“No, sir,” the man replied. He looked at Tommy and then back at his plate.
“How’re doing? Okay?” He waited, but the man didn’t answer. He placed a hand on the man’s shoulder and got up, and then thought he heard him say something.
“What’s that, pal?” he asked.
Tommy sat back down. The man spoke louder but continued to look at his plate. “I know you. I remember you. You and your partner, riding around our block all the time. You both was hell on us. We wasn’t doing nothing, and you was still hell on us, all the time.”
“Yeah, hey, I’m sorry. I wasn’t a good person. I’m trying to make up for it. I’m sick now. Doing things like this, it makes me realize...”
“Now you sick, and you come in here for a night serving food, trying to atone before you go for judgment?” the man asked. “I’m not so sure it works like that, pal.”
“No, no, uh, I’m doing a lot more,” Tommy said. “Trying to do more. I understand now. I see things better.”
“People who are well off are always looking down at us. Saying shit like, ‘In this country, anybody can make it, so why you lazy people don’t want to work? You should’ve studied in school. School is free, you didn’t learn.’ You motherfuckers all had perfect TV-Land families. Mom and dad helping with the homework and going to back-to-school night. Don’t know how it is for a kid to grow up in a tenement, no heat, drugged-out, abusive parents if they even had any. Schools without damn pencils and paper, teachers who don’t give a rat’s ass.”
Tommy listened intently and had contempt for the man he used to be. For the first time, he saw the plight of the unfortunate through a clear lens. “I understand now. All I can say to you is that I’m sorry. I’m really so sorry.”
“That’ll have to be good enough,” the man said. “Thank you for doing what you’re doing here tonight.” The man looked up from his plate for the first time and engaged Tommy eye-to-eye. “I forgive you,” he said with a tired smile.
Tommy rose to leave, and the man rose with him. They embraced, and Tommy felt the warmth of the man’s body through the softness of his timeworn clothing.
BOBBY AND MOSES MADE their way up a flight of stairs to the rooftop landing.
Moses reached into his pocket and withdrew a metal cigarette case. He snapped it open and took out a joint. Replacing the case, he fished out a lighter and lit it, drawing deep.
“Care to partake?” he asked Bobby.
“Nah, drug testing and all. You know the deal,” Bobby responded. “Smells damn good though.”
They both leaned back against the brick wall of the shelter, bracing against the cold, enjoying the quiet and the star-speckled sky above them.
“Seems like your pop in there is enjoying himself.”
“Yeah, he’s all into this Good Samaritan thing now. It’s good to see him doing stuff like this. He’s different now that he’s sick.”
“I like your old man, kid,” Moses said.
The quiet returned as Moses consumed his smoke and they both stared into the night.
“I’m gay,” Bobby said.
“I’m Moses.” They both laughed at the exchange. “It’s not a big deal these days. Why you telling me this, kid?” Moses asked him.
Bobby shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t know. Practicing, I guess.”
“For the main event, right inside there?” Moses asked.
“Yeah, I suppose. You know any gay people?”
“Bobby, I been to prison. Everybody gay in prison, at least for a little while. Whether they like it or not.” They both laughed again. “Times are different now,” Moses continued. “Most folks don’t give a rat’s ass what you do on your own time, long as nobody’s getting hurt. Be yourself. Your old man’s still gonna love you. He’s different now.”
“It’s hard to imagine. I’ve been hiding this so long. I can’t imagine that ‘guess who’s coming to dinner’ moment with my family.”
“Move away, maybe. Makes things easier sometimes, to be your own person.”
“Yeah, that’s not a half-bad idea, Moses. But I don’t know if I can handle living as a gay person anywhere. Things are better, but society is still a pretty cruel place.”
The wind picked up, and Moses zipped up his jacket. “You want to go back in?”
Bobby didn’t answer for a while, and Moses waited patiently.
“You heard about that priest thing?” Bobby asked him.
The question brought Moses a moment of alarm, before he decided to feel him out. “Yeah, I’ve seen some of that in the news. Hope he gets what he’s got coming. I trust in you cops to take care of that business and put him away.”
