Bubbles was crowded, it hadn't gotten cold enough to keep the guys away. I saw Zegg performing in the staging area. Kent sat in a corner chatting up Jared, the guy from the night before. Whatever he'd used to charm the kid, it worked.
In manager mode now, I greeted old time customers and new faces. I air kissed off duty strippers and generally turned on the charm. I noticed the looks in customer's eyes, wishing they were in my shoes. If they only knew. I smiled anyway and went up to my office, needing to relax before the interviews began.
Anton was waiting for me behind my desk.
"Taking over, Anton?" I gave him a kiss.
"It's a rough, dirty job but somebody's got to interview these naked men. When I didn't hear from you, I thought maybe you weren't coming in. I was worried."
"About doing the interviews? You're great at that."
"No. About you. This case is dangerous. People getting shot, houses ransacked."
"No more scary than a lot of other cases you've worked with me. Remember the one in South Philly?"
"No need to remind me. I still have a scar on my leg."
"I'm all in one piece. See?" I turned like a fashion model and dramatically opened my jacket a la the runway set.
"OK, fashionista, the first interview will be here in fifteen minutes."
"I've got time to get some coffee. Want some?"
Anton nodded. I dashed down the stairs and out the door. The bartender made the worst coffee in the universe. I knew an all night place around the corner that rivaled the best cafes.
I returned with a bag containing three coffees and some doughnuts. Anton would yell about calories and fat and then he'd tear into at least one. And I needed two cups of the coffee to keep my eyes open after the day from hell.
Re-entering the bar, I waited until my eyes adjusted. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed a flurry of activity. Jared was leaving with another cute guy. All of a sudden it registered. The other cutie was Tony from Marlon's office at the Archdiocese. Interesting. I tried following but a large customer, wanting a better look at Zegg, barreled into me and nearly threw me off my feet. It was all I could do to keep the bag from flying onto the bar and creating a mess.
By the time I got to the door, Tony and Jared were gone.
Chapter 12
A young soldier entered the cozy room and sat next to me on the loveseat facing the fireplace. Sleek and tan with deep brown eyes, he pulled me to him, taking my face in his hands. Our lips were about to meet when...the phone rang.
"Fontana," I slurred into the phone. "What's up, besides me?" I stayed in bed as I spoke. If it wasn't important, maybe I'd get back to sleep and recapture that soldier.
"It's Tim." He sounded hesitant. "I woke you didn't I?"
"I was getting up anyway. I've got a lot on my plate today." I inelegantly suppressed a yawn. "We're meeting later, right?"
"That's why I called. I'm headed to the Cathedral for mass and thought you might like to join me. We can go back to my place afterward to pick up some things."
"Mass? The cathedral?" This had me wide-eyed. I hadn't been in a church, at least not for a service, since I-don't-know-when.
"I don't usually go either. But in light of things... Sometimes the old forms bring me comfort. It isn't the mass so much, it's just being there, in the church. The murmur of prayers, the smell of beeswax, the choir. I stopped listening to their message a long time ago but the forms, the rooted memories always do something for me." He paused. "Having you there, knowing you care about helping... that would make a difference."
How could I say no? The guy was in pain and I did care about the case.
"Sure, Tim. When and where?"
"I'm ready to leave but I'll wait for you. I know it's last minute..."
"Give me a few to shower. I'll head over and meet you in half an hour?"
Forty minutes later, I reached the corner where Hollister waited. My quick shower took longer than I'd figured. The night before had been long. Interviewing fifteen potentials for StripGuyz may not sound like work but open-ended conversations with hotties, one after the other, in the close quarters of my office, can take its toll. Being sluggish in the morning couldn't be helped.
"Marco!" Hollister seemed genuinely glad to see me. "Perfect timing."
"Ready to go?" I noticed the fluttering blinds of the bay window out of the corner of my eye. Hollister's host was trying to get a peek at his houseguest's detective. I nearly turned and waved but realized that sneaking looks through blinds was a guilty pleasure all its own. Better to pretend I didn't notice.
