The Book of 21

by Todd Ohl

  A few seconds later, the two of them had reached the end of the hall. There, the hallway dogged right a few feet before presenting an open door on the left. Fanelli sidled up to the doorway and listened. He could now faintly hear three voices—one male and two female.

  Fanelli peered around the doorframe. Beyond the door was a small office lined with bookshelves full of marriage, baptism, and accounting records. An old steel desk topped with a few opened books sat in the center of the room. Through a doorway on the opposite wall, Fanelli could see the nave of the church. In the nave, John McDonough stood in a half-bent fashion while two women strutted about.

  “You need to calm down, Amy,” the older woman, with dark hair, said to the younger.

  “Calm down?” Amy snapped back with an acrid tone. “Fuck you, Sophia. I’m the one who watched my boyfriend get fucking killed and had to sit with this fucker all night while he acted like my sugar daddy.” She squinted at Sophia and continued, “It’s easy for you and the others to remain calm; none of you lost someone you cared about.”

  Fanelli shot a look at Harry, who nodded to confirm that he heard the exchange of names. Fanelli then sank to the floor and crawled forward behind the cover of the desk. There, he settled in to eavesdrop on the conversation.

  Sophia’s tone remained calm as she said, “It’s not anyone’s fault; you know the stakes are high. Let’s calm down and figure out how best to address Mr. McDonough.”

  As Fanelli peered around the corner of the desk, he saw that Sophia’s face remained as placid as her tone.

  “It’s not anyone’s fault?” Amy scoffed in exasperation. “It’s fucking everyone’s fault. It was the fault of that fat-assed cop for showing up so damn fast and playing hero. It was Shalby’s fault for deciding to take a nap when he should be doing his fucking job. It was your fault for having the bright idea to put on that little play last night. Most of all, it was this fuckhead’s fault for deciding to kill Jimmy, out of all the people there last night.”

  Fanelli frowned as he mouthed, “Fat-assed?”

  When Harry joined him at the side of the desk, Fanelli held his thumb to his ear and pointed his pinky finger at his mouth. Harry nodded and began digging for John’s phone.

  Chapter 44:

  A Call from God

  In the nave, John knew that Mezzalura did not take Amy’s accusation of blame well; her face had taken on a frown, and the muscles in her cheek were now clenched. He watched the two women stare at each other and waited for them to calm down. There would be blood if they continued along this path. He also knew that any shootout between the two women would result in him being shot by the victor, and his corpse would be used to explain away the gunfight.

  It was then, that Mezzalura asked, “And who thought we would be able to get the professor, and his boyfriend, to talk?”

  John watched them both continue to glare and wondered whether either was dumb enough to make a move. He figured a bit of reverse psychology might break the downward spiral of events. Standing a bit straighter, he jibed, “Well, Amy, given that I offed Shalby this morning, why don’t we call it even and you can just shoot Sophia?”

  “Shut the fuck up, asshole,” Amy returned. “I’m going to enjoy putting a bullet in your fucking head.”

  John considered his options.

  He could to continue irritating Amy, perhaps throwing her off balance enough to make a mistake. He could then end the situation by brute force. While the odds were two-to-one against him, those odds might never get better. Still, that approach would be more dangerous than the situation he had just diffused.

  The safest choice was to play along and try to buy more time, given what he saw around him. The two of them were ten to fifteen feet away, which was too far to traverse before they fired, and too close for them to miss if they had any skill with their firearms. Furthermore, they were spread apart just enough to give a nice angle for raking fire to the one that he did not rush.

  Even though he would wait to act, he decided that he could not let them take him from the nave. It would have to end here. They would undoubtedly call in help if they left the church, so his odds only went down in that case. Here, there were only two of them, and one seemed hesitant to kill him just yet. He needed to work them a bit out of position, so that they would not have quite a perfect killing field. He then needed to anger Amy when it would give him a split second of advantage.

