Pretty City Murder

by Robert E. Dunn

  When he was close enough, he issued a warning. “Leave him alone or I’ll knock the inlays out of your mouth. Oh, it’s you, Ready. I seen you do this before. You on duty?”

  Ready nodded.

  “Then, get yur ass upstairs.”

  Ready slinked away.

  “Is that you, Josh?”

  “Yeah. Thanks for helping me.”

  “He ever done that to you before?”

  “He’s a gangbanger and tries it on all the guys.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  “He on drugs or something?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “He was a friend of Pablo’s, wasn’t he?” Gerald knew he was.

  “Yep.”

  “Well, we don’t have to worry about Pablo anymore.”

  “Why?”

  “He killed himself – jumped off a bridge. That dumb Mexican is no loss to anyone.”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

  “Are we good?”

  “Yeah.”

  “All right, you don’t have to worry. Ready will stay out of your way ‘till all this crazy shit is over.”

  Gerald shook hands with Josh and watched him go up the stairs into the hotel. He wanted to follow but knew that was a bad idea and gave up the search for Pepper.

  •••

  Father Ralph soberly entered St. Ignatius Church for the 4:00 p.m. start of confessions. He looked up at the mahogany confessional’s ornate wood trim and avoided eye contact with those standing in line, opened the middle door, turned on the green light, sat down, and slid his screen to the right.

  He heard the other door open and close and the weight of a person pressing down on the kneeler. The grill on the penitent’s side allowed him to see only a lattice pattern superimposed on a shadowy face.

  “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been one month since my last confession.”

  The grill failed to suppress a strong dose of pikake, and the aroma left him feeling wedged in the corner of the box.

  She needn’t have said more, but she did.

  “How are you, Ralph?”

  “Tell me your sins.”

  “I had a terrible argument with him.”

  “Who and how many times?”

  “Ronny. Once. It was last night.”

  “Are there any other sins?”

  “I’m unable to stop thinking about you. Ronny angrily reminded me of our wedding day and the vows we took. Am I entertaining impure thoughts when I think of you?”

  At this moment, a screen and a grill could not protect him from the release of double-barreled words.

  Is it the time and place to tell her?

  He knew this could not be done in the confessional and pressed on.

  “Any other sins?”

  “No, but have I sinned every time I think about you, every time I see you and when we kiss?”

  “Joyce, don’t,” Father Ralph warned. “We can’t talk about this here. Do you have any other sins to confess?”

  “No, I guess not.”

  “Say the Act of Contrition.”

  “I...can’t.”

  “You must.”

  “Stop hurting me,” she pleaded.

  “Say the Act of Contrition.” When she didn’t, he spoke in a stern voice, “Go outside. Wait at the communion rail. I will see you there.”

  “What about the others in line?”

  “Please do what I say.”

  The moment of absolution, which brings the golden sound of peace, never came.

  He heard her get up off the kneeler.

  One of his hands removed his stole, and the other turned the knob.

  Outside the confessional, he said to those standing in line, “Please go over to the other priest. I’m very sorry. I have an emergency.”

  Their reaction was astonishment, sighs, and disappointed looks.

  At the communion rail, Father Ralph led her to the sacristy and sat her down in the red velvet chair.

  “Why did you come to me for confession, Joyce?”

  “Did I do something wrong? You’re a priest.”

  “I told you before to see the other priest. There are two on duty every Saturday. Now, listen to me.”

  She silently obeyed.

  Father Ralph ran his hands through his black hair. She wore the same black overcoat, but the yellow scarf was missing. “We cannot see each other anymore.”

  “Why? What’s happened? Is it about your brother?”

  “Yes. I’ve realized that I must be true to myself, to Cornelius and Anne, and my mother, and, above all, to my Jesuit brothers. You can cheat them, but you can’t cheat yourself. I’m sorry to disappoint you. I can’t say more.”

  She jumped up, plucked the stole out of his hand, and threw it to the floor. “You led me down this path. How can you just cut me off? No concern for me or my feelings. I should slap you.”

