Vespers

IX

Frank Oriella was a man in his early sixties, 'd been born into the Catholic Church when ;ses were still said in Latin, fish was eaten every and it was mandatory to go to confession taking holy communion.

Nowadays, he was :lered by the ecumenical changes that had place since he'd become a priest. He had only week, for example, attended a funeral service in church in Calm's Point, where presumably to the deceased on his way to Heaven the astor had played a guitar and had sung what Sounded like a pop song. This was in a Catholic l! This was not some little church down south a tin roof. This was a big, substantial Catholic church! With a priest who played the guitar and sang! Father Oriella still shook his head in wonder at the memory.

That Tuesday afternoon, when Carella and Hawes arrived at the church, he was shaking his head and trying to put together a new office in the s had once been occupied by Father Michael. a small church in a poor neighborhood. The here at St. Catherine's was more a cottage than house.

Fashioned of stone that echoed the fl the adjoining garden, it consisted of two small kitchen, and an even smaller office, the church terminology for which was long hall connected the rectory to the church, sacristy.

Uptown Father Michael had enjoyed of a rather more opulent house.

His secretary of thirty years, a woman Marcella Palumbo, to whom he spoke English and in Italian, was busily unpac cardboard cartons of files which Father transferred to the open drawers of green cabinets.

Both Oriella and Marcella had white and they were both wearing black.

Looking much like citified penguins, they bobbed about the small office, the priest complaining was inhuman to transfer a man from a parish served for more than forty years, his clucking her tongue in sympathy while she box after box of files. It occurred to Carella files they were unloading pertained to previous parish and would be of little worth But perhaps he'd carted them along for reasons.

"I can understand the bishop's thinking," he this does not make his decision any more for me.”

His accent was not basso profundo buffone; he not sound like a recent immigrant. Rather, the "ons and cadences of his speech made it sound :areful, studied, somewhat formal. In contrast, spoke with a thick Neapolitan accent that her presence on these shores for the past years.

"The bishop surmises," Oriella said, "that after a such as this one, it will take an older, more erienced priest to pull the parish together again.

mine to question. But have they given any consideration to the shambles my old parish will There are people at St. John the Martyr been worshipping there since I first became apriest. That was forty-two years ago. Some of these people are eighty, ninety years old. How will they react to such a change? To a new priest?”

“Vergogna, vergogna," Marcella said, shaking her head and tackling yet another carton.

"It might have been wiser," Oriella said, "to send the newly appointed priest here, instead of to St. John's. This parish has already weathered a shock.

Now there will be two shocks to overcome, one here and another one there.”

“Sure, what do they know?" Marcella said.

It sounded like "Shoo, wottaday nose?”

"Marcella Bella here," he said, pleased when she Waved away his playfully flattering nickname, "started working for me when the subways clean and it wasn't worth your life to travel after ten o'clock. I had a difficult time conv her to accompany me here. She lives in Riw just a few blocks from St. John's. The difficult one for a woman getting on in the neighborhood, with all due respect for w people do, is not the best in the world, is it?”

"No, not the very best," Hawes admitted.

"But complaining about the pasture isn't mend the fences, is it?" he said. "These files accumulation of a lifetime, my sermons, letters priests all over the world, articles on Jesus Catholic Church, reviews of inspirational anything pertaining to the spiritual life. To them behind at St. John's would have been leaving my own children there.”

"Vergogna, vergogna," Marcella said again.

Hawes did not know what she was saying, gathered from the clucking of her tongue shaking of her head that she was not happy Father Oriella's transfer here. Carella knew was saying, "Shame, shame," referring to stupidity of the diocese in transferring the secretary, the files, the whole damn thing. She not going to like this place. She knew that from minute they'd walked into a rectory half the the one at St. John's. And what kind of could an Irish be? Martha Whatever, eh? This erson to take care of an Italian priest? Or so Carella ;ad it. Vergogna, vergogna.

"Actually, we'll have some more files for you in a little while," he said.

"Oh?" Oriella said.

"Cosa ?" Marcella asked.

"More files," the priest said, and then, in Italian, "Anche pia filze,” and in English again, "What files?”

"Father Michael's. We're almost finished with them.”

“They'll be useful to you," Hawes said. "For the receipts, records of payments...”

"Remind me to call the bishop," Oriella said, snapping his fingers, and turning to Marcella. "I have to ask him whether I should close out the St. John's account and start a new one here, or whether Father Daniel and I can simply use the old accounts.”

