The Bari Bones

by Urcelia Teixeira

  Alex reached out and closed her fist over the fabric of the boy’s sweater behind his neck. Tears ran down the teen’s dirty cheeks. Somehow the boy managed to regain control of his arm and gripped onto the sleeve of Alex’s leather jacket.

  “Good! Now try to pull yourself up with that arm,” Alex instructed, hoping it might afford enough relief for Sam to tighten his grip again.

  The boy pulled with all his might, but still it wasn’t enough and Sam felt the fabric under his hands slip once more. His eyes met those of the young teen’s and it was as if the boy instinctively knew this was his end.

  “No! Don’t give up!” Sam shouted at him.

  Fear evaporated from the boy’s eyes as Sam fought to hold onto his arm but the slippery fabric continued to slide out from under his grip. Time froze ever so briefly in that moment and the world around them grew silent. There was nothing more either of them could do to save the young teen’s life. Sam stared into the boy’s eyes, silently apologizing for failing him. It was only when he felt the force of someone pushing against his body that his attention was jerked back into the present. Khalil’s hands latched onto the boy’s shoulder and with the combined strength of all three of them, they successfully heaved the teen’s body over the railing and safely onto the stairwell.

  “What took you so long?” Sam said with a quivering voice as Khalil smiled and helped Sam and the boy to their feet.

  The teen’s olive-toned face was pale with shock and Sam cupped his face with both hands. He smiled as he stared into the boy’s eyes and pulled him into his chest.

  “You’re okay,” Sam whispered into to the boy’s ear. “You’re okay.”

  Still in a state of shock the young man didn’t react.

  “What’s your name?” Sam asked, but the teen didn’t answer. Instead he dried his face against one shoulder and wiped his nose on his sleeve.

  “It’s okay, we’ll get you someplace safe and figure things out.”

  “We need to get out of here, Sam. I’m sure the entire town heard the commotion echo from the tower,” Alex prompted, already making her way down the steps, pausing briefly to pick up Sam’s gun that had tumbled further down the stairwell.

  “Thanks, Khalil. You saved the lad’s life.” Sam patted their guide on the back as they descended the staircase.

  With both guns retrieved and all four of them still recovering from the near fatal incident, they made their way back to the central part of the church building, relieved that the church remained silent and that there was still no sign of life inside. Praying the noise hadn’t drawn the attention of the town’s people, they hoped could quietly slip out. But as they approached a row of pews in the right transept, Alex suddenly stopped, silently drawing Sam’s attention to the door of the confession box that was open. It had been closed earlier.

  Alex and Sam held back. “Go on ahead with the boy Khalil. We’ll catch up in a minute,” Sam instructed in a low whisper.

  Khalil didn’t hesitate and ushered the boy toward the secret door. Alex and Sam proceeded with caution, moving between the aisles in the direction of the confession box. The sudden unmistakable sound of a switchblade sliced through the quiet confines inside the basilica.

  Hearing this, Khalil pushed the youth down onto the floor between the pews and hunched down next to him. On full alert, Alex and Sam pointed their weapons in the direction of the unexpected sound. With their backs pressed together, obscured between the pillars, their eyes searched ferociously through every corner of the church as they stealthily moved between the aisles.

  Chapter Four

  “Perhaps we should just get the boy and Khalil out safely first and then come back,” Sam whispered.

  “I agree, but not through the secret entrance. We can’t put Yusuf in jeopardy. We’ll have to leave through the front door,” Alex whispered back.