  “Go ahead. I deserve it.”

  She started to cry. “No, I’m still in love with you. I can’t believe this is happening.” She held up both hands and asked, “What did I do wrong?” but before he could answer, she turned away.

  He spoke to her back. “Please, Joyce, go to the other priest for confession. Do not try to contact me.”

  From behind he watched as she raised a hand to her face.

  Then, she left without uttering another word.

  He hoped he wouldn’t see her again, but, for one moment, he allowed himself to grieve over a lost future together.

  Then, he pulled himself together and returned to the box.

  Chapter 19

  Sunday, July 14

  At Holy Cross Cemetery in Colma, on the other side of San Francisco’s only land boundary, a bitter wind blew around marble crypts and wide, wet slopes, below the colossal, rounded sandcastle known as San Bruno Mountain. Bundled-up mourners gathered in small groups. A purple stole weighed down the presiding priest’s surplice.

  Father Ralph sat in the front passenger seat and looked at Larry. “O’Hara betrayed me.”

  “So, now you believe.”

  “I was in denial. Somehow, I always knew that O’Hara was capable of something like this, but friendship and pride got in the way of seeing the depth of his fear. I apologize for doubting you.”

  “I know. It took me time to get past memories to reach the truth about O’Hara and his evil scheme to have Cornelius killed. Our friendship is unbroken. Isn’t it?”

  “Of course.”

  Larry paused. “Ralph, I explained to you who Angel is. Now, I want you to pay for his education.”

  “But I hardly know the boy.”

  Hieu sat in the back seat and poked Larry in the shoulder. “Tell him, Larry.”

  “You heard Pablo ask us to take care of his brother. After that, I started thinking, how can I help? I thought of you.” Larry looked out at the mourners and back at Father Ralph. “I’m sorry to have to bring this up, but it’s necessary. You’ve been seeing a woman.” He cleared his throat. “She has bragged about gifts, like a diamond studded clip, the foolish woman. You reoutfitted the family boat, and you’ve been seen taking her out on the bay. Secrets have a way of...spanking us. Yours is a secret no more. Do I need to go on?”

  “Frankly, Larry, you and I love and support each other, but this sounds like blackmail.”

  “That’s putting it the wrong way. I would never broadcast your relationship. That would be breaking the Eighth Commandment. You often hear me say, ‘Let’s do some good today’. I’m giving you the chance to do just that.”

  Father Ralph looked down at his hands and out the window.

  He’s thinking.

  “What’s this got to do with Angel?”

  “Pablo. We can do something for Angel that we didn’t do for Pablo.”

  He’s thinking some more.

  “Angel is a student at Burton. Not where he should be. I want him accepted at Riordan. It has a residential program, which would
take him out of the Bayview and his environment. If you agree to pay his tuition, I’ll get Mark to work on a quick acceptance, and we can write out a recommendation.”

  Father Ralph looked at the crowd.

  “What are you thinking?” Larry asked.

  “How many years of tuition?”

  “Just two years.”

  “Okay. I’ll do it in memory of Cornelius.”

  From the back seat, Hieu pinched both of Father Ralph’s shoulders.

  Larry looked in the rear-view mirror at his own smile and Hieu’s.

  They were about to do some good.

  “I have another idea. After Angel graduates, I can start a memorial scholarship in memory of Cornelius.”

  “I like that, Ralph. Don’t you, Hieu?”

  “I do.”

  As they approached the crowd, Larry overheard Father Ralph enlightening Hieu. “God sanctifies everything, even wealth, and it can be used for good. Larry knows me pretty well. He’s turned my mess into something good.”

  Larry looked for Larissa. Groups seemed to be gathered according to age or type of dress. She stood next to Mrs. Gloria Padilla. A long, chestnut-colored scarf around her neck lifted in the wind, and a graphite-gray coat was buttoned up over a black skirt.

  “Mrs. Padilla?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’m Inspector Leahy. This is Inspector Trang and Father Ralph MacKenzie.”