Bobby became animated and pushed away from the wall, suddenly angry. “Fuck the cops, that motherfucker needs to die for what he’s done.” He walked to the edge of the rooftop and paused.
His sudden change in demeanor took Moses by surprise. For a moment he thought Bobby might jump, and began to move toward him. “Hey, let’s get on inside. Getting cold up here.”
Bobby spun and walked past him. “Yeah, it’s cold.”
TOMMY STARED UP AT the ceiling as Margie adjusted her pillow and read her magazine, both of them lying in bed. He reached for the remote and turned on the television, flipping through channels, pausing at each to determine content or wait through commercials. He lingered on a Spanish-language channel showing a telenovela. The starlet reminded him of Carmen, and he became aroused as he watched her male costar seduce her and remove her evening gown.
“What the hell are you doing?” Margie demanded.
He realized he’d moved his hand to her leg under the covers, and quickly removed it while sitting up to hide his erection. “I’m learning Spanish.”
He flipped the channel to sports, and she shook her head and went back to her reading.
After a period of awkward silence, Tommy broke the ice. “You were upset at dinner. Everything okay?”
She answered without taking her gaze away from her reading. “Yes, it’s fine. It was emotional when you talked about the people we lost—your dad, and Paulie.”
“Yeah, it is emotional. I think about them every day,” Tommy responded. “I wonder if they’re here with us. Maybe in some kind of different dimension we can’t detect. Maybe they come back as animals or something. Maybe that’s why animals aren’t allowed to communicate with us.”
She ignored his musings and changed the subject. “And Bobby—leave him alone. He’ll find his way. You have to give him time. He’s doing okay. He’s working, it’s not like he’s hanging out and doing drugs.”
“I know it. Sometimes they need a little nudge though, you know? He’s no kid anymore. What the hell’s he going to do, live here with us the rest of his life? He needs a good woman like I got.” He patted her thigh.
Margie put the magazine down and looked at him. “Don’t patronize me. What if he doesn’t want a girl?”
Tommy laughed. “Of course he does.” His voice rose. “Of course he does. What the hell are you talking about?”
She knew to leave it at that and clicked off her reading light before changing the subject again. “How did it go over there tonight? I worried enough about you being in that part of town when you were working; now you have to go back, with Bobby?”
“It was good. They’re good people that need help. I never saw that before. I spent too much of my time hating people, prejudiced by my job. I’m seeing things different now. Besides, I got a lot of stuff to atone for. I’m looking for a pass at the Pearly Gates,” he said. The humor had returned to his voice.
“Good Lord,” she responded. “Try going to church and saying your prayers. Good night, Tommy.”
“Good night, honey,” he replied. He gave her the usual peck and then puffed his pillow and rolled over to his normal position, facing away from her. He set the TV sleep timer to sixty minutes, to prevent the awkward silence that exposed their lack of intimacy.
He lay awake, but with his eyes closed. He c
ould sense the flickering screen. His thoughts went to what had just happened. He was embarrassed and guilty about being in bed with his wife while thinking of another woman.
She’s been there with me through everything. She’s still here, devoted to me after so many years of my bullshit. Who the hell would stick it out through that? She never complained. She worked her ass off, every day, at work and then here, to make a home for us. What is it about us that tempts us to throw everything we have away for a few minutes of pleasure? What a fucked-up species we are.
He changed channels to the evening news. He waited through the mundane stories to see if the priest had been sentenced yet. The anchor revealed that they had exclusive coverage—an interview with one of the victims. He looked over at Margie, who’d dozed off, and sat up in rapt attention.
The scene cut to an interviewer, seated across from a figure presented in shadow for anonymity—a clean silhouette, disrupted only by a stray cowlick. The interviewer spoke first.
“We’re here with someone who says he was a victim of Father Damien Tarat’s abuses from two decades ago. We have concealed his image and voice in order to protect his identity. Sir, my first question is, how did you come to know Father Tarat?”
