral were disciples, and did not salaries per se, but money somehow stuck to fingers. Laramie was black and Coral was Stanley was Hispanic; this was a regular Nations here. Together they pondered who have been foolish enough to decorate the church I with a pentagram.

"Because now, see," Schuyler said, "the dead.”

Stanley shook his head, not in sorrow, dismay: the priest was now indeed dead, someone had painted a pentagram on St. gate. Stanley's head was massive and covered lrntr tawny tancrlad hair that ava him the.

:ed lion; when he shook his head, the was monumental.

"We have nothing to hide here, that' true," ler said.

Both women nodded, a symphony in black and togethemess. Coral was wearing a paisley skirt and a white peasant blouse, no bra. "he had long blonde hair, eyes as blue as Schuyler's, a button nose dusted with freckles. Laramie was skin-tight jeans, boots, and a sweater. She as tall and strikingly good-looking, a Masai miraculously transported to the big bad city. comparison, Coral looked like a prairie :wife - which incidentally she'd been before east to join Schuyler's church. The women thinking hard. Who could have been dumb to paint a pentagram on the churchyard gate? was the burning question of the day.

see," Schuyler said, "suppose the police raising some of the same questions that asshole raised? Suppose they come here and want to this or that, see, as for example, are we X during the mass, which is a controlled ... see? We can always tell the Man we are doing Ecstasy nor anything else at our services, by the way are private services, see, and not to the public except by invitation, is what we tell the Man. But then we'll have police shit, we'll have them coming around with search breaking our balls merely on principle, what cops know how to do very well. Because they e going to figure, see, in their limited w; that if somebody painted a pentagram on the gate, then maybe that same person did the And they're going to be all over us like locusts.

"Excuse me, Sky," Coral said.

"Yes, Coral.”

Gently. His eyes caressing her. He would to serve as altar again this Saturday night, twenty-sixth, a night of no particular si the church calendar except that it follo immediately after the high holy solemnity Feast of the Expulsion. The two most " religious holidays, of course, were and All Hallows' Eve. But these were nights abandon, and the Feast of the Expulsioni traditionally more sedate. This was why the the Saturday following was generally a time of greater release and realization. Coral make a perfect altar. Lying on the draped each time, her legs spread, her hands candelabra, she was a woman in constant twitching in expectation. Even standing him now, she shifted from foot to foot, her ri twisting her skirt like a little girl, twisting it.

"I feel we should open this to the congregation, Sky, put to them that someone midst- perhaps through perhaps through just sheer stupidity - has church in a precarious position, Sky. And we ;hould ask whoever it was that painted the on the gate to come forward and admit it, then perhaps go to the police voluntarily, himself or herself, and say what it was they done. So investigation would end right there, with ver actually put that symbol on the gate. Is what think, Sky.”

Flat midwestem voice, little gap between her two front teeth. Twisting her skirt like a little girl on to recite. Like to do a mass over her right fucking minute, he thought.

"I think Coral's right," Stanley said, nodding his assive leonine head.

"Throw it open to the “

i Throw it open wide to the congregation, Schuyler "... this Saturday night, before the mass actually before you do the Introit. Explain to them in jeopardy here because of some dumb thing did in all innocence...”

s," Laramie said.

Woman of few words.

Said her piece, did her little Masai dance, and got off the stage.

"Unless whoever painted the star also killed the “

looked at her.

you think that's really a possibility?" he "After what the priest said?”

She shrugged.

The shrug made it abundantly clear the priest had said could, in the proper mind, taken seed as a motive for murder.

"A total asshole," Schuyler said. "If he'd mouth shut...”

"But he didn't.”

This from Laramie again, who made an keeping her mouth shut most of the time.

"No, that's true," Schuyler said, "he Which is why we now find ourselves in a that is potentially, see, dangerous. I can tell don't want policemen coming here. I don't them looking into this or that, discovering that girls perform certain parts of the ritual, that on occasion we've used harmless controlled substances in support of the discovering that on occasion we've even small animals during the mass, though I imagine that's against the fucking law, is it? point is, see, the priest made enough of a fuss the pulpit, brought enough attention to us, m what was it, Stanley? - a neighborhood the side of Christ, can you believe it? course, illustrates what a threat our church is, illustrates clearly, see, how desperately Christ-lovers would love to drive us non-existence, murder the infant church in its see. But...”