  Remaining in their back-to-back formation they slowly retreated to where Khalil and the boy were hiding between the pews. A loud scuffle followed by the sound of a hymn book falling noisily onto the floor sounded from between the pews. Breaking their defense formation Alex and Sam rushed to where they had left them and found Khalil unconscious on the floor. The boy was gone. Another noise drew their attention back toward the direction of the caged crypt. Alex moved toward it with Sam closely on her heels. Illuminated by the overhanging chandelier they spotted the youth, pinned against one of the columns with a glistening blade pressed firmly against his neck. A warning next to the boy’s ear was barely audible from where they were. The assailant increased the pressure of the knife against the boy’s neck and repeated his threat. With his back toward them he was unaware of their presence. Using it to their advantage, Alex and Sam quietly moved in on them. Within earshot of the assailant’s demands there was no mistaking that he was speaking Chinese. Their minds flooded with questions as they moved into position behind the attacker. The frightened boy spotted Sam, his eyes betraying the rescue mission. The assailant, his face entirely concealed by a red mask, spun around and pushed the teen to the floor. The attacker charged forward and thrust his knife at Sam’s chest. Quick to react Sam’s forearm blocked the attack followed by a swift left hook across the masked man’s face. The defense tactic did little to fend off the attacker and he took another stab at Sam’s side. With the youth now out of harm’s way, Alex took a stance next to Sam, aiming her gun at the attacker, but the man didn’t surrender.

  “No! Not in a church! No shooting in the church!” Khalil’s voice croaked from between the pews behind them, affording the masked man the perfect opportunity to take flight and escape out the front door.

  “What were you thinking, Khalil? You just let him get away,” Alex yelled in irritation.

  Khalil came out into the aisle from behind the pews, rubbing the back of his head where he’d been struck. “I don’t care. This is a holy place and I won’t allow killing in here.”

  He didn’t wait for a response from Alex and instead hurried toward their secret exit.

  “He’s right, you know,” Sam whispered while planting a gentle kiss on her cheek as he and the boy hastily followed Khalil.

  “So you’re okay with the fact that the priest’s murderer just got away?” Alex trailed through the dark passage behind them, unable to let the topic go. “We almost had him, Sam!”

  “I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it, Alex. I have a feeling he’ll be back. He wanted something from this boy and as long as he’s with us, the murderer will come to us, and this time we’ll be ready for him; if he is in fact the one who murdered the priest,” Sam said calmly as they stepped back inside the tailor’s shop.

  Sam’s comment silenced her. As usual his logic prevailed. There was indeed something more sinister around the boy’s involvement.

  Once outside, Khalil turned to face Sam. “I believe our transaction is complete.”

  “Indeed,” Sam responded retrieving a few notes from his pocket. “We couldn’t have saved the boy’s life without you, Khalil.” He paused and then continued. “But we can’t turn our backs on him now. He’s involved in something and clearly he’s in over his head. Any chance you’d be keen on earning a little added bonus?” Sam asked.

  Khalil shoved the notes into his jacket pocket and pulled out a cigarette. His eyes briefly looked back at Alex and the boy before he took a long drag from his smoke.

  “I don’t know, man. Things got out of hand in there. I almost got killed, you know. We’re talking murdered priests and killers on the loose here. I have a family back home,” Khalil added while he anxiously sucked on his cigarette.

  “We could really do with your help, Khalil. You clearly know your way around here. For now we just need you to find us a translator. I don’t think the boy speaks any English. That’s all. Just someone who will translate for us. We’ll make sure you’re protected.”

  Khalil grew quiet and turned to the side, staring at his feet. After a small pause he finally spoke again.

  “I speak six languages.” He
crushed the cigarette under his shoe.

  “Does that mean you’ll help us then?”

  Khalil stuck his hands in his pockets and stared at the dried blood stain on the church steps.

  “I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing it for the boy and the dead priest.”

  “Agreed,” Sam said quickly as he held out his hand.

  A small group of church clergy turned the corner and walked toward the church.

  “We should get out of here. The boy’s not safe out in the open like this, “ Alex cautioned. “Besides, it looks like he hasn’t eaten in days. Let’s take him back to our boat and see if he’ll tell us who is after him. Whoever that guy was, he meant business, and you’re right, he’s after the boy for some reason. We’re going to need him to talk if we are to have any chance of making sure he doesn’t get killed,” she added.

  Once at their mooring, Khalil paused next to the small luxury yacht and let out a whistle similar to the one a guy makes when he lays eyes on a beautiful girl. “Impressive,” he remarked.