He turned back to the detectives and said, "They sent a young man straight out of the seminary, he's twenty-four years old, Daniel Robles, a Puerto Rican. He's going to be dealing with octogenarian Italians, young Daniel, he's going to be stepping into a lion's den.”

Marcella burst out laughing.

"I should have left you there to help him out," Oriella said, teasing her.

"Hey, sure," Marcella said.

It sounded like "Ay, shoo.”

"The reason we came by," Carella said, "is we'd like to do a search of the church, if that's with you.”

"A search?”

“Cosa?" Marcella asked.

"Una ricerca," Oriella said. "But a se what?”

"Narcotics," Hawes said.

"Here?" Oriella said.

It was unthinkable that there would be here inside the church. This was like Devil would be preaching next Sunday's mass single word "Here?”

expressed not only disbelief but revulsion as well. Here?

Dope? Here?

"If the story we have is reliable," Hawes Marcella, who had apparently understoodi word, was already shaking her head again.

"So we'd like to look around," Carella said if we come up with anything.

If there is dope the church, if dope is somehow involved in well.., let's say that might change things.”

"Of course," Oriella said, and shrugged as say This is entirely preposterous, dope church, but if you wish to look for it, by all ahead, I am but a mere devoted servant of transferred from my beloved parish uptown to insufferable part of the city.

"We'll try not to get in your way," Hwes said "Is Mrs. Hennessy here?”

Carella asked. thought she might show us around.”

"She's in the kitchen," Marcella said.

It sounded like "She's inna kitch." I'll buzz her," Oriella said, and went to his desk.

a button on the base of his phone, he waited, then said, "Mrs. Hennessy, could you come in, .,ase?" Marcella scowled. "Thank you," Oriella and put the phone back on the cradle. "She'll be lright here," he said, and just then Alexis the autiful little blonde girl with the serious brown eyes and the solemn air ... appeared in the doorway o the office, said, "Excuse me," and then recognized arella.

"Hello, Mr. Carella," she said, "I'm Alexis "Donnell, we met Saturday.”

last "Yes, I remember," Carella said. "How are you?" | "Fine, thanks,' she said, and hesitated, and then asked, "Have you learned anything yet?”

.. "Few things," he said.

Alexis nodded, her brown eyes thoughtful, her face bearing the same sorrowful expression that had preceded tears last Saturday. She was wearing a blue blazer with a gold embroidered school crest on the left breast pocket, pleated green plaid skirt, blue knee-high socks, brown walking shoes; Carella figured she had come here directly from school.

She turned to Oriella and said, "I hope I'm not interrupting anything, Father...”

“Not at all," Oriella said.

"But we're not sure.., the kids in the C.Y.O... We're not sure what we should do about Friday night's dance." She turned to Carella and is the big dance we have every year at the be of June. We've been planning it for a long then, to Father Oriella again, "We Friday's regular dance, but we don't know we're supposed to do now. We don't want anything disrespectful to Father Michael's But Gloria has the check Father Michael and she doesn't know whether to give it to He not. For the band Friday night.”

"Kenny?" Father Oriella said.

"Kenny Walsh," she said. "He's leader Wanderers, the band that's supposed to asked for a hundred-dollar deposit, and Michael gave Gloria the check, but now we :. KNOW.”

Oriella said, "Mmm," and thought about problem for what seemed a long time.

asked, "Was Father Michael involved in planning of this dance?”

“Oh, yes," Alexis said. "In fact, he was the who started them. The First of June dances.”

"For what purpose?" Oriella asked. "How are proceeds used?”

Straight to the point, Carella thought, wondered what Arthur L. Farnes who'd taken a about the money-changers in the temple - think of the new parish priest.

"We buy baskets for the poor," Alexis said.

i.

"Baskets?”

lod baskets, yes, Father. To take around on morning.”

“Oriella said, and nodded in satisfaction to who nodded in return.

"Last year, we made around two thousand "Alexis said.

you say these dances on the first day of June Father Michael's idea?”

,. "Oh, yes, Father. He started them three years “

:i. "Then I think it would be a fitting memorial to the dance as scheduled. In honor of Father l's devotion to the needy of this parish.

You give Kenny his check," Oriella said. "And I will end the dance myself, and give my blessing to everyone there.”

“Thank you, Father,” she said. "I'll tell Gloria.”