"Sky.”

From Coral. Softly.

"I think we ought to contact the police our ;elves," she said, "before the mass tomorrow - right away, in fact., to tell them we're of what's painted on that gate and to let them we're doing our own internal examination...”

The words she used.

'... in an effort to determine who put the star on so he or she herself can come forward and veal who they are, Sky. This way we're letting the police know we're doing thing in our power to cooperate. So they won't some kind of cabal connected with our church the sacred sign on the priest's gate and then him.”

“Unless," Laramie said.

They all turned to look at her.

"Unless that's exactly what did happen," she said.

Llewellyn Farnes was a tall, rangy white man the speech of a born and bred city-dweller, and look of a weather-hardened New England His men's clothing store was on The Stem Carson and Coles, and he had just come from lunch when the detectives walked in at o'clock that afternoon. Most of his lunch to have spilled onto his tie and his vest. guessed he was the only man outside of Homicide Division who still wore a vest. He willing to bet he also wore a fedora.

The detectives identified themselves and told l they were investigating the murder of Michael Birney. Farnes went into a long apparently heartfelt eulogy on the priest he recently challenged in his open letter, now him a dedicated man of God, a true servant Lord, a kind and gentle shepherd to the flock, and a wonderful human being whose would be sorely felt.

All this with a straight face.

"Mr. Farnes," Hawes said, "we were lo through Father Michael's correspondence, came across this letter you sent to congregation...”

"Yes," Farnes said, and smiled, and head.

"You know the letter I mean, right?”

"Yes. The one I wrote in response to his about the tithe.”

“Yes," Hawes said.

"Yes," Farnes said.

He was still smiling. But now he was Yes, his head went. Yes, I sent that letter. response to him chastening us about our obligations. Yes, I'm the one who resentment. Yes. Me. Nodding, nodding.

"What about that letter, Mr. Farnes?”

"What about it?" Farnes said.

"Well, I'd say it was a pretty angry letter, you?”

"Only pretty angry? I'd say it was monumen,:hlly “

The detectives looked at him.

"In fact, Mr. Farnes," Hawes said, "you wrote things in that letter...”

"Yes, I was furious.”

"Uh-huh.”

"Demanding money that way! As if we weren't giving our fair share! All the man had to do trust us! But, no! Runs his mouth off at the ulpit instead, week after week of -and-brimstone sermons better suited to Salem than to this parish! Never once trusting us!

me," he said, and walked immediately to a man was taking a pair of trousers from the "May I help you, sir?" he asked.

"Just looking," the man said. "Are these all the -two longs you have?”

from here to the end of the rack." -."Thank you," the man said.

"Let me know if I can be of any assistance," said, and walked back to the detectives.

g his voice, he said, "That man is a He walked out of here at Christmastime an entire suit under the suit he was already I realized it after he was gone. Forgive me him, but I'd like to catch the son of a "So would we," Carella said.

"You were saying something about trust," sai, "Yes," Farnes said, his eyes following the he moved along the rack. "In many church is a business - and I mean no bl This is why a tithe is specified in the Bible, so won't be any misunderstanding about the the church is forced to conduct. In order to do you understand? Ten percent, spelled out in t and white. Five in the basket every week, the five as gifts to worthwhile charities. Do you me so far?”

"Yes, we follow you," Carella said.

"Okay. How do you know whether you're five percent in the basket?

Instead of two three and a half percent? The answer is you You trust the congregation. By trusting them, inspire their trust in turn, and you'll find that of getting a short count every week, generating even more revenue for the c fool should...”

"Excuse me, but is this the dressing "Yes," Farnes said, "through the curtains Let me roll those trouser cuffs back for you, "That's all right, I can...”

"No problem at all, sir," Farnes said, and three pairs of trousers that were draped man's arm, and rolled back the cuffs, "There you are, sir.”

"Thank you," the man said.

"Let me know if you need any help," Farnes said, came back to the detectives. Lowering his voice he said, "He's going in there with three pairs Let's see how many he walks out with.”

"You were talking about trust," Hawes said.

