"Flattering," Kusek said. "I'm just a guy with a Roman collar."
"Yeah, just a guy." I sipped my mojito and looked him in the eye. There was a definite connection, the question was, did I want to pursue it? "Did you spend a lot of time in Rome?"
"A few years, I guess. If you add up all the time. Sometimes I'd be a few months here and the rest of the year there."
"Ever heard of the Bridge of Four Heads?" I waited for a reaction but his eyes betrayed only pleasant recognition.
"Yes, the Bridge of Four Heads." He smiled, probably reminiscing. "It's one of two bridges leading to an island in the Tiber. That's not the bridge's real name, you know."
"I didn't."
"It's called that because of a statue or rather a monument with four heads that Pope Sixtus the Fifth put there." And he launched into the same story Hollister had told. Not that I'd doubted Hollister.
"I'd heard something like that," I said. I really wanted to know if the bridge held any significance for Kusek. If maybe Galante had mentioned it or told him anything about working for Cardinal Cody. But it didn't appear Tad had anything more than fond memories of his time in Rome.
"Why do you ask? About the bridge, I mean?"
"We came into possession of some documents and parts of it are named after the bridge."
"Documents about the case you're working on?"
"Brandt's documents. The new information he'd been given." Now I'd see what his reaction was to this information.
"The stuff for his new book? Wow! You've got a real hot potato in your hands."
"Not really. It's all interesting, sure. A lot of details but nothing as explosive as we were led to believe. There are names, places, dates. Some information about a supposed plot. But there's no way to verify it. In any case, it doesn't seem to have anything to do with Brandt's murder. I'm thinking it was all hype to sell books." I gave him just enough to pique his interest or to send him to Galante with a report.
"It's what a lot of us thought. Brandt was just blowing smoke. It's all in the realm of loony conspiracy theories. G was right. He said if new information existed it was probably off the wall material spun by people with an axe to grind."
"I suppose I hoped the documents would be more exciting. Cloak and dagger stuff. Insider intrigue." I was also hoping Tad would ask to see the files, which might indicate he was worried they contained something damaging that we'd missed. So far, he didn't seem the least bit interested.
"Brandt's first book was as exciting as it gets," Kusek said. "G worried about what that kind of scandal would do to the Church, to people who believed in the Church. But he refused to make a public fuss because it would bring more publicity and do more harm than good. He was upset that people felt the need to tear down the whole Church to prove a smaller point. That they were willing to let a lot of people lose their faith over something that was probably not true and even if it was, it's all history. Long dead. None of it can be undone."
"Marlon said something similar. I guess you're all in the same boat in a way."
"Well, I wouldn't be happy if those theories proved true, if that's what you mean. I'd hate to think of my Church as a nest of murderers. I also wouldn't want to see millions of people suffer a crisis of faith over something that no one can do anything about."
"Wouldn't it be better to know what really happened? All people want is the truth." I really didn't want to argue with him. I'd begun to like him too much.
"Yes." He sighed. Looking over at me, his blue eyes glistening, he stared for a moment, then focused on me. "But I often wonder exactly what Truth is."
"How do you mean that? Truth is Truth. No matter how you cut it."
"Is it? Is it better to know the truth when it leaves you in a barren place with no hope and no relief from life's pain?"
"That's not the way I see it."
"Maybe you think the truth will set you free," Kusek said, "What happens then? You're free to do what? Find another way to cover over the drabness of life with some pretty falsehood? Free to find some lie to make you hold on for another day when you've got starving kids and nothing to feed them with?"
He stopped and I wanted to hug him.
"I'm sorry," he said. It was a whisper. "Didn't mean to spoil dinner."
"You didn't spoil anything."
"I see a lot of suffering. Traveling with G, sometimes everywhere you look people are in need, desperate, hopeless."
"Hot plates," Walt's voice cut through the moment like a foghorn. "Make some room. You get the salmon, right, handsome."
"Yes. Thank you," Tad said, his voice unsteady.