"We should make it before it's all over. The eleven o'clock is usually the big show." Hollister smiled sadly.
"If you feel the foundation trembling as I cross the threshold, let's get the hell out." I laughed and Hollister joined in.
We were a few long blocks from Sts. Peter and Paul cathedral. The air was cold. October remembered that it was really Fall and not late Summer any more. It was bracing and shattered my lingering sleepiness.
The verdigris dome of the cathedral came into view, poking at the sky. It reminded me of Italy and had actually been modeled after a church in Rome. Seeing it always moved me in some way. Pride? Nostalgia? Past memories? I'd received a medal there when I was a Boy Scout. I remember walking the huge, echoing length of the main aisle to where a bishop waited to pin the medal on me. I'd felt small and gigantic at the same time.
The lights were bright in the basilica and more people than I expected filled the place. Puffy pink-skinned women, some wearing head scarves, dotted the congregation. Parents fidgeted with restless kids. Leathery-skinned old men knelt in prayer. An occasional lone hottie peered at the altar. People of all stripes found their way to the cathedral looking for something. Solace? Forgiveness? Peace? They all seemed wrapped in their own struggles or pain.
I felt uncomfortably like an outsider. These people believed in the Church, or, at least that it was their path to something greater than themselves. I believed in a different path but I also maintained a deep conviction about respecting the beliefs of others.
A buttery voice floated through the PA system asking congregants to consider personal sacrifice and willing forgiveness. The voice seemed familiar but we were so far back, all I saw was a tall, dark blond standing at the lectern. I concentrated on the voice and realized it was Kusek, the monsignor I'd met in Marlon's office.
The tall, handsome priest, wearing subdued green vestments, finished his sermon, closed the book before him, and folded his hands in a prayerful pose.
There was a long way to go before the service was complete and I felt as fidgety as some of the kids. The organist played a chord and Kusek started the Credo at which point the choir took over.
It drew me back to my days as an altar boy. No one was as pious or as lazy as I was about studying what an altar boy had to know. I liked the cassock, the surplice, and the pageantry but not much else. Remembering where I had to be on the altar was always filled with comic possibilities. Priests or other altar boys had to point to where I was supposed to stand or kneel at any given time. In fact, parishioners had a good chuckle when I found myself in places I shouldn't have been. Ah, the good old days.
I tucked it all away and concentrated on the good-looking Kusek whose graceful movements on the altar made me wish I could throw on a cassock and join him. I noticed Fr. Marlon and another priest celebrating the mass along with Kusek.
"Does the Cardinal ever show up for these things?" I whispered to Hollister.
"Sometimes. The eleven o'clock is usually when he'd show up. Why?"
"Just asking." I wondered how seriously the high and mighty took their roles.
Hollister, on the kneeler and leaning on the pew in front of him, had seemingly gone into a deep meditative state. Healing comes in a lot of ways.
I tried focusing and was dazzled by Kusek singing the Sanctus and the Consecration prayers. His eerily beautiful voice matched his good looks, sending a chill up my spine. I was tr
ansported and wanted to know more about him. I felt almost guilty when a rush of lust ran through me as he sang.
I mentally slapped myself back to attention and studied the ornate side altars and shrines. But that voice continued to haunt me.
Before I knew it, the altar boys, the reader, and the priests processed up the aisle and toward the doors. I turned to Hollister who had come out of his prayerful silence and stood. I expected his knees would be stiff from all that kneeling but he moved like a kid.
Kusek smiled vaguely as he passed by. He threw a blessing our way making the sign of the cross in the air and moved out the door. Marlon, on the other hand, grinned when he saw me.
Most of the congregation hesitated before moving which allowed us to beat the crowd. At the doors, Kusek shook hands with people while Marlon hovered at his side.
"Fr. Marlon, nice to see you again." I extended a hand. "This is Timothy Hollister. Helmut Brandt's partner."
"I've heard a lot about you, Mr. Hollister. I'm sorry for your loss. Truly." To give the guy credit, he seemed sincere.