"Yes," Farnes said. "I was saying that any fool know you can't get anywhere in business - if it's the business of saving souls for Jesus [st- by not trusting the people you're doing ' ss with. That's what I tried to explain to Father , may God rest his soul, in my letter.”

"It didn't sound as if your letter was about mast," said.

"It didn't? I thought it did.”

“Well, for example, Mr. Farnes," Hawes said, already gone over this with Carella and now himself an expert, "you don't think these do you, are about trust, here, this passage he said, unfolding the letter and finding what was looking for, "here, Mr. Farnes, 'and he out the coins of the money-changers and 1 their tables.' Is that about trust, Mr. "It's about not turning a place of worship into a of commerce.”

how about this," Hawes said, gathering "right here, Mr. Farnes, "Let Father Birney the offerings again and yet another time, and then let him count his blessings as well." you mean by 'let him count his blessings as "Let him realize that he is blessed with a generous congregation.”

"And this? What does this mean?"Pride before destruction, and a haughty spirit before Is that about trust?”

"It's about trusting the Lord to show the leads away from pride and haughtiness.”

"Well, you certainly have an odd w interpreting your own words," Hawes said. discuss any of this personally with Father "Yes. In fact, we had a good laugh over "A good what?”

"A good laugh. Me and Father Michael.”

"Had a laugh over this letter you wrote?”

"Oh, yes. Because I was so incensed, you "And he found that funny, did he? That incensed enough...”

"Yes.”

"... by the sermons he'd given...”

"Yes." ... "... to have written a letter you described as 'monumentally angry.' He that...”

"Yes, we both did.”

"... hilarious.”

"Well...”

"Side-splittingly funny.”

"No, but we did find it humorous. That That I'd written this righteous, indignant to the congregation when all I had to do, really, go see Father Michael personally - as I finally do - and have a pleasant chat with him, and the whole thing out.”

"So you straightened the whole thing out.”

"Yes.”

"When?”

"On Easter Sunday. I stopped by in the afternoon , went back to the rectory with him. We a good long talk.”

"How'd you finally settle it?”

"Father Michael said he would ask each member the congregation to confide in him the amount he she could comfortably afford to contribute each and then he would trust them to contribute amount faithfully. It was all a matter of trust, see. That's what I was able to explain to him we talked. That he should just have a little He glanced toward the curtains. The man gone back with the three pairs of pants was coming through into the store again. There were only two pairs of pants slung over his arm.

a minute, sir!" Farnes called.

"Ah, there you are," the man said. "I'll take the I'm wearing. Can I get them measured, .. why, yes, sir, certainly, sir," Farnes said, step right this way, the tailor's at the other of the store.”

"I left my own pants in the dressing room," man said. "Will they be safe there?”

“Just have a little trust, sir," Hawes said.

Carella placed the call to the archdiocese four-fifteen that afternoon.

The man who the phone identified himself as Archbishop Quentin's secretary and told him that His Emine was out at the moment but perhaps he could be assistance. Carella told him this had to do with murder he was investigating... "Oh, dear.”

"Yes, the murder of the priest up here...”

"Ah, yes.”

"Father Michael Birney.”

"Yes.”

"And I'm calling because I'm trying to locate sister, but there's no answer at the number I...”

"His Eminence has already taken care of the secretary said.

"Taken care of what?”

"Notifying Father Michael's sister.”

"In Japan? How'd he...?”

"Her husband's office number was in our here. His Eminence was able to get the name hotel from Mr. Brogan's secretary, and he Mrs. Brogan there. She'll be here Sunday in time the funeral.”

“Well, good," Carella said. "Would you to know if there are any other relatives? I'd like ,9 "I believe there was only the sister.”

"And you say she'll be here Sunday?”

"She's already on the way, sir.”

"Well, thank you very much.”

"Not at all." Carella put the phone back on the hook.

Already on her way, he thought.

Which meant that whatever had been troubling the good priest would have to wait till Sunday, after all.

The man sitting opposite Marilyn was a white man in his early riffles.

His name was Shad Russell, and he knew why she was here, but he was making his pitch anyway because he figured it never hurt to take a chance. Shad used to be a gambler in Las Vegas before he came East and got himself settled in various other little enterprises. He had a pockmarked face from when he was a little kid, and he had a mustache that looked as if it could use some fertilizer, and he was as thin and as tall as Abraham Lincoln and he thought he had a devastating smile.