"Hey, what's the matter? This bruiser upsetting you? Listen, hon, he's gorgeous but he's not worth crying over. You tell Uncle Walt if he makes you cry again. I got a paddle in the back that has your name on it Marco Fontana. You be nice to this man. He's too pretty to cry." With that he plopped my crab cakes in front of me and walked away.
I glanced up and saw him scowl at me over his shoulder.
"Honestly, it wasn't you, Marco. I don't really know what's gotten into me."
I had an inkling. Maybe he was berating himself about a truth he wasn't facing. The truth about himself. Maybe just being in a gay restaurant with a man who paid attention and seemed interested, made Tad think about a different kind of life he could be leading. If only he'd faced his own truth.
But I wasn't about to open that can. He was in bad enough shape as it was.
"How'd you like to help me out?" I asked.
"You mean on this case? What can I do?"
"If I can get Tim Hollister to give permission, maybe you can read over the documents for me and see if there's anything we missed?"
"Oh, I don't..."
"Don't say no yet. Look, you know Rome. You know the Church. Maybe something in those documents will make some sense to you that it didn't to us. I'm not trying to bring anybody down. And I don't intend to do anything with the information, unless it helps solve the case. But at least it might bring Hollister some closure."
"You really believe I can help?"
"Maybe you'll just tell us once and for all there's nothing there. That the nothing we've already found is all we're gonna find. Whaddaya say?" I knew it was a gamble. Perhaps he'd find something and he'd never tell us because the implications were overwhelming. But we'd be no worse off than we were now.
"If it'll bring him some peace."
"And one more favor."
"You're really pushing your luck." He smiled and laughed. It was like the sun breaking through clouds.
"Can you get me a meeting with Galante?"
"Oh. That's it? A meeting with G? That's why you invited me to dinner."
"You sound disappointed." Did he want more than just dinner?
"Not exactly. I guess...," he paused and looked at me again. "I don't know quite what I was thinking. You want a meeting with G. I'll see what I can do."
***
We stood inside the small, glass enclosed vestibule at the Venture. Sort of a decompression chamber from the warmth and conviviality of the gay world inside and the harsh realities of the world outside.
"Thanks for getting me out of the rectory, Marco. I had a great time. I'm sor..."
I stopped him from apologizing by planting a kiss on his lips. He flinched, then pulled back, resisting and kissing at the same time. His scent was intoxicating. I placed a hand alongside his cheek and held his face as I pressed my mouth to his. His tension melted and he leaned into me, returning my kiss with what seemed all the force in his body. It was warm, electric. I was taken aback and wanted more all at the same time.
We moved apart slowly. I tried to catch my breath and noticed he was doing the same.
"I... I uh, I didn't expect...," he stuttered and glanced at the floor.
"I want to see you again, Tad."
"Um, my day job kinda frowns on things like this." He drew his thumb across my lips.
"I won't take no for an answer," I said. "I'll call Ti
m Hollister tomorrow and then I'll call you. I'll get you the documents. That's a nice official reason to meet, isn't it?"
"Call me and we'll see." Tad smiled so sadly I wanted to hug him. Except I was afraid if I did, I might not let go.
He pushed the door open and stepped out into the cold night air.
"I've got to get up early tomorrow. You've made me forget it's a workday and I have meetings all morning."
"I'll call you as soon as I hear from Hollister," I said. "See you...soon."
"I'll wait to hear from you." He smiled and made a tentative step toward me then halted and turned to walk away.
He waved at me as he ambled down Camac Street with that funny tilted walk of his. I headed to Spruce debating whether or not to stop into Bubbles. I didn't want Anton to think I didn't trust him to handle things. But I wanted to see him. Kusek had made me think about Anton. Maybe it was Anton I wanted and not another date with Tad. But Tad was vulnerable, sweet. And so was Anton.
I felt light-headed, disoriented. This guy had thrown the proverbial monkey wrench into my night. Maybe into my life. I took a few tentative steps and decided the noise and lights of Bubbles would help distract me. If I felt this way after another meeting with Tad, I'd deal with that wrench then.