"Mr. Fontana, isn't it?" Kusek's memory wasn't bad. "I saw your face as we moved up the aisle but..."
"You never expected to see me in church. Right?" I returned his smile. "The walls didn't even tremble when I entered. Think that's a good sign?"
"There's room in God's house for a lot of people." He was diplomatic as well as good-looking. A sure sign he wanted to move up in the church hierarchy. Maybe even get himself a red hat. Though I have to admit, I don't remember any cardinals ever looking like this guy. "What brings you to the Cathedral?"
"I'm accompanying Mr. Hollister," I said and introduced him.
"Of course, I've heard your name. I've seen the reports on TV. I'm so sorry for your loss. I can't imagine your pain, Mr. Hollister." Kusek, placed a hand on Hollister's shoulder as they shook hands.
"Thank you," Hollister said. The emotion in his voice was palpable. "You're very kind. Thank you."
"If you ever need to talk, Mr. Hollister. Call my office and ask for me."
"Thank you. I'll remember your kindness. Thank you, again, Monsignor."
"You're quite a guy, Monsignor," I said to him.
"Good luck with your work, Mr. Fontana." He smiled modestly and it was even better than his voice.
Hollister seemed buoyed by the mass and the brilliant sun as we returned.
"I'd like to know more about Helmut's work, if you wouldn't mind talking." I glanced over at him as we walked.
"It was his passion not just his work. And if I don't talk about it now, who will? You think it might help your investigation?"
"It'll help me know him better to know what drove him. Everything helps."
"You don't believe his work had something to do with his death. Do you?"
"Not saying that exactly. I can't discount any possibility. I'm following every lead. Which also means I still have a few questions for you."
"Me? Oh... you're still thinking about dalliances with other men." Hollister chuckled. "You can ask, of course. I'm afraid it won't be very exciting or helpful."
"I'd like to know more about why Helmut was so passionate about John Paul the First's death. The guy's been dead for thirty years."
"My fault. It was all my fault. The Pope's death haunted me. Neither I nor my friends ever believed it was a natural death. I filled Helmut's head with stories and theories. I knew he loved learning about the inner workings of the Vatican. Maybe I hoped he'd uncover the truth," Hollister said. His walking slowed as he spoke and I imagined he was going over every last thing he'd said that got Helmut interested in that research. "God forgive me. I probably got him killed."
"No, Tim, you didn't. Tell me you know it wasn't your fault." I peered at him.
Hollister nodded. "In my mind I know that. In my heart... well, my heart says I should have known better."
"He wanted to tell that story as much as you wanted it told," I insisted.
"Helmut wanted to do it before any more time passed. He thought this might be the last chance to bring the truth to light. We both knew there weren't many still alive who had inside information. Only they could corroborate evidence that will bring the truth to light. I'm not sure who'll take up Helmut's cause now."
"All the principals are dead?"
"As far as I know. Cardinal Villot, the camerlengo who took charge of the Vatican after the Pope died. He's gone. Paul Marcinkus, the archbishop who headed up the Vatican Bank, recently dead. Roberto Calvi, one of the bankers in that scandal, dead. The older cardinals are all dead including Cody of Chicago. The main players are gone. Some of the people at lower levels may still be active or at least alive. Some of them may have inside information. People like the nun who supposedly found the body. She's dead. But there must be others at that level still alive."
We walked in silence and I contemplated the possibilities. It was difficult for me to believe anyone could be crazy enough to kill over the possible murder of a pope thirty years before. Quinn was petty and envious but he was nuts, or was he? He had motive. I'd have Olga dig up information on Quinn.
If it was Brandt's work that pushed someone over the edge, then any fanatic with enough motivation could have engineered his death. So far, only Quinn fit that bill. Clifford intimated the motivation was entirely different. He'd pointed the finger at Scanlan. Said he was a jealous guy and I'd seen evidence of that. Love was a powerful motive. The only thing I knew was that Brandt's death was no accident. The mugging was a cover for something else.