She was starting out when Martha Hennessy peared in the door-frame behind her. The tiny fffice was about to get crowded. Hawes had been on too many small crafts during his tour of duty in the Navy; he was beginning to feel claustrophobic.

"Mrs. Hennessy," he said, "'we'd like to look through the church, we were hoping you'd show us around.”

"I'd be happy to," she said, and then, to Alexis, "Hello, darlin" how are you?”

“Fine, thanks, Mrs. Hennessy," Alexis said, ttaanks, again, Father, we'll look for you on Friday night," and stepped out into the small entry that Separated the chancellery from the remainder of the rectory. As Hawes and Carella said their Father Oriella, she began chatting Hennessy, and was still talking to her came out a moment later. She turned to C once, giving him the impression that she' waiting for him.

"There's something I want to tell you,”

“Sure," he said.

"Could we talk privately?”

Something in her dark eyes signaled “

"I'll meet you in the church," he said to and then led Alexis outside, to the garden wh priest had been slain. The roses were still in their aroma overpowering. Where once the been the chalked outline of the priest on the u floor of the garden, there was now only the gre weathered stone itself. They walked to the mapl sat on the low stone bench that circled it. Them moss on the tree behind them. Ivy climbed the walls of the cottage. This could have courtyard in an English village.

"I don't want to get anyone in trouble," said.

He waited.

"But...”

The essential word.

Still, he waited.

"This was Easter Sunday," she said. "I was g crosstown to meet my friend Gloria outside movie theater on Eleventh and The Stem. This m been around two-thirty, a very windy day, I “

skirts flapping about her legs, long blonde hair in the wind. She. is supposed to meet Gloria the theater at three, an Eddie Murphy picture Gloria and Alexis are both freshmen at a school on Seventh and Culver.

The Graham ol. One of the few good schools in the precinct, is only half a block away from a public school an assistant principal recently was stabbed to break up a fistfight. She still has almost half hour before she's supposed to meet her, though, still has plenty of time. And although she's been to mass early this morning, she is St. Catherine's again now, coming up the Street side where someone has painted a red star on the green gate leading to the and the rectory, planning to continue north to Stem, where the theater is, but instead making a on Culver, and impulsively going into the through the big entrance doors, which are closed but unlocked...

"I thought I'd say a few extra prayers, this was, like, you know, Easter Sunday...”

.. coming through the narthex, and walking up the center aisle under the nave, the church empty, her heels clicking on the polished wooden floors - this is Easter Sunday and she is wearing patent leather Shoes with medium-high heels - clicking as she approaches the crossing, the transept on her left, the :, sacristy on her right, the brass chain immediately ahead of her, and behind it the the huge cross with Jesus hanging on it and from a dozen wounds in his side and his "... all at once there were voices, Michael's voice and someone else's...”

... coming from the paneled corridor from the sacristy into the priest's small stone his rectory, the voices startling her because first time she has ever heard Father Michael in anger. She stops dead in the center of the cro: here where the middle of Jesus's chest we were this a true cross rather than the tradi stone-and-timber architectural re stands shocked and silent as the priest's voice down the corridor as if from the neck of a its open cup, rushing into the church, echoin vaulted ceiling, This is blackmail, he is blackmail!

She does not know quite what do do. She sudden guilt of a child ... she is wearing she is only thirteen eavesdropping on an fearful she will be discovered in the next instant punished for her transgression, either by the by the woman he is... "A woman?" Carella said at once. "Not a He was with a woman?”

"Yes.”

"And you heard him use the word blackmail?”

..s. And she said, "I'm doing this for your own . ' ' then what?”

lexis stands there at the middle of the e-and-timber cross that is St.

Catherine's rch, looking up at the huge plaster figure of hanging on a genuine oaken cross behind the the priest's voice coming again from her right, is afraid to turn her head to locate the voice, she she will discover Father Michael lunging at in a rage, shouting at her as he now shouts at the Get out of my sight, how dare you, how dare to, and the woman is suddenly laughing, the iughter echoing, echoing, and there is the sound of slap, flesh hitting flesh. Alexis turns and runs, ierrified, they are both shouting behind her now, she us for the entrance doors, heels strafing the ooden floor, slipping, almost losing her balance, asping for the back of the nearest bench, righting herself, running again, running, running, she is not used to heels, throwing open the central portal doors and coming face to face with a black man, blood streaming down his... "Nathan Hooper," Carella said.

"I screamed, I shoved myself past him, there were other men chasing him, I ran away from there as fast as I could.”