Actually, he looked like a crocodile when he smiled.

He was smiling now.

"So old Joe give you my number, huh?" he said.

"Yes," Marilyn said.

"Old Joe Seward," he said, and shook his head.

They were in his room on the second floor old Raleigh Hotel on St.

Sebastian Avenue, where the Warringer Theater used to be. Madl come up here to Diamondback by taxi. She wearing jeans and a leather jacket over a tan sw Her hair was pinned up under a woolen cap. It. one thing for a white woman to go alone exclusively black neighborhood to talk to some Texas pimp had recommended. It was another flashing long blonde hair.

"How is he?" Shad asked.

"I haven't seen him in years," she said.

"How come you know him?”

“He said you could help me find a gun.”

"But that don't answer my question, does.

Shad said, and smiled his crocodile smile. had the sudden feeling that this was going harder than she'd thought.

"If you think I'm a cop or something..." she "No, I..." : "... you can call Joe on my credit card, him to...”

"I already did.”

The crocodile smile.

"Though not on your credit card.”

The smile widening.

"On my own nickel. Right after you hung ask him who this Mary Ann Hollis was that a gun so bad.”

"And what'd he tell you?”

“He told me you used to work for him it musta eight, nine years ago. When you were still in He said you used to have a piano-man pimp there in Houston, but he got himself stabbed in i.bar, which was when Joe come into your life. He told me you got busted at the ripe old age of and that he paid the five-bill fine and let walk away from his stable' cause you asked him and he happens to be a gent. So no, I'm not you're fuzz.”

"Then why are you asking me things you already W?”

"I wanted to see if you'd lie.”

"I would've.”

"I figured. Why you need this piece?”

"Some people are bothering me.”

"You going to shoot these people?”

"If I have to.”

"And then what?”

"Then what what?" i. "Who do you tell where you got the piece.

"Not even my priest," Marilyn said.

, I'll just bet you got a priest," Shad said, smiled the crocodile smile again. "You still in same line of work?”

“

bad. "Cause I could maybe find some major for somebody like you." s, I'm not looking for any major..." really major...”

"... or even minor ones. I need a gun. Can you me one? If not, adi6s.”

"Think about the other for a minute.”

"Not even for a second.”

"Think about it," he said, and smiled. "Is any harm thinking about it?”

"Yes, there is.”

"Who you gonna shoot with this gun?”

"That''s none of your business.”

"If the gun comes back to me, then it becomes business.”

"It won't come back to you, don't worry.”

"Are these people pimps? Does this inw prostitution?”

“No. I already told you, I'm not...”

"'Cause I don't want some angry pimp here yellin' one of his cunts tried to...”

“Goodbye, Mr. Russell," Marilyn said, and up, and slung her shoulder bag, and started for door.

"What'd I do?" Shad asked. "Insult you? fuckin' bad. I got my own ass to protect here. I want no gun of mine involved in a family You got a quarrel with your old man, go settle it him quiet, you don't need no gun of mine.”

"Thanks, I understand your position. It was meeting you.”

"Look at her. All insulted on her fuckin' hi horse. I hit it right on the head, didn't I? You this gun to dust your pimp.”

"Yep, right on Goodbye, the head.

Mr. Russell.

I'll be sure to tell Joe how helpful you were.”

"Sit down, what's your fuckin' hurry? If this ain't a pimp, then what is it? Dope?”

"No.”

"You say some people are bothering you, what are they bothering you for?

Did you forget to pay them for their cocaine?”

"Do you have a gun for me, or don't you? I don't need this bullshit, I really don't.”

"A gun will cost you," he said.

"How much?”

"It's a shame you ain't in the trade these days," he said, and smiled the crocodile smile. "'Cause I have this very major Colombian merchant who'll be here in the city this weekend, I'm sure we could work out some kind'of barter arrange. “

And suddenly he saw what was in Marilyn's eyes.

"All right, all right, all right," he said, "forget it, all right?”

And just as suddenly turned all business.

"What kind of gun did you have in mind?" he asked.