  “I’m pleased to meet you.”

  “My condolences for your loss,” Father Ralph said and stood still.

  “My condolences, Mrs. Padilla. I just want to tell you what a fine man Pablo was.” Larry stood still, too, but knew it was the right thing to say.

  “Thank you for coming.” She wrapped her hands around Larry’s.

  Hieu stepped forward and said, “I’m very sorry for what happened.”

  “Thank you. I’m so glad two police officers have come. Pablo was a good boy. I wanted a better life for both my sons. If I had stayed in Mexico, they would have been better behaved, but there are few opportunities in Mexico, and coming here could give them a better life. I blame myself.”

  Pools of water gathered in her brown eyes.

  Hieu knew what was required. He put his arm around her and held on.

  Angel stood by her side. Larry introduced himself and watched Angel take a step back. He was shorter and thinner than Pablo. His mother told him to shake hands.

  Hieu reached his arm around Mrs. Padilla, took Angel’s hand, and said, “Angel is a fine young man, Mrs. Padilla. Perhaps, Inspector Leahy and I can help him.”

  The presider began. The wind blotted out some of his words, and Larry felt himself drifting, people beginning to blend in with the gray background. The service revolver rubbed against his hip, and his neck got chilled. Not far off he could see a bright white statue of Lacrimosa. Large black letters were printed beneath the doleful figure reclining on her pedestal.

  Lacrimosa dies illa (Full of tears will be that day).

  Forgetting is the last stage of forgiveness. He wanted to forget the past and the transgressions of others and wondered if Pablo was at peace inside the polished white coffin under the gold crucifix. The chrome fender of a parakeet-blue Chevrolet Impala blocked the road by the gravesite, and an over-rotated axel squeaked.

  With an exaggerated vibrato, the priest sang the final song. To Larry, he resembled a hard-snouted swine, burying himself by day in the paper slop of a parish office and never seeing the light. The lack of color in his face had come from spending too much time in his office, not from listening to a poor sinner’s admissions in the dark confessional.

  On a day such as this, the fog was strong enough to spread a burn over the pale face of this Irish priest.

  Get rid of those thoughts. This day is for the dead.

  Larissa threw a handful of dirt on Pablo’s coffin.

  Larry felt sympathy for her stab him deeply. Now, he understood that Pablo had used Larissa. He had stripped away her self-esteem to boost his own.

  Drizzle swept over the gravestones, and a new wind whipped up dresses, baggy pants, and scarves. Larry’s wet eyelids were closed, and he swayed back and forth, when there was a tap on his shoulder.

  “The crowd is breaking up. Should we talk to her now?” Hieu asked.

  “Okay.”

  Larry, Hieu, and Father Ralph took their places at the end of a line. Larissa and Angel stood on either side of Mrs. Padilla, and the rumble of Impalas started. Larry saw no sign of Pablo’s father and thought Mrs. Padilla must be divorced.

  “Mrs. Padilla. We would like to speak to you privately. Can we take a short walk?” On the other side of the grave, Larry said, “There’s a residential program at Riordan High School. We’d like to get Angel admitted and finish the rest of high school there. If you are concerned about cost, we think we can take care of that.”

  She embraced Larry immediately. His hands touched the back of her shoulders lightly, and she released him. “How wonderful you are. I don’t know what to say.” She hugged him again and stood back. “Would Angel be able to come home on weekends?”

  “He could come home for Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter. You could arrange to visit him on weekends.”

  “I’d miss him, but if you think it’s a good program, I would agree to it. We have to talk to Angel.”

  “We have to be firm with him. Give him no other option. Either he accepts, or he will continue to be monitored by his juvenile probation officer. That was part of the agreement you and the Assistant DA worked out.”

  Hieu heard his cue and said, “Let me talk to Angel.”

  Larry and Mrs. Padilla watched as Hieu and Angel sat down on a marble bench a short distance away. Larissa stood over the grave, and Larry put his hands in his pockets.