She had called them men. And to her terrified eyes those husky young teenagers indeed must have appeared to be men. But hadn't she... ?

"Doesn't that name mean anything to asked. "Nathan Hooper?”

"Yes, of course, now it does, I saw his the newspaper, I even saw him in television. But at the time, he was just this... black man with blood running down his face, I wanted to do was get out of there. I think mind I made some crazy kind of connection Father Michael yelling and the woman all the yelling outside the church.

I've never scared in my life. All that blood. All that an "Did you see who the woman was?" asked.

"I don't want to get anyone in trouble," said, and looked away.

He waited.

"But..." she said.

And still he waited.

"If she had anything to do with Father murder, then...”

Her eyes met his.

"Who was she?" he said. "Was she anyone know?”

“I only saw her from the back," Alexis said.

"What'd she look like?”

"She was a tall woman with straight blonde Alexis said. "Like mine.”

And like Kristin Lund's, Carella thought.

what'd you do?" Shad Russell asked. "Rob a "Not quite," Marilyn said.

"Then what? Saturday you're here haggling over price of a gun . which, by the way, was a very bargain .- and Tuesday you're back with, how did you say?”

"Five hundred thousand.”

"You got that much change in your pocketbook "Sure," Marilyn said.

I'll bet," Russell said knowingly. "So how'd you into all this money?”

"Liquidation," she said.

"Of who? Who'd you dust, honey?”

"I understand that the normal return on a drug investment is eight to one," she said, straight for the jugular. "I need two million dollars.

I'm assuming if I invest half a million...”

"Is that what we're talking here?" Russell said, surprised. "Dope?”

“I told you on the phone I was looking to make an investment.”

"I thought you meant an investment of time. I thought you were all at once interested in one of my major situations.”

"I am. The Colombian merchant.”

"But not in the same way I hoped you'd be interested.”

"No, not in that way," Marilyn said, and wondered if she'd have to through go damn ex-hooker routine yet another time be could settle down to the business at hand. in a little bar off St. Sebastian Avenue, three from Russell's hotel. There were enough girls in it, even at this early hour, to satisfy of every major Colombian merchant in they were all either black or Hispanic, and Colombian gentlemen preferred blondes.

Smiling like a crocodile, Russell leaned table and said, "Maybe you could mix pleasure in with the business, what do you "I think no, and let's cut the crap, please.:i many keys of cocaine can I get for the hundred?”

“That kind of bread, that's peanuts Russell said, immediately getting down to tacks. "There's no chance of a discount, you'd to pay the going rate, which is very high these because of all the pressure. Forty, fifty grand a depending on the quality. So what does that Divide five hundred by fifty, what do you get?”

“Ten,” she said, and wondered where he'd to school.

"Okay, that's if we're paying fifty, we get keys. If we're paying forty, what do we get?”

"Twelve and a half.”

"So average it out, let's say you pay let's say you get eleven keys for the five that'd be doing good these days.”

how much would those eleven keys be on the street?" ,'Y'ou're talking high, eight to one, that's high.”

"Then what?”

"You step on a kilo even once, you come away th ten thousand bags of crack. Nowadays, a bag is for twenty-five bucks. That's a quarter of a you come away with, for the one key. That you forty-five for. That's around five and a half to you'd be getting. So figure you can turn the five into like two million seven, something in Exactly the amount you need," Russell said, smiled his crocodile smile.

"No, all I need is two.”

“Plus my commission," he said, still smiling.

"That seems very steep.”

"Seven hundred thou is steep?" Russell said, looking offended. "You know somebody cheaper?

In fact, you know anybody at all?”

"I can always call Houston again. I'm sure Sam can find me...”

"Sure, call him. Meanwhile, I got the feeling you were in some kinda hurry.”

“Even so, that's steep," she said, shaking her head. "Seven hundred thousand? That's very steep.”

Bargaining. When her fucking life was at stake.

Settle with the man, she thought.

"So is that it?" Russell said. "Are we finished talking here?”

"For that kind of I'd money expect you to the entire transaction," she said. Still bargaining.

"Meaning what?”

"Setting it up, making the buy, turning “

"I can tell you right now nobody's going eleven keys to somebody invisible.”

"Oh? Did you suddenly get invisible?”

"I'm talking about they smell I'm making for somebody else, the Uzis come out. They know who they're doing business with.”

"I can't get involved in this," she said.

