"Yeah, right." Anton glowered.
"Okay, how about if he reports to you before he tells me anything?"
"Yeah, have him report to me." There was a strange gleam in Anton's eyes.
"Well, I'm about to conk out. I've gotta get some sleep."
"You sure no one followed you?" Anton asked.
"Nah, I jumped into a taxi on Market and told the guy to drive around Rittenhouse Square twice before I made him drop me here. If anybody followed us around and all the way here, he deserves another chance at running me down. I'll be fine."
***
Next morning, I arrived at the office earlier than usual. The adrenaline that'd pumped through me the night before enabling me to escape the death car, had given me a restless night. So I'd gotten up, showered, took care of some email and left for the office.
At seven in the morning the streets had a quiet, underlying sense of the possibilities a new day brought. The pure potential floating in the morning air freshened everything and buoyed me.
I decided to head to a cafe for breakfast instead of eating alone in my office. There'd be nothing to do and no one to call for a couple of hours. So, I bought a Philly Inquirer and a Washington Post and headed over to the Village Brew.
Sean, who even his friends called Slutty Sean, was the barista. Curly brown hair ringed his head and made him look like a modern but sleazy Botticelli. His eyes sparkled with an inner glow and he smiled when I approached the counter.
"Marco! Haven't seen you in a while. Don't you like us anymore?" He mugged a sad face and curled his lower lip down as if he were ready to cry.
"You look familiar. What's your name again?" I kidded and stared at the list of coffees and teas on the wall chart. "Gimmie a venti coffee with a shot of vanilla. No cream."
"No cream? But cream, that's what makes the coffee, Marco. You gotta..."
"No cream, Sean."
"Black coffee with vanilla, comin' up." He turned to the coffee machine and I saw he wore jeans that showed his pert little ass to great effect. And his movements. It was no surprise where his nickname came from. I couldn't help but wonder if he was as bad as the nickname or if it was an image he enjoyed cultivating.
"Venti coffee, shot of vanilla. No cream!" Sean plunked the oversized container onto the counter and smiled again.
"And one of those blueberry muffins."
"There's less fat in the croissants," he said. "If you're worried about fat, I mean."
"Are you telling me I have to worry about fat, Sean? Never mind. Give me the fruit cup, nix the muffin."
It's a good thing the place was empty. I didn't need my body fat index calculated by casual observers.
Sean pulled a fruit cup out of the cold counter and placed it next to my coffee.
"Five dollars," he said and waited, smiling.
He took the five I proffered and I slipped a dollar in the tip jar. As I was about to pick up the coffee, Sean leaned over the counter, placed a hand on my shoulder, and whispered into my ear.
"Just so you know, I don't see an ounce of fat on you, but you've got clothes on. Maybe we can arrange for a closer inspection?"
I smiled slyly, took my coffee and fruit cup, and sat at a table facing the counter. Sean kept his eyes on me the whole time. The boy was forward and I saw now that his nickname was no accident.
The front page of the Post was filled with dire stories of atrocities around the world and news of political hopefuls for a presidential election more than a year away. I found an interesting story about a bizarre murder in upstate New York and hunkered down to read. The coffee was hot and harsh and I felt the caffeine rushing through me.
"Marco?"
I looked up and there was Hollister standing opposite me.
"Tim. Get some coffee, join me." I was happy to be interrupted. The gruesome details of the execution style murder of an entire family were not good breakfast reading.
"You don't mind?"
"Not at all. In fact, I'm glad you're here."
Tim bought coffee and sat across from me. I glanced at Sean who seemed intrigued by Tim's presence.
"Anything new, Marco?"
I debated telling him about the maniacal driver but I thought he should know. He could be in danger, too. It was a deadly can of worms he had me open.
"I don't know if I should tell you this..."
"Have you found something? Is it bad news? What?"
"Last night I went to a bar called Stella's."
"The hustler bar? I didn't know it was still operating. Well, if that's..."
"I was following a lead. But so far nothing. Except, on my way back someone tried to run me down."
"Run you down? With a car?" He was incredulous. "Have you called the police?" He stared at me in alarm. "I can't have you putting your life in danger. Nothing is worth your life."
"Look, this means we're getting somebody nervous. We're getting close to whatever it is someone wants hidden."
"Helmut's killer."
"Or someone connected to his death. We don't know and I have to keep digging."
"No. I can't let you take chances like that. You can't keep endangering yourself. I won't allow it. I'm calling an end to this."
"You want answers, don't you?"
"Not if it means you'll be hurt. No. There's been enough violence."
"This is the way the game is played. I can't drop the case. I don't like being intimidated and I don't respond well to threats. Besides," I said, staring at the dark liquid in my cup, "I feel a certain commitment to Helmut."
"You didn't even know him."
"Years ago, when I was just coming out, I saw Helmut here in Philly. At a reading. I don't know what it was, but he affected my life, made me change course. I'd never experienced a man who was so happy, even joyous, just to be himself."
"Helmut had that effect on people. It was a kind of magnetism. I felt it the first time I met him."
"So I kinda feel I owe him. Don't close the case down, Tim. Helmut deserves an answer."