  “How would this be paid for, Mr. Leahy?”

  “We can get him a full scholarship, but we wanted to get your approval first. Father Ralph will make the arrangements.” Father Ralph nodded.

  Mrs. Padilla looked worried. “Angel is a poor student.”

  “Don’t worry. Riordan can turn things around. What kind of work do you do, Mrs. Padilla?”

  “I have a house cleaning business. Two women work for me. I own a home, but there’s little left over.”

  She kissed Larissa on the cheek when she rejoined them.

  The presiding priest and the cars had departed.

  Hieu and Angel returned.

  “Inspector Trang, have you told Angel about the plan?” Larry asked.

  “Yes.” Hieu looked at Angel, who looked at his mother.

  “Angel, it’s up to you, but this is what I want,” she said.

  Angel put his hands in his back pockets. “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “Mr. Leahy, thank you so much.” She kissed Larry.

  Hieu, Larry, and Father Ralph shook hands with Angel before the sad, little group of three, Angel, Mrs. Padilla, and Larissa departed.

  Larry thought Hieu should get some sort of reward.

  “So, Hieu, Ralph, I’m going to call Mark next – get Angel admitted. We have a lot in front of us. What did Angel have to say?”

  “He listened to me, Larry. I talked about Pablo first. I told him we could arrange for his probation to end if he accepted. He didn’t want to leave his friends, but I told him there wasn’t any other choice, and he didn’t say much after that.”

  “Good. I’m going to call Maureen Daley. Knowing James has been arrested may help her tell me what she knows. But, first, a call to Mark.”

  Hieu had a small smile on his face. “He’ll agree, Larry. Trust me.”

  Larry punched in number three.

  “How are you, Mark?”

  “Dad?”

  “Listen carefully. I’m trying to get a young man into Riordan’s residential program. His name is Angel Morales. His brother, Pablo Morales...killed himself, and I just left his funeral. Angel is a student at Burton High School. Go to Riordan and get his application process started. Father R
alph and I will send in recommendations, and Father Ralph will pay the tuition.”

  “What? I don’t even know this kid. What should I say?” Mark asked.

  “Just vouch for him...on my word. We’ll write the necessary recommendations.”

  “When is all this happening?”

  “Right away. I’ll fill you in later. I need your help. Please join us in looking after this boy. He needs us.”

  He’s thinking.

  “I guess so. Yes, I’ll do it.”

  “Thank you, son.”

  Hieu smiled.

  •••

  Father Ralph looked at his cell phone: 2:30 p.m. The funeral and college applications had left him worn-out. On his desk was his mother’s letter, which was several years old. He had received his brother’s possessions and was organizing them when he found the letter.

  It contained an account of Cornelius’ first attempt at piloting a new 1967 Chris Craft 46’ vessel.

  Cornelius took hold of the steering wheel and gunned the engine. Dad had to jump to the controls and turn off the engine before we hit the shoreline. What a sight it would have been had we run up onto the Marina Green. Cornelius had such a self-satisfied look on his face. Remember, we all started laughing. How old was he?

  Cornelius was nine. Father Ralph couldn’t remember how the letter wound up in Cornelius’ possessions.

  Dad let Cornelius take charge of the boat. Dad was still in denial.

  He came to the place in the letter where his mother reminded him to look after Cornelius. She wrote about his attempt to become an altar boy.

  Sister Mary Clement pleaded with the pastor to let him be an altar boy. He refused, claiming Cornelius could not retain the lengthy Latin responses. Sister confided to me that before he ran home, she used the black serge sleeve of her habit to wipe away his tears.

  Father Ralph opened his office door with the letter in hand. He looked at his assistant and said, “Please send this to my sister. She can keep it. I don’t have a place for it. Thanks.”

  He looked across the room at a wall plaque given to him by a former student. The shellacked wooden plaque hung on a wall to the right of his large desk.

  Fathers, do not anger your children. Bring them up with the training and instruction befitting the Lord. Ephesians, 6:4.