  “You know you won’t kill me here,” he said.

  Mezzalura smiled, and replied, “Very astute. After all, the priest could have been exploring down there, and simply found an old trap.” She tilted her head. “I’m wondering if we really must do you in. No one would believe your tale, Mr. McDonough. You know, you could use an income after losing your job, and we would welcome someone with ingenuity to replace those that we have lost.”

  Behind John’s smile, he knew she was simply baiting him with false hope. She needed to get him out of here cleanly and then off him somewhere away from this scene—somewhere that would not draw a connection back to this church. She was simply less skilled at this form of deception than he had anticipated. He knew that her ruse might give him a chance to change their positioning, however, and he started forward like a pawn in a deadly game of chess.

  “That’s an interesting offer.” John tapped his chin and looked up to the ceiling, as if he was pondering it. He took one step toward them and paused to scratch his head, knowing he could not push the advance too quickly. He had to move slowly enough that they could barely perceive a change in his position. He then probed, “What exactly would my role be?”

  “You are not in much of a position to bargain here,” Mezzalura replied. “Essentially, you will do whatever I tell you.”

  With a wry smile, John nodded to confirm she was correct. Her answer was convincing; he almost believed her.

  Amy, however, had enough of it. She let out a sigh, visibly lost the tension in her body, and said, “Fuck this, Sophia. He knows your game.” She took two steps forward and raised the gun.

  John could see her knuckles getting white as she began to pull the trigger. The best he could hope for now was to jump for cover or rush her just before the gun went off. Either way, he would catch a flurry of bullets that followed from the two of them.

  The ring of a cell phone echoed through the nave.

  John and Amy locked eyes. He knew she was debating whether to shoot him before or after she picked up the call. He had his split second of hesitation, and he missed it.

  Now he was thinking how he could prompt her to answer the call. A few possible ploys came to mind. He might be able to convince her it was the police, and that she might need him for a hostage. He might be able to remind her of the simple fact that this location for his death was going to raise many questions. While he strategized his sales approach, she reached into her pocket.

  Amy kept her eyes on John while she lifted cell phone to her ear. She raised an eyebrow, and uttered, “Hello?”

  From eight feet away, John heard the tiny voice of Harry Mulgrew come across the speaker of the cell with the words, “Amy, this is God. There will be no shooting in my church today.”

  Amy’s face contorted in confusion. Though she knew better, Amy looked upward at the figure of Christ hanging in the apse. It was the moment of hesitation that John needed.

  Chapter 45:

  Exorcising the Rat

  John leapt forward, and Amy fired. He felt a searing flash of pain erupt in his left shoulder, but the small caliber of the .38 did not have enough force to stop his momentum. He slammed into Amy and sent her flying onto the hard marble floor.

  He slipped about, struggling for purchase on a marble floor made slick with his own blood. Mezzalura was raising her weapon. Amy was crawling away from him. Peluno’s revolver was spinning like a top on the marble floor—just a few feet from his head.

  “Hands in the air!” Fanelli roared into the church.

  Mezzalura snapped an errant shot at John
as she wheeled the gun toward Fanelli. Before she could fire again, her chest exploded twice, and she fell backward into the aisle.

  Amy regained her feet, and darted toward the front door. Just as she was about to break into a full run, the door opened and she found herself bathed in a sudden burst of daylight. Without a second of delay, Amy veered to the right and ran full steam for the columns that separated the pews from the alcove-lined walkway surrounding the church.

  John grabbed the rotating .38, got to his feet, and followed Amy as quickly as he could. After a few steps, he felt somewhat light-headed; his shoulder felt as if it were tearing open with every movement. With a throbbing ankle and a gunshot wound, he felt more like a gimpy turtle chasing a hare than a lion that was about to take down its prey.

  He could hear Moore yelling from the doorway, and Fanelli yelling from the apse. His sense of hearing seemed to fade as he neared the columns on the far side of the church—as if he was suddenly wearing earmuffs. While he could hear the phrases “freeze,” “stop right there,” and “hands up” echoing through the church, he really couldn’t tell which one of the cops was yelling what.

