Afterward, he'd asked to meet in Kahn Park, in the middle of the gayborhood. Appropriate. It was the most sterile park in the city -- devoid of anything resembling friendliness or beauty. It matched Galante's life. I didn't know why he wanted to talk face to face but it was his last wish, you could say.
When he approached me, I stood, more out of habit than respect.
"Mr. Fontana." He nodded curtly.
"Mr. Galante." I refused to use a title he had no business bearing.
"It's done," he said, sitting wearily. "Everything you've asked has been done. I'm sure you're a happy man now."
"Too many people are dead for me to be happy. As for everything I've asked for..."
"I have resigned my position as Archbishop of Philadelphia. The Church is allowing me to spend the rest of my life at The Monastery of the Holy Cross in Idaho. You've effectively destroyed my career. My life."
"You destroyed your own career, Galante. I just wanted to save a lot of people from losing what little faith they have left in your institution. Don't ask me why."
"I could have made a difference in the Church. I could have..."
"Why did you want to meet? I could've heard all about it on the news."
"I wanted to look you in the eye, Mr. Fontana. I know we've met before but I never really took your measure and I realize I underestimated you."
"I get that a lot. So, are we finished?" I wanted to go. Sitting with this guy gave me the creeps.
"And I wanted you to know just what it is you've done by destroying me. You need to know what the Church has lost. I would have brought it back to where it should be in people's lives, in the world. I would have made a difference."
"I think you did that thirty years ago, Galante. And you'll be doing it again once people learn you've resigned."
He glowered at me. There was little he could do and no spells he could cast that would turn me into the lump of shit he obviously thought I was.
"I've got things to do. I won't wish you luck, you seem to make your own wherever you go." I stood up, turned, and walked out of the ugly little pocket park. The sun was shining although while I sat with Galante, something had obscured the light.
Walking back to my office I had to pass Giovanni's Room, where Helmut had entranced me so long before and where he'd made his last public appearance. Camac Street, where he'd been killed, wasn't far either. I ambled past that place, too. I don't know why exactly, maybe I just wanted to pay my respects. Say goodbye to him once and for all. People had been placing small bouquets at the spot where he died. At least one fresh bouquet every day. I'd been told someone also placed a single red rose there, a new one every day. Red as the blood he'd shed.
Maybe I let Galante off easy for the same reason that Helmut wanted to hang him. Even if I didn't believe in the Church and all its works, some people did. It was the least of them, the ones who had little left in their lives but faith in that Church, it was those people I worried about. If the whole sordid story had come out and Galante had been exposed publicly, it might have been the last straw for those people after the sex abuse scandals, the financial misconduct, and all the other misdeeds and wrongdoings of people they were supposed to trust.
The Church was a hornet's nest. Thirty years before, John Paul the First had wanted to fix it and he was dead. Helmut had wanted to save it in his own way. And he was dead. Even Kusek's sincere beliefs led him to think he was doing the right thing. And he was dead, too. It was all such a waste.
We'd at least gotten to the truth about Helmut's murder. Kusek had paid the ultimate price. Little B was dead. Jared and Colt would do time in prison. I didn't want more people hurt.
Hollister was satisfied with the fact that Galante would resign his position. The Trappist monastery where he'd contemplate his sins for the rest of his life would not be an easy place to live. Being removed from the limelight, from the power, and from any possibility of a future in the hierarchy was a terrible price for a man like Galante. Considering there was no actual eyewitness to his part in the plot to kill the Pope, I'd thought it was a good compromise. He would be punished and no one had to learn that men who were supposed to be doing God's work had devolved into murderers.
Sometimes Truth has to stay hidden. Its light is too bright. Too many people would be wounded if certain truths were known. So I buried it this once. I could live with that.
Camac Street was empty and quiet. The late October sun filtered in between tall buildings and a chilly breeze blew down the street driving dead leaves and paper before it. I could hear gun shots in my imagination, cries for help, confused shouts. Memories still haunted the place.
The colorful flowers leaning against the wall were a mute testament to both the kindness and cruelty of people. I bent down to look at the red rose near the wall where Helmut died. The blossom was so fresh a crystal clear drop of dew still caressed one of the petals. I felt a tear wanting to push its way out of my eye, so I cleared my throat, swiped a hand over my face, and stood up.
It was time to get back to the office. There were cases, there were always more cases. I walked away from that place of death and didn't look back. I placed one foot in front of the other and thought about what I had to do next. Each step took me toward feeling a little better. Things would never be the same for some and would never change for others. I looked around and took a deep breath.
The gayborhood looked good, everything was right where it should have been and so was I.
About the Author
Joseph R.G. DeMarco lives and writes in Philadelphia and Montreal. Several of his stories have been anthologized in the Quickies series (all three volumes) published by Arsenal Pulp Press, in Men Seeking Men (Painted Leaf Press) and in Charmed Lives (Lethe Press). His essays have been published in anthologies including Gay Life (Doubleday), Hey Paisan! (Guernica), We Are Everywhere (Routledge), BlackMen WhiteMen (Gay Sunshine), Men's Lives (Macmillan), Paws and Reflect (Alyson) ), The International Encyclopedia of Marriage and Family (Macmillan) the Encyclopedia of Men and Masculinites (ABC CLIO), and The Gay and Lesbian Review Worldwide among others.
A current travel columnist for XXFactor Magazine online (www.xxfactor.com), he has written extensively for the gay/lesbian press. He was a correspondent for The Advocate, In Touch, Gaysweek, and his work has been featured in The New York Native, the Philadelphia Gay News (PGN), Gay Community News, The Philadelphia Inquirer, The Welcomat, KLIATT, Chroma, and a number of other publications.
In 1983, his PGN article "Gay Racism" was awarded the prize for excellence in feature writing by the Gay Press Association and was anthologized in We Are Everywhere, Black Men, White Men, and Men's Lives.
He was Editor-in-Chief of The Weekly Gayzette (Philadelphia); Editor-in-Chief of New Gay Life, a national magazine; and has been an editor or contributing editor for a number of publications including Il Don Gennaro, a national Italian-American magazine, and Gaysweek (NY).
Currently his is the Editor-in-Chief of Mysterical-E (www.mystericale.com) an online mystery magazine and has won the Preditors and Editors Reader's Choice Award for Best Editor in 2005 and 2007.
One of his greatest loves is mystery (all kinds) but he also has an abiding interest in alternate history, speculative fiction, young adult fiction, vampires, werewolves, science fiction, the supernatural, mythology, and more.
Murder on Camac is the first in his Marco Fontana Mysteries series
You can learn more at www.josephdemarco.com and at www.murderoncamac.com
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