Before I entered Bubbles, my cell phone rang. I flipped open the phone.
"Fontana." I said.
"I told you I'd call again." That voice. The guy who'd called before. The guy who'd mugged me in the garage. The guy whose voice I'd heard in Stella's.
"Listen, pal, I'm getting' tired of this. Whadda'you want?"
"I got information. About the shootin' and things."
"You've got thirty seconds. Talk."
"Meet me in an hour. I know who the shooter is."
"So you can try to run me down again? Listen up..."
"Wasn't me tried to run you down. But I know who. I'll tell you everything. One hour. Washington Square. The tomb."
Chapter 26
"You can't be serious," Anton said, eyes wide.
"Washington Square. How bad can it be? Last time was a different story."
"Last time he didn't get you, this time he might."
"I'll plan better."
"In an hour? He wants to meet in one hour and you're going to plan better. I'm coming with you."
"No." I couldn't look him in the eye. It'd be dangerous for him to come along.
"Because it'll be dangerous. Right? I'm not letting you go." He stood with his back to the door of the tiny office. Admittedly it would have been more pleasant, not to mention satisfying, staying cheek to cheek with him here but I had a job to do.
"I promise I'll be careful. And I'll be back in one piece."
"They have a lot of people in one piece at the morgue. I don't want to have to identify your body."
"You won't have to. Everybody down there already knows me." Humor didn't work. Anton's golden face was etched with sadness. "Kidding. Just kidding. I promise I won't take chances."
"Just going is taking a chance. It's late. There won't be anyone in the park and there are too many places for someone to hide."
"I'll keep my eyes open." I looked at my watch. "Gotta go. I want to get there early. Scope it out."
"That plan didn't work last time."
"I'll be extra careful."
Anton took me in his arms and hugged me as if this were the last time he'd see me.
"You'd better be back here before we close."
"Don't worry so much. I can take..."
He stopped me from speaking with a kiss. I was caught off guard by Anton's intensity. I felt consumed by his embrace. His warm, soft lips seduced me to linger, dared me to forget what I had to do. I reluctantly pulled back and gazed at him.
"I... I've gotta... go." I said catching my breath."
"Come back to me, Marco," he whispered."
"Count on it."
***
Washington Square, a large park just outside the boundaries of the gayborhood, was one of five original city squares laid out by Billy Penn. Lots of trees, including a moon tree which is really just a tree grown from a seed taken to the moon, make it a green oasis. There are plenty of bushes and monuments. And dead bodies. Thousands of Revolutionary War soldiers buried in mass graves.
At night it's dimly lit, rarely visited, and has plenty of places for people to hide.
After I picked up my gun, I headed for the square. A short walk down Walnut, past jewelers row, through an area only lightly populated at night, took me to the northwest entrance. I could almost make out the back of the wall of the monument to Washington, like a huge shadow near one corner of the park. On the other side of that wall was a statue of Washington, an aboveground tomb containing an unknown Revolutionary War soldier, and an eternal flame. And maybe the guy who'd called me.
There was minimal light and I steeled myself for a cautious, nearly blind approach. My anonymous caller could be hiding anywhere in the shadows. I decided to walk a block and enter from the southeast. I'd use the cover of shadow and approach head on, keeping things in view as much as possible.
All my senses on alert, I moved slowly into the square. There was no one around. A small breeze rustled the leaves. I could hear nothing else and saw even less. Something made the hair at the back of my neck stand on end. More a feeling than a sound. A feeling that someone I couldn't see was there.
The square's layout was familiar to me. The monument and tomb were just ahead. The closer I came to the tomb, the more I felt something was wrong.
Eventually I saw him. Or, at least I saw someone in the thin light cast by the eternal flame. Someone stood waiting. I had to believe it was the caller.
I kept moving but didn't make a sound.
A twig snapped across the square and the dark figure pivoted around. A low, indistinct voice said something unintelligible from this distance.