  “She is, but she’s not ours I’m afraid, mate. It’s only a rental. As it happens we’re on our honeymoon,” Sam said as he hopped on deck and started untying the guide ropes.

  “You’re on your honeymoon. And you’re giving it up chasing after a bad guy. Well that’s one for the books,” Khalil commented, as he followed Alex and the boy down below deck.

  “Never thought I’d ever have the privilege of stepping inside one of these. My wife would never believe me.” Khalil traced his hands across the white leather sofa while his eyes took in the designer kitchen.

  “You’re married?” Alex asked, putting a quickly-warmed plate of leftover pasta from the night before in front of the boy.

  “Ten years next spring. I have two girls.” He pulled his wallet from his jacket and proudly flipped it open to a photo.

  Alex stared at the picture of the two young girls on a beach next to their mother. “They’re cute. Perhaps they’ll join us for dinner tomorrow.”

  “Oh, they’re not here. They’re back home, in Turkey.”

  “Why aren’t you with them?”

  Khalil shut his wallet abruptly and popped it back inside his jacket pocket without answering, signaling it was a topic he didn’t want to discuss any further. He stared out the small window and noticed they had already left the harbor. Realizing it was best not to push him, Alex poured three glasses of wine and placed one in front of him.

  “No thanks. I don’t drink. I’ll take a soda if you have any.”

  “Of course,” Alex responded, quickly removing the glass of wine and replacing it with a can of Coca Cola, depositing a second one in front of the teen.

  “I’m sorry for yelling at you earlier,” she said, leaning against the countertop in the kitchen. “I’m a sore loser when it comes to keeping criminals off the street and for a moment there I forgot we were in a church.”

  “That’s okay. I can tell you’re not used to being in a church that often.”

  “How do you know?” Alex responded, gulping down a big mouthful of wine.

  “Just a hunch.”

  “And you are; frequently in church?”

  “Every Sunday, and if my schedule allows, on a Wednesday too. You should try it sometime. It’s the one place the ugliness of the world disappears and you can just be yourself—focus on your soul and the path laid out for you.”

  Alex shuffled uncomfortably.

  “You don’t believe?” Khalil remarked.

  “Do you?”

  “But of course! How can you not? Look around you. How do you think that beautiful sunset was created?” Khalil said, before gulping down several large mouthfuls of soda. “Although, you had me going there for a bit earlier. Your knowledge of the Bible is impressive.“

  “I agree,” Sam interrupted as he made his way down from the deck. “You’re my wife and I never knew you knew the Bible that well.”

  Alex didn’t comment. Instead she directed her attention back to Khalil.

  “I thought you said you were Turkish. Aren’t you meant to follow the Islamic faith?” She probed.

  “I’m not like most Turkish. I’ve been a Christian all my life, as were my father and his father before him. Unfortunately, we’re not permitted to freely admit it back home. We’re the minority in the country.”

  “Is that why you left Turkey?” Alex asked with tenderness.

  “I suppose you can put it that way. My wife isn’t a Christian. She comes from a wealthy Arab family. We got married in secret and managed to keep it hidden from her family for seven years. I still don’t know how her father found out but he did. I came home from work one night and he had taken my wife and kids. When I tried to contact them he forbade me to ever set foot near them again. The next thing I knew, I found myself in jail on some bogus charge. Money buys power and I’d still be locked up in jail if it wasn’t for Yusuf who somehow made a deal with a crooked Köy Korucusu,. It doesn’t take much to bribe our police. He managed to sneak me out and get me safely out of the country. I have tried to send letters and stay in contact but I haven’t seen or heard from them since.”

  Khalil’s voice trailed off and the atmosphere fell silent until he suddenly perked up and spoke with newfound energy.

  “Anyway, such is life. We don’t let these things define us. We move on. Much like I suspect this brave boy next to me is trying to do.”

  “You’re right. Let’s see if we can find out where he’s from and why he’s mixed up with the Chinese.” Sam took a seat opposite the boy who so far hadn’t said a single word.