The figure stirred, clearly uncomfortable, and then spoke in a robotic, computer-obfuscated voice. “He was my Scout leader. He was fun; the most popular one. He knew magic tricks. All the kids wanted his attention. I was shy, but he picked me. Maybe others. He said he’d teach me magic. He said we had to be alone because I was the only one he was going to teach...”
There was a pause while the subject tried to collect himself. The interviewer, not wanting to lose her scoop, said a few comforting words and offered to stop for a while.
The subject continued. “It all happened slow. A little at a time. He said it was normal. He said God wanted him to teach me about things, to teach me not to be so shy and uncomfortable with myself.”
“Did you tell anyone?” the interviewer asked.
“No. I was a kid, and I was in denial about it. And I don’t think I realized how bad it was, at least at first. I didn’t think anyone would believe me, and I didn’t want to be in trouble. I thought, if he’s a priest, he must be doing the right thing. He kept saying that God was okay with it.”
“We want to thank you for speaking out, and we’re sorry that you were a victim...”
“I’m still a victim. I’ll always be a victim,” the subject interjected.
“Understood, and hopefully Father Tarat never hurts another soul.”
As the programming went to commercial, Tommy started to rouse from his silent observation. As he watched, something had stirred in him, well beneath the surface—some vague sense of familiarity and disbelief. He pushed it away and let it be replaced by an anger that boiled up from within him. “Dirty scumbag!” he shouted.
“Turn it off, please,” Margie said from the depths of her pillow.
He turned the television off, scooted over to her, and put his arm around her. In that simple act, and the sudden warmth of their bodies together, he found the long-lost comfort of the many years they’d once slept that way. His anger transformed to tears and deep sighs of sadness, which he tried to hide from his wife.
She stirred, and mumbled, “What’s wrong?”
“I love you, Margie. That’s all. I just want you to know I love you.”
She responded in kind, muffled by the pillow, and took his hand.
I have to let this go. He’ll rot in prison, that’s good enough for me... Did she say she loves me or loved me?
12 A Plan
Lucius stood vigil behind the bar at Wyla’s, wearing his sunglasses and headphones. Moses sat bent over on his stool next to Tommy. The tavern was dark, with few patrons. Blues music flowed through the jukebox, featuring a mournful blues harp solo, and a TV flickered above the bar. Ancient multi-colored holiday lights were strung up along the ceiling, the working ones blinking in ragged unison. A synthetic Christmas tree stood in one corner, sparsely appointed with ornaments. Tommy was accepted now, out of respect for Moses, and perhaps as a shield against the police.
Moses threw back a shot and chased it with his beer. He spoke while looking down at the grimy bar. “We done the right thing with Vela, right? It’s still bugging me. I don’t want to get busted again.”
Tommy turned to him. “C’mon man. It’s done. You have to admit, it felt good to fix that problem and give him what he deserved. That’s the best I felt in a long time. We should do more like that. We’re dying, Mos. Fucking dying. Why not do more like that, to atone for the things we both have on our conscience? What are they going to do, put us in jail?”
“You’re getting better, Tommy. You got this beat. I’m too far down the road. I’m thinking maybe I just want to run this out quietly.”
“Fuck that. This remission is a respite for me, and you know it. We’re on borrowed time, both of us. And you’re Moses fucking Taylor. A legend. My partner in crime.”
They both laughed, and the laughing inspired a round of tired coughs and hacks from Moses.
“You see that guy on TV last night?” Tommy asked. “The one molested by the priest when he was a kid?”
“I did,” Moses responded, pausing and looking at him with some apprehension. “He’ll get his in prison, like I said. He better bring the lube and be careful not to drop the soap in the community shower.”
Tommy looked up at the television as the evening news began, and signaled to Lucius, who nodded and flipped switches to mute the jukebox and turn up the TV.
A news reporter stood in front of a church as snow flurried around her, whipping her hair against her face.
“...We have shocking breaking news in the story of Father Tarat...”
“Jesus, what now?” Tommy asked.