Hollister nudged me, breaking my train of thought.
"We're here, Marco." Hollister looked up at his house.
"I was thinking about the case."
"I could tell." He placed a foot on the first step.
"Let me go first," I said. "Just in case."
Hollister handed me the key. I unlocked the door and entered. The place was silent and empty. I pulled my gun and did a quick sweep.
"It's clear."
"This will only take a moment. I just need a few things. How much longer do you think I'll have to stay away?" he asked, slowly climbing the stairs.
"Can't really tell. If I knew who tossed your house and why, it'd help. Take enough for a week. I can't promise it'll be wrapped up by then, though."
The tiny enclave was so isolated and quiet, it was almost like being in another town. The only sound was Tim rooting around upstairs. I sat on the sofa facing the windows. The translucent blinds allowed bright sunshine to filter into the room giving it a tawny glow.
At first I thought my imagination was playing tricks on me. The silence, the warmth, and the feeling I needed to be on guard heightened my senses. I thought I saw someone outside trying to look through the blinds. I stared at the window, not moving. There he was again. Just a silhouette. But definitely trying to see in. I rose, moving silently, edging my way toward the door. He hadn't moved by the time I reached for the doorknob.
But the sound spooked him. When I opened the door all I saw was a blue blur rounding the corner. I chased after him but he was lost in the warren of tiny streets. I poked around as many corners as I could, then headed back to Hollister's house.
As I let myself back in, Hollister came down the stairs pulling a small, wheeled suitcase behind him.
"Something wrong, Marco?"
"Thought I heard something. Just checking it out. Hope I didn't give you a start."
"Not at all. I'm more hardy than you imagine."
"Got everything?"
"Yes. But I have something I want to give you." Hollister moved into the kitchen. "A bottle of liquor. A liqueur actually. Something you might like."
"No need, Tim, really."
"I insist, Marco. I never opened the bottle. It was something I bought on a lark thinking I'd like it. I was told to keep it in the freezer." Hollister opened the freezer compartment. "There it's been ever since. I'd like you to have it. It's Italian. Made in southern Italy, I think. Limoncello."
"Haven't had
that in a while." The one time I'd tried the stuff, it had tasted like poison. It was a pretty yellow and the idea of a liqueur made from lemons was appealing. But the bitter taste lingered on my tongue for a long time.
"When this is all over, I'll come to your condo and we'll have a drink together. How's that?" As he pulled the bottle from the freezer, other things tumbled out.
Frozen dinners, a box of frozen waffles, a few icy freezer bags filled with unrecognizable lumps, and a box of frozen fish sticks.
I picked up the boxes and the fish sticks box rattled strangely.
"Doesn't sound full but it looks sealed."
Hollister shook the box and tore it open.
"What's this?" Tim retrieved an envelope from the box and handed it to me. "Hold that a moment."
He replaced everything in the freezer and held out his hand for the envelope.
"I'd heard about people hiding things in freezers. I just never thought anyone I knew did it." Slipping a wizened finger under the flap, he opened the envelope and removed a piece of paper. Unfolding it, he read to himself.
"Tim?"
He handed me the paper in silence. There were two sentences, "This is just in case. Never forget that I love you. H." Beneath that was an odd key taped to the paper.
"I never knew it was there." Hollister had that faraway look. "Do you suppose he knew something like this would happen?"
"Like you said, Helmut was a careful man. He wanted to keep his work safe. If he was like most of us, he never really thought..." I left the rest unspoken. Obviously Helmut had worried about something happening.
"A careful man. That's what he was. But he never told me about this letter or the key. I suppose he thought I'd figure it all out."
"Maybe he just didn't want you to worry. So he hid this away and knew you'd eventually find it."
"He never realized how helpless I can be. What if I hadn't found it? What then? He was very stubborn and too secretive for his own good. He made me angry sometimes." Hollister's voice quavered and his eyes became glassy with tears. It would take longer than he probably imagined for him to feel anything like normal again. "I'm s-sorry. Helmut was a good man... really."
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