  “What’s your name, son?” Sam started.

  The boy’s big green eyes declared he had no idea what Sam was saying.

  Sam pressed his palm onto his chest. “I’m Sam,” then pointed to Alex and in turn Khalil, sounding out their names respectively.

  A faint smile erupted from the boy’s dirty face.

  “Stavros,” the boy answered between mouthfuls.

  “He’s Greek,” Khalil said with elation, and immediately welcomed the boy in perfectly spoken Greek.

  The boy’s face lit up resulting in a further quick exchange between Khalil and him.

  “What’s he saying?” Alex nudged for Khalil to translate.

  Chapter Five

  So far he’s thanking us for saving his life back at the church.

  “Ask him if he’s alone and what he’s doing here so far from home?” Sam spoke and Khalil promptly translated.

  Tears welled up in the boy’s eyes before he looked down at his dirty fingers and fiddled with the metal ring of his soda can. Khalil asked him again, this time with more tenderness. Wiping his nose with the back of his hand the boy took a deep breath and started talking, pausing to allow Khalil to translate his story.

  “He says he traveled here from Mathraki, a small remote island not far from Corfu. His mother is very ill and the doctors say they can’t do anything for her anymore. He came here to get some manna so she can be healed. He never knew his father. She raised him on her own. He is all she has. So he took a ferry to Ag Stephanos and traveled to Corfu by bus before catching a lift with a private sailboat in exchange for washing their diving gear and doing the dishes. They dropped him off in Taranto and then he hitched rides to Bari. But then he got robbed of the money he had saved up to gain entry to the ceremony.”

  The sad tone of Stavros’ voice suddenly became heavy with fear.

  “Calm down, lad,” Sam consoled, but Stavros paid little attention to him and continued rambling with heightened anxiety.

  “Shh, it’s okay. We’re going to help you,” Khalil comforted him.

  “What did he say?” Alex enquired when the boy finally calmed down.

  “He says he had no choice but to steal the manna from the crypt. So he sneaked into the church just before the ceremony was supposed to start. That’s when the altar boy saw him so he ran and took up hiding in the bell tower. He saw the man with the mask come out from behind the pews a
nd the next thing he knew the priest was dead and the police were chasing him.”

  “Wait, the same masked man from earlier?” Alex probed.

  Khalil translated and then replied by nodding his head.

  “But he didn’t actually see him kill the priest?” Sam asked.

  “No, he only heard the screams,” Khalil rendered again.

  “And what happened to the manna?” Alex asked.

  “He doesn’t know. That’s why he went back again,” Khalil continued.

  “But of course he couldn’t get it because it was behind the iron enclosure. And clearly the masked man doesn’t have any either, otherwise he wouldn’t be chasing Stavros,” Sam reasoned.

  Alex paced the tiny space in the kitchen. “We still have a dead priest. He must have taken the manna and tried to protect it.”

  “What I don’t understand is why they’re all arguing over it. Why kill the priest over it? Surely he could’ve just tapped more and given it to the man,” Sam said as he got up to pour more wine.

  “It doesn’t work that way, I’m afraid. The St. Nicholas bones only produce one cup of manna each year, no more and no less. Many have tried tapping more, but with no success. Once it’s tapped it only produces again in three hundred and sixty-five days. The ceremony is highly revered in the Catholic church and considered extremely holy,” Khalil explained.

  “Well, that explains its value then. It is of course entirely possible that the manna isn’t actually missing and that it was secured by the bishop and the church, perhaps somewhere off site,” Sam ventured as Alex took his place opposite Stavros.

  “Poor boy risked life and limb to save his mother’s life. Only to go home empty handed and possibly stand wrongfully accused of murdering a priest,” Alex added, her voice suddenly burdened. “We can’t let that happen, Sam. We have to help this boy. I know first-hand what it’s like losing a mother. You’re a doctor. I’m sure you can have a look at her. By the sounds of it I doubt his mother could afford proper medical treatment. For all we know she has a bad case of the flu.”