Not bargaining this time. Merely Willis. Thinking that if something went during the transaction, if the police came might hurt Willis somehow.

Thinking... "Then don't get involved in moving Russell said. "If you want to make a deal, I'll the buy for you. You show with the money, make the buy yourself. Then I'll see about around.”

"I have to be positive you can turn it "Tell you what. If I can't turn it around, you owe me a nickel. Is that fair?”

"Then what do I do with the eleven keys?”

“Snort it," Russell said, and smiled his smile. "When do you need this money?”

"How about tomorrow afternoon?”

"Impossible.”

"Then when?”

can't set up the buy before Thursday night, st. Have you got your hands on this money ,?”

"I have a cashier's check.”

"Honey, please don't make me laugh. In this iness? A check?”

"A cashier's check is as good as cash.”

"Then cash it.”

"All right.”

"You know anything about high-grade coke?”

"A little.”

"Enough to know whether they're selling you sugar instead?”

"No.”

I'll teach you. They'll expect you to test the stuff. Everything's a fuckin' ritual with them. You test it, you taste it, you give them the cash, they give you the shit, and you go your separate ways. You deviate from the ritual, they think you're undercover and they blow you away. It ain't without its certain risks, this business," he said drily.

"When will you know for sure?”

"Tomorrow." I'll call you," she said.

"No, let me call you.”

"No," she said.

"Why not?”

"Just no.”

"Okay, you know where to reach me," Russell said, and shook his head as if to say there understanding the ways of beautiful bro once earned a living on their backs. "Give around this time tomorrow. If everything way I figure, you better cash that check on and I'll let you know where they wanna meet "No," she said. "Specify one-on-one. pick the place.”

"They may not go for that.”

"I'm paying top dollar. If they don't terms, tell them to go fuck themselves and we somebody else.”

“Tough lady," he said, and smiled.

"You that gun I sold you?”

"No.”

"You want my advice? Buy another one. me or somebody else, it don't matter. A bi this time.”

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

"We done this before, you know," Mrs. said. "Father Michael and me. Went over the top to bottom searching for the dope.".

"Yes," Carella said. "His sister told me.”

"Nice lady, ain't she? The sister.”

“Yes," Carella said. "Very nice.”

"I thought so first time I met her," Mrs. Hennes said, smiling at the memory.

When was't at?”

“Shortly before Easter," she said. "Around St. Day.”

Which fell each year on the seventeenth of Which certainly would have qualified as before Easter" in that Easter this year had on the fifteenth of April.

Carella wondered if then Father Michael had been involved with his ;terious lady. In which case, why hadn't he laentloned her to his sister while she was visiting lere?

"... a search for dope?' Haw, es was saying.

"Well, we got a ph o, ne call,' Mrs. Hennessy said.

"What phone call?

lthe "Krissie took a phone call one afternoon, I was in office when it...'I When was this.

"Last month somenme.

"When last month?”

"About a week after that black boy got beat up," Mrs. Hennessy said.

"The call was for Father Michael. He took it, listened for a few minutes, said, "I don't know what you're talking about,' and hung 1119.”

"Who was it?”

"Who was who?”

"On the phone.”

"Oh. I don't know. But Father Michael turned to Krissie and said, "Kris, this guy says...' “

"Is he called her?”

that what Hawes "Yes. Or sometimes Krissie." Hawes nodded and said nothing. But C the look that crossed his face.

""Kris, this guy says there's dope hidden church here and he wants it back,' "Mrs. He said, and nodded.

"So it was a man on the phone," Hawes "I guess so.”

“Did Father Michael say who it was?" asked.

"No, sir.”

"He didn't say it was Nathan Hooper, did "No, sir.”

"Did he say it sounded like a black person?”

"No, sir. He didn't say nothin' but what I you he said. "This guy says there's dope the church here and he wants it back.' Is what Michael said. So we begun looking for it.”

"Where'd you look?”

"Everywhere.”

"Meaning?”

"Meaning everywhere. Places hadn't cleaned or disturbed since the church was built, a hundred years thick. Nooks and crannies I know existed.

Secret passageways...”

"Secret passageways?" Hawes said.

"This church used to be part of the under "Mrs. Hennessy said. "Slaves escaping the south used to come hide in the church here.”

"What goes around comes around," Hawes said, nodded.