"You're sounding like me now. How can I argue with you?" He massaged his temples with the tips of his fingers. The wrinkles on his face seemed deeper and sadder and he looked older than he had just a few days before. "I don't want you taking risks, Marco. Helmut wouldn't want that and it wouldn't honor his memory if you were hurt or... worse."
"I'll do my best, Tim. I'll do my best."
We were silent for a few moments, I heard the clink of cups and saucers as a few more people were served. Sean's throaty greetings rose and fell with different customers. The rich aroma of brewed coffee and pastry filled the air.
"Did you have a chance to finish reading the documents?" I broke the silence and Hollister raised his head, a wistful look in his eyes.
"I'd intended to call you later. I never expected to see you here," he said. "There wasn't much more in the documents other than an oblique reference to the fact that some of the people close to the plotters were on a track to higher office in The Church. But there were no names, no indication they were still alive."
"They wouldn't make it easy, would they?"
"No. Unfortunately. It doesn't give you much to go on." Hollister sighed.
"It's an interesting thought that there may be people around who might know about the plot. Assuming they were let in on the actual plans in the first place."
"What I read, admittedly it's not much and it's very sidelong, implies that some of these minions might have known something. I have no doubt Helmut was on their trail."
"If any of them are still alive," I said.
"If these people have risen to positions of power or importance, your chances of discovering anything or getting them to admit anything are less than zero."
"I don't give up that easily," I said.
"Getting them to admit knowledge of such a plot would be next to impossible. Killing a Pope is an abominable thing to think about let alone do, " Hollister whispered.
"We can only try to get to the bottom of
Helmut's murder. Maybe the Pope's death is connected, maybe not. One way or another I'll find out."
***
"Boss is arriving early." Olga looked up from her work. "Is special occasion? You are having meeting with beautiful man?"
"No, I'm having a meeting with beautiful you."
"I have no meeting on schedule," she paged through her day book.
"I just want to know what you've found on those names I gave you."
"You are needing miracle working." Olga smiled. "Lucky for you, I am working miracles."
She spread out papers, each one headed by a name with a bulleted list of details below. All the names I'd given her were there but now complete with details of their lives and names of people connected to them in significant ways.
"This is wonderful, Olga. You outdid yourself." I beamed looking over the paperwork.
"Is nothing. Much more is possible but you give only names."
"This is marvelous. And all in one day. Worth a bonus. If I could afford a bonus."
"You are always not affording bonus." Olga frowned then smiled broadly. "I am not working for bonus. I am working for you."
"I'll look at all this material now. You're a gem. Take a three hour lunch today."
"Is better than bonus which does not exist."
I shut my office door behind me and heard Olga humming a tune which she'd once told me was an old Russian folksong. Something about a long-suffering peasant and a mountain of treasure.
Fresh coffee in the coffeemaker beckoned me with its strong aroma. I poured myself a cup and watched the steam rise like a ghost above the cup. Sunlight streamed in the window and, best of all, the office was quiet.
Olga's work stared up at me, page after page covered with dates, places, names. At the top of each, one name in large bold print. Olga had even included a picture of each of the people. None of them looked even vaguely familiar, all of them having been big shots in the Church or Italian finance at least twenty-five years before. Cardinal Villot was probably the biggest name on the list. One of the names associated with his was familiar: Navarro, the Opus Dei member I'd met with at Clifford's home.
Olga had neatly included as much information as possible about current locations of all the underlings associated with the bigwigs. Navarro was supposed to be located in Elgin, Illinois, near Chicago. But here he was in Philadelphia. That rated a red flag. So, I circled his name and put his sheet to the side. Turns out he was also on the P2 delegate's list. He'd worked double duty though probably not at cross purposes.
On the page headed up by Marcinkus, the discredited Vatican finance official, there were lots of associates but just about everyone was dead. The rest lived in Europe. It would take a long reach for them to be involved.
I combed through all the other lists, including those names supplied by Jane Palmer, and when I came to the sheet on Chicago's Cardinal Cody, lo and behold, there were two familiar names. That in itself meant nothing but it started me thinking.
First there was a John Wren, status unclear. Olga didn't note whether he was dead or alive. However, he was a Philadelphia native and I was willing to bet he was related to Peter Wren at the Archdiocesan office. John Wren had been a priest on the way up the administrative ladder. After the Pope's death, he'd eventually been made a bishop. Then something stopped his progress and there wasn't any further news about him. I'd ask Olga to try again once I'd confirmed he was related to the Wren I knew.
The other name I saw surprised me. Carlo Galante. The cardinal. As a young priest, he'd been assigned to Rome and had landed a position as an assistant to John Cardinal Cody. Galante had apparently been right in the middle of everything. Which proved exactly nothing. He'd been a young priest, one of many subordinates serving for the first time in Rome, like Wren. He'd been assigned to Cody who may or may not have been involved in a plot, if there actually was a plot. My head spun. There was no guarantee Galante had even been close to Cody, let alone close enough to be entrusted with the details of an assassination plot. My understanding was that Cody hadn't spent much time in the city.