A shot broke the silence, then two more, and the shadowy figure in front of the tomb collapsed to the ground. Someone broke from the cover of the trees to my left and darted toward the street.
"Stop!" I pulled my gun. There was little time to think. I sprinted toward the fleeing dark figure.
A shot rang out and whizzed past my face. I saw him bolt the last few yards toward the wall. Adrenalin kicked in and I chased him.
Under dim street lamps, I saw him turn and fire again. Muzzle flash briefly lit the darkness. The shot went wide. He turned and tore through some bushes. I wasn't close enough. He hurtled over the short brick wall and was out of sight down a side street.
I turned back to the guy at the monument. As I neared, I saw a limp figure sprawled on the ground. There was blood, lots of it, pooling around him.
He had a faint pulse and was still warm, his breathing ragged. I tried not to look at the holes in his chest or the blood around him. I concentrated on his face. Young, filled with fear and pain, he grimaced, eyes wide. A tear trickled down the side of his face.
He moaned and his hand clutched at my arm. Bending closer, I realized he was trying to speak. I removed his hat and gently brushed back his hair. He was a lot younger than I thought and very pale. The fearful look on his face disappeared at my touch but he winced with pain. His lips moved but his breathing was labored and he spoke indistinctly.
"I'll call 911, kid. Hang on. You'll be all right." I knew he wouldn't be all right. He was bleeding out on the paving stones which were already filled with blood.
"F-Fontana?" His voice was a wheeze.
"It's me. I'm here like I promised." I caressed his head then placed my palm against his cheek. No one deserved to suffer alone like this. "Who did this to you?"
"I... ki-killed Br-brandt." He exhaled a long breath and I thought he was gone. His eyes fluttered and he spoke again, "Shot...sh-shot him."
"Why? Why'd you do it?"
"J-job...they... paid... m-me."
"Who paid you?"
"Stel-ste-stella's."
"Somebody at Stella's?"
"A-
ask... Colt..."
"Colt?..." I stroked his cheek. "Hang in, kid. I'll call the..."
"Ja-jared... help. S-stop... Scan..." Another long exhalation. He closed his eyes and lapsed into silence.
I pulled out my cell phone and dialed 911. My hands shook not because I was afraid but because of what he'd said. Jared needed help? And who was Colt?
I waited with the kid, stroking his hair, just letting him know someone was there. Not much else I could do. I didn't think the EMTs would be able to help either.
The park was still, the light of the eternal flame fluttered in the cold breeze. The boy's blood oozed more slowly now. Behind him was the Tomb of the Unknown and Washington's statue silently observing everything. He'd seen thousands of young men die for nobler things. Their bodies beneath this boy whose blood seeped into their graves.
Sirens cut the silence. The first car rolled onto the pavement, siren blaring, lights wildly flashing red, white, and blue. I heard car doors slam shut and other sirens in the distance. Another car, with a slap-on strobe, pulled onto the sidewalk.
When I saw her walking toward me, I swore to myself. Giuliani would grill me, even if I had nothing to do with this. She'd find some reason to waste my time. She enjoyed making me miserable.
One of the officers felt for a pulse on the boy and just as he stood the ambulance arrived. The EMTs jumped out, rushed over to the kid, and worked on him. The one kneeling over the boy signaled for a stretcher and the other EMT ran to get it.
"Is he...?"
"It's bad. I don't know if he'll make it." The EMT was all business. He must've seen hundreds of things like this and it probably gave him a bleak, matter-of-fact outlook. "Okay, step away, please, we've got to get him onto the stretcher."
The stretcher was placed by the body and they gently lifted him onto it, holding IV bags high, making him as comfortable as they could. Then they trundled him off.
There was a pause before the ambulance revved to life. It began moving slowly. There was no siren. I knew what that meant.
Suddenly Giuliani stood in front of me.
"Fontana. You find your way into a lotta funny situations."
"Yeah, a real laugh, this one." I took out my cell phone again. It was getting close to closing time at Bubbles and Anton would be frantic if I didn't show up.
Murder on Camac Page 27