  Amy neither obeyed, nor gave the officers any reason to fire at her by doing something stupid. After reaching the outer causeway, she turned to her left and ran toward the front of the church.

  John broke through the row of columns and shouted, “Headed toward the front!”

  Dead ahead of Amy was a doorway that led into one of the spires at the front of the church. In his desperation to keep her from the cover of the door, John raised the gun and began to squeeze. He stopped himself with the realization that explaining a gunshot wound in the back would be an issue later. With a grunt, he returned to his best semblance of a chase.

  Amy continued to run at full speed as John hobbled after her. When she was a few feet from the door, she stopped more abruptly than John thought possible on the marble floor.

  Just then, John saw Moore sailing through the air in a flying tackle. Moore twisted in mid-air and feebly caught fistful of her sweatshirt for an instant. His body continued to arc past her, finally landing in the alcove with a sickening crack.

  John saw her glance at the front door, and realized that Kim now covered the entrance with a small handgun. Amy shook her head, as if abandoning the idea of leaving that way. She lurched back into a sprint straight ahead.

  After a few steps, she disappeared into the spire doorway. A flash of her blond hair told John she had taken a turn to the right.

  John continued his gimp, and saw Moore’s left arm and leg were both bent and wobbly at places they should not be. The look on Moore’s face told John that the officer was going to survive, but he was not going anywhere else without help.

  “Go! Go!” Moore shouted.

  John was picking up some momentum now, and only a gun muzzle would keep him out of the approaching doorway. He reached the door, and slid to the left of the doorframe. Inside and to the right, he saw a spiral staircase of stone ascending into the spire. The sound of Amy’s footsteps echoed down the stair, fading with each step.

  Behind him, John heard Fanelli yelling Moore’s name. He looked back at Moore, who nodded once. John stepped through the door and began to climb the stairs.

  Chapter 46:

  Bats in the Belfry

  John drove himself forward, ascending the staircase as best he could. As he paused to catch his breath, he realized the echo of Amy’s footsteps had stopped. He raised his gun and continued, hugging the outside wall as he spiraled upward. At any moment, he half-expected to catch a glimpse of Amy as she took a final shot at him. Adding insult to injury, was the stinging sweat that dripped into his eyes—a result of the labor he endured climbing the stairs, and the stress of the wounds on his body. After a few more minutes of ascent that racked his aching body and frayed his nerves, he finally saw an open doorway at the top of the stairs.

  John pressed toward the door and could see Amy standing at one of the long, narrow windows. She stared at the street far below. Her right arm hung at her side, and her hand clenched his Beretta. She could apparently see something down below that made any threat from the stairs irrelevant.

  As he entered the room, the approaching sirens of several police cruisers told John what she saw. He watched as Amy reached up and put her left hand onto the window frame. She shifted her weight, and almost seemed to sag with despair.

  “You got me, John,” she sighed.

  Until that moment, he was unsure whether she even knew of his presence. After hoisting the revolver and taking aim, he said softly, “It’s over.”

  “My daddy always told me I was a mean little bitch.” She took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “Someday, he said, if you keep lying and hurting people to get what you want, you’ll get what’s coming to you.”

  She tilted her head up toward the sky, and he could see tears roll down the side of her face. He stood still, pointing the gun at her back. He was too tired to play the game anymore.

  “Well, I was really good at it. He never could catch me.” She turned toward John and gave a weak smile as she wiped her tears away. “I got better and better, and the rewards got higher and higher. The thing was, the stakes did too.” She scoffed, and continued, “I didn’t care. Hell, who could catch Amy, right? She’s too smart.” She smiled and shook her head. “He would have liked you. John McDonough—the man that finally gave that little bitch Amy what she deserved.” She paused a second, and her expression went blank. “I wish that useless old bastard would have been a little less stupid. I wish he would have caught me, and tanned my hide before the stakes got so high.”