Still, this was exciting. I'd have to question Galante. Not that he'd admit knowledge of the supposed plot. But, he could give me some insight into the bigger names on the list. Assuming he'd gotten to know them. Which, as a lowly young priest, wasn't too likely.
Kusek intimated that Galante would not want to discuss theories surrounding the Pope's death, since he thought it was all nonsense. Of course, if he knew that men had plotted to kill the Pope and he'd never said anything, what would that do to his reputation? If he did know anything, he'd be smart to deny everything, that was the safest route.
I picked up the phone and dialed Kusek's personal number, the one he'd slipped into my hand when I left his office. I wanted to invite him to dinner. Even if I got no information from him, it wouldn't be difficult staring at his face for the evening.
Chapter 24
Kusek agreed to have dinner without hesitation. He didn't flinch when I suggested the Venture Inn but seemed familiar with it and not concerned about being seen there. All of which I found interesting.
Even though I wanted more information about Galante, if I had to be honest, I also wanted to know more about Kusek himself. A stunning-looking man stuck away in the priesthood. Had to be a story behind that.
In the meantime, I had other leads to follow.
Jared topped the list. After what Jimmy, the bartender, had told me, it sounded like Jared knew more than he admitted. Finding out what he knew would get me closer to the truth. About him and Scanlan at least.
Anton stayed on my case about Nando and Kent. I needed Luke to take care of it for me. With his connections all over town and the large staff he employed, he might be able to find Nando faster than anyone.
I dialed his number, picturing him at his desk in the office he used at home when he didn't want to travel to his main headquarters.
"Clean Living. May I help you?" Luke sounded as if he were in the middle of something.
"You sound like you're... occupied. Who is he?" I joked.
"No one you know." Luke teased.
"Holding out on me?"
"I was just fixing my desk and had to crawl back out."
"Got some time for a small job?" I asked, peering around my office with its lived-in look. Newspapers and magazines overflowing the tables, shelves stacked with books and files. It was organized, Olga saw to that, but it wasn't spare like Luke's simple and Spartan quarters.
"I might," Luke was wary. "What are we talking about?"
"You remember Nando?"
"Your stripper?"
"Well, he works for me, he's not my property. And Kent? Remember him?"
"Yep, the gunslinger. I remember them both. Cute. Even hot. What about them?"
"They're missing in action, or at least that's what Anton thinks. He's bugging me to find them. Nando's probably just off with some guy. And Kent called to say he has things to take care of but that he'd be back."
"Maybe Kent's gone and done something else crazy. Is that what you're thinking?"
"It's what Anton is thinking. He's backed me into a corner. He wants me to find them or he'll call in a missing persons report. Which I think would open up a whole other box of problems. None of which anyone needs."
"And he also placed a bet with you didn't he?"
"He told you?"
"He knew you'd ask me to help and he wanted to make sure you'd play fair."
"Play fai... I'd never cheat," I tried sounding indignant. I knew full well I'd cheat like crazy not to have to strip at Bubbles for two weeks.
"Listen, Marco, I know the stakes but I'm playing by the book. No cheating."
"Collaborating with the other side, huh? It's not like I was gonna ask you to cheat a whole lot. I've helped you out of a few jams, if I remember."
"I kinda like the idea of seeing you bare-assed and twirling around that pole on stage. It's hot. Anton didn't have to convince me."
I
groaned.
"But you'll help?" I asked.
"Of course I'll help. But I won't cheat."
"Let's have lunch," I said. "We can plan the search then."
My last chance to avoid a stint as a stripper had evaporated. But only if I was wrong about Kent and Nando. I didn't think I was.
Next, I called Navarro. It was time to stir up another hornet's nest and see what happened. I wanted to know just how his being a part of P2 fit into the scheme of things.
Franny Clifford answered and said Navarro was working. Like a good member of Opus Dei should be, I thought. I debated whether to give Clifford the message and have the blabbermouth spread the word all over Philadelphia, or to ask him to have Navarro call me. I decided to spill everything to Clifford. Then all I'd have to do was sit back and watch the fireworks. I mentioned P2, and Clifford drew in a sharp breath, and I mentioned the Bridge of Four Heads. To which he didn't react.
I needed to arrange one more meeting. Jared. I didn't know where to find the kid since he'd moved out of Scanlan's place, but Niko might know and he'd be working at the diner today. I'd take Luke there for lunch.
No sooner than I'd thought about it, Luke strolled into the office.
"Got your thongs ready? Didn't I give you one for your birthday a couple of years ago?" A mischievous smile played across his face. "It was royal blue with a yellow design right about where your..."
"That'll never see the light of day because as you're going to find out, I'm not wrong. I might be a lot of things but I know a good guy when I see one. And Kent's a good guy."
"So, you're banking on the hope that Kent, the guy who took a gun into Bubbles and held people hostage in order to win his lover back, would not make another attempt at getting lover boy back in some quieter way right under your nose? Is that about right?"
"I won't say I could've been wrong..." I mumbled.
"Did you miss the fact he was obsessed?"
"I thought he could handle it. In fact I know he can. Besides I had them work on separate nights."
"But he's disappeared and so has Nando."
Murder on Camac Page 25