“...the guilty verdict against Father Tarat has been vacated. An appellate court has ruled that Tarat’s confession, in which he described himself as a homosexual, may have caused jurors to create in their minds an unfounded association between homosexuality and pedophilia...”
“Motherfucker!” Tommy jumped from his bar stool and paced the checkered floor. “The motherfucker is out!” He swung wildly with his fists, and then stopped and returned to his seat. “Mos, we have to do something. I want to get that son of a bitch.”
The reporter continued, “Tarat’s whereabouts are unknown. The diocese has not offered any comment, other to say they will ensure that Tarat will be reassigned and will have no contact with children.”
Tommy sat in stunned disbelief. Moses stirred. “Only the scum of the earth does what he did...what he’s been doing.”
“Yeah,” Tommy responded in a whisper, full of resolve. “That’s exactly what I’ve been talking about. I’d feel good about delivering justice to him. The perfect case. He’s guilty, but now he won’t be held accountable. Just thinking about all the kids he hurt makes my blood boil.
“One thing eats away at me. A long time ago, I pulled a priest over for speeding. He had a kid in the car, kid looked scared. I asked the kid if he was okay, but he never got a chance to answer. The priest said the kid had a troubled past: parents in and out of jail, reform school, probation, and was terrified of cops. I bought it and let him go. Can’t give a priest a ticket, right? Jesus. Maybe that was this guy. Maybe I could’ve stopped this a long time ago.” He thought about it for a while, becoming angrier at himself. “You want to do it?”
“What, like Vela?” Moses asked.
“No. I’m talking about taking him out. Fuck it. We’ll be vigilantes for justice. Like superheroes. Closest we’ll ever get. We’re dying. Let’s do the world a favor on the way out. I got shit to atone for.”
“Oh man. That’s a whole different level than what we did with Vela,” Moses replied.
Tommy grabbed his friend’s arm. Lucius took note from across the room and stirred. “He is on a whole different level than Vela. How many kids do you think this scumbag fucked up for the rest of
their lives, Mos? Imagine if it was your kid.”
“I don’t know about this,” Moses said. “Can you do it, kill someone? You ever killed anyone?
“C’mon. I’ve been to Nam. I was a cop in the city for thirty years. What about you?”
Moses hesitated. “I didn’t mean it. I was drunk, and I did my time for it. I do my penance every day for it. The question is, could you do it again, Tommy?”
“This time I feel justified. He needs to go. I’ll do it for those kids, and never feel bad.”
“I don’t know if I could do it. I might choke,” Moses responded.
“That’s on me. I want him. You’re just the help.”
Moses leaned back and looked at him. “Excuse me?”
Tommy suppressed the urge to laugh. “Alright, alright. Listen. Let me come up with a plan. I’ll get the 4-1-1 on him and come up with something. Hear me out, and then we can make a decision.”
“And what if someone finds out and rats us out before we can do anything? You’ll get a slap on the wrist, being an ex-cop, and I’ll spend my last miserable days in jail.”
“Moses, this and anything like this we discuss stays between us. It’s the only way. We agreed, it’s our code. Otherwise, we’ll go down together. Right?”
Moses hesitated. “That’s right. Who the hell am I going to talk to anyway? You do your plan and let’s talk about it later. They said ‘reassigned.’ He’s probably in Idaho or somewhere by now.”
“I bet he hasn’t left yet,” Tommy said. “But time is wasting.”
13 Surveillance
Moses watched the church rectory building through the windshield. “Damn, it’s cold, Chief.” As he spoke, white clouds rushed from his lips. “Turn the damn engine on so we can get some heat in here.”
“Can’t, Mos. Surveillance 101. If he’s in there, he’s probably looking out every five minutes. If he sees the exhaust, he’ll know he’s being watched. Let’s wait a little longer, then we’ll scram.”
“I don’t think he’s there. It’d be stupid. The place has been dark all night, not a single light. How’s he gonna be in there? It’s the most obvious place he could be. He’s not that dumb.”
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