Carella, deep in thought, missed Hawes's .,nce to history's little repetitions. He was :mbering back to when Marilyn Hollis was a ect in a poisoning, and Willis had fallen in love with her. It had made things even though the ending turned out to be happy one. Carella was all in favor of happy ndings. But judging from the look that had crossed i-Iawes face when he'd heard that the called - priest his secretary either Kris or Krissie rather than Kristin or Miss. Lund or Whatever the Hell, Carella "Suspected that his this time around had been partner |similarly stricken, and he hoped with all his might Krissie Lund turned out to be similarly clean.

Because /f she was the woman who'd tried to blackmail Father Michael on Easter Sunday... Or, worse, if she was the woman who'd been intimately involved with the priest...

Or, worse yet, /f she was both adulteress and blackmailer at one and the same time..

"Show us the easy places first," Haes told Mrs. I'Iennessy.

She always became apprehensive when he started drinking heavily before dinner. All the other times had happened when he'd come directly home the store and started the evening by pouring a stiff drink. It was only a little past six now, he'd already consumed two healthy and was pouring himself a third one at the cou near the kitchen sink. Ice-cube tray open on counter. Tanqueray gin, he drank only the Tanqueray or Beefeater.

Wouldn't allow ache gin in the house. Asked her once if she knew that was made from juniper berries? And did she that juniper berries were poisonous? She known whether he was kidding or not. He said things just to confuse her. He could be cruel way.

She never knew whether one of his spells, she guessed you could call them... triggered by something that had happened at store that day, or whether they had something with the calendar, or the phases of the moon, or tides like a woman's period. She suspected was something sexual about these spells of his, what happened was some kind of substitute for that he got off on first getting drunk and then... "You disapprove, right?" he said.

"I'm making a nice dinner for us," she said.

"Which means you disapprove, right?”

Pouring the gin liberally over the ice cubes in short fat tumbler.

Fingers curled around the Outside, there was thunder in the east. It had days now since they'd had any rain. Rain would be welcome.

"I asked you a question, Sally.”

She wondered if he was already drunk. Usually it took more than two of them, however heavily he'd poured them. She didn't want anything to start. And yet, whenever he got this way, no matter how carefully she tiptoed around him, there didn't seem to be anything she could do to prevent what came next. It was like a button inside him got pushed, and then all the gears started turning and meshing, and there was nothing you could do to stop the machine.

Except maybe get out of here. Get away from the machine. Far away from it. She thought maybe she should get out of here right this minute, before the machine started again.

"Sally?”

“Yes, Art," she said, and realized this was a mistake the moment it left her mouth. His name was Arthur, he liked to be called by his full name. Arthur.

Not Art, not Artie, but Arthur. Said Arthur sounded majestic, Arthur the King, whereas Art or Artie sounded like garage mechanics. "I'm sorry,” she said at once.

"You still haven't answered my question," he said.

Good. He was ignoring the fact that she'd called him Art rather than Arthur. Maybe this wasn't going to be a bad one, after all, maybe tonight the machine Would merely grind to a halt before it...

"Did you hear my question, Sally?”

"I'm sorry, Arthur...”

Making certain she called him Arthur this "... what was the question?”

"Do you disapprove of my drinking?”

"Not when you do it in moderation. Because making us a nice dinner tonight, Arthur...”

"What nice dinner are you making us toni asked mockingly, and lifted the short fat his lips, and drained it.

Outside, lightning flashed and thunder "Salmon steak," she said quickly.

"With lovely asparagus I got flesh at the Koreans'.”

“I hate asparagus,” he said.

"I thought you liked asparagus," she thought it was broccoli you hated.”

"I hate asparagus and broccoli," he said, and to the counter again and lifted two ice cubes tray and dropped them into the tumbler. She he would not pour himself another drink.

He poured himself another drink.

"Asparagus and broccoli and cauliflower the other shitty vegetables you make that I hate, said. "Brussels sprouts...”

"I thought you liked...”

"... and cabbage and all of them," he said, lifted the glass to his lips. "A man gets forty-nine years old, he's been married to the woman for twenty-five years, you think she'd what he likes to eat and what he doesn't like to eat.

But oh no, not Fat Sally...”

The Fat Sally hurt.

He was going to hurt her tonight.

"... Fat Sally goes her merry fat way, cooking whatever the fuck she wishes to cook, with never a thought as to what her husband might...”

"I give a lot of thought to...”

"Shut upl" he said.

I have to get out of here, she thought. The last time I waited too long, I waited until it got out of hand, and then there was no getting away. I don't care if the dinner burns to a crisp, she thought, I don't care if a fire starts in the stove, I have to get out of here. Now.

But she waited.

Giving him the benefit of the doubt.

Because after the last time, when she'd gone to Father Michael to tell him what had happened, things seemed to get a little better, this was what... almost two months ago, the beginning of April, shortly before Easter, right, after he'd written that terrible letter. She'd asked him not to write the letter, she'd told him he'd be making a fool of himself before the entire congregation, but he'd insisted on typing it.here in the apartment and then taking it to the bank to Xerox however many copies he'd needed, said he resented the way the priest was turning the church into a financial institution, his words. And, of course, the congregation did think he was a fool for writing that dumb letter, the very next Sunday Father Michael made sermon about money, this time mentioning the he'd received, the letter Arthur had sent.., yes, right, thi was exactly a week before Easter this was he second Sunday in April.

He'd got that night. And the very next day, she'd gone Father Michael, her eyes puffy, her lip split... "The very bad habit you have, Sall, interrupting," he said.

"Oh, I know," she said pleasantly, still giving: the benefit of the doubt, still hoping that her " the priest had changed the situation here at that now that Arthur realized someone else what was going on here...

But the priest was dead.

Someone had killed the priest... even when I was a young girl," she said voice trailing, "I used to...”

And fell silent.

Interrupt, she thought.

All the time, she thought.

He was standing at the counter, putting cubes into the glass. She had lost count of how drinks he'd had already. Outside, there was lightning, and then thunder, and then the rain down in sheets, driven by a fierce wirid. She staring at his back. He stood stock still at the his hand wrapped around the lever that pried the ice-cube tray. Little egg-crate tray, the lever fastened to them. The tray empty w. The ice cubes all gone. The rain coming down in sheets outside.

"Miss. Zaftig," he said. "Isn't that what your little Jewboy used to call you?”

"Actually, he did refer to me as zafiig, yes," she said, "but he never called me Miss. Zaftig as such.”

Don't contradict him, she thought. Agree with everything he says!

"Little Miss. Zaftig," he said, "running to the fucking priest!”

"Well, if you hadn't...”

"Washing our dirty laundry in public I”

"There wouldn't have been any dirty...”

"Taking our dirty laundry to church and washing it for the priest!”

"Next time, don't...”

His arm came lashing out at her in a backhanded swipe. His hand was still curled around the lever of the egg-crate divider, the metal outlining twelve empty squares now, the metal edges hitting her face but only barely scratching it because this was truly an ineffectual weapon, a silly weapon really, this aluminum tray divider dangling limply at the end of a lever, hardly a weapon at all.

The gin bottle was quite another thing.

The gin bottle was green and stout, and it had a ilittle red seal on it that identified it as the genuine article, the Tanqueray, the good stuff. As quickly as he had swung the tray divider, he now dropped it clattering to the tiled kitchen floor, and immedi grasped the bottle by its neck and yanked it off counter, and pulled it back as though preparing forehand tennis shot, the bottle coming around as it were a racket level with a ball coming in shoulder high, swinging it, eye on the ball, high was where her head was.

A red circle of blood splashed onto the go alongside the red seal. Gin sloshed from the neck of the bottle onto his wrist, onto the floor, spurted now from the gash the bottle had alongside her left eye. The blood startled him. seemed to realize all at once that he was her with a lethal weapon, that this heavy fashioned of thick green glass could very easily her if he were not terribly careful. He said, really?" as if blaming her for his own stupidity picking up the bottle, in using the bottle on her, really?" and threw the bottle into the deliberately smashing it, shards of green exploding up onto the air, caught for a against a dazzling backdrop of yellow-white light lightning flashed again beyond the window.

Thunder rolled.

Oddly, he seemed more dangerous now.

Bereft of any weapons but hi,'s ban miscalculating how powerful or how clan those hands could be (but she knew), he closed in her where she stood cowering against the refri door, blood gushing from the wound on her head, bloody left hand clenched to her temple, her right hand held out like a traffic cop's, the fingers widespread, "Don't, Arthur," she said, "please, don't," but he just kept repeating over and over again, quite senselessly now, "Oh, really?" as if he were contradicting something she had just said, or perhaps asking for further explanation of what she'd said, "Oh, really?" while he slapped her over and again, methodically, his huge hands punishing her for whatever sin in his drunkenness he imagined she'd committed.

She reached for the knife on the drainboard.

And quite calmly stabbed him.