  John stared at her. He refused to blink, even though his eyes were beginning to sting again from the sweat of his brow. He was sure the story at the bar last night was a sham, and this story probably was too. Most likely, she was looking for that second of hesitation—just as he did down in the nave. He remained motionless and kept his aim steady; he knew that any waiver in concentration meant death.

  “Put down the gun,” he said firmly, offering her one last way out.

  Amy glanced at the stairs behind him, and then looked him in the eye. “I’m done, John. I’m not going back down those stairs. This is how it ends for me.”

  John took aim at her torso and cocked the .38 to let her know that he was ready to end her, if he had to. He then warned, “Let’s not get stupid.”

  “Too late,” she wheezed through a laugh. She looked down at the gun in her hand, and said, “This is the only control I have left. If I let you take me in, I’ll be dead in a few hours. I’d rather take care of this myself than see what they have in store for me.”

  The sound of footsteps, echoing up the stair behind John, was her cue. She started to slowly raise the gun, keeping it close to her body. John realized that she was being careful not to point it in his direction. He remained motionless as she brought the gun to her temple.

  The two of them stared at each other for a few seconds. John gave a nod and Amy returned a weak smile. She then pulled the trigger, sending shards of her skull and chunks of her brain spraying across the small room.

  The footsteps behind John stopped.

  “Detective McDonough?” Fanelli yelled up the stair.

  John dropped the gun and sat on the cold stone floor. He looked at the lifeless corpse of Amy Ritter. He wondered just how much of what he had heard was true, and just how bad her life really was. He had no idea who the real Amy Ritter was, but he wondered just what sad chain of events could cause her life to end like this.

  A few seconds later, he heard Fanelli step into the room behind him. Fanelli took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. There was silence for a while. Then Fanelli sat down next to him, and the two men stared at Amy’s corpse.

  After a few minutes, Fanelli said, “Well, looks like this one is over, Detective.”

  John sighed, “About fucking time.”

  Fanelli chuckled and helped him to his feet.

  Wit
h Fanelli’s help, John slowly made his way down the spiral stair. When he reached the bottom, he saw two paramedics carting Jake Moore out of the church in a gurney. Harry and Kim were at Jake’s side. After Moore’s gurney exited, another entered. The two new paramedics came to steady John and help him onto the fresh cart.

  “The book,” he croaked, grabbing Fanelli’s arm. “Get the book and bring it to me.”

  “What book?” Fanelli sputtered, as he scanned the altar and furrowed his brow.

  “There was something there, by the altar,” he murmured, sounding almost drunk. “They thought there was something here they could use to blackmail the church.”

  “Shit,” Fanelli hissed. He shook his head and roared, “Close off this church! Nobody in or out!”

  Using Fanelli’s shoulder, John pulled himself up to look for the book. He scanned the floor, thinking that perhaps he mistook the location. The book was gone.

  He realized Amy told him the truth about one thing; anything involving the Templars wound up in a dead end. Tears fell from his eyes, and he began to laugh. Then it all went black.

  Epilogue

  A year later, John sat at the bar in DiFlore’s Diner and stared at the screen of a laptop computer. He sighed and took another sip of coffee. All he needed was a title. He decided to not force the issue and closed the computer’s lid.

  He opened his morning paper. In the marriage section, he found a picture of Jake Moore and Kim Wohlford. Next to the picture was an announcement of their engagement.

  That glimpse of Kim and Jake was as much contact as he had with any of them since he left the force. He purposely missed the ceremony that awarded Fanelli’s Sergeant stripes, and ignored Harry’s occasional messages that invited him to dinner. After a brief smile, he decided that this small bit of memory was enough for one day.

  Flipping back to the front page, he found that the headline on the Inquirer declared, “Circle of Conspirators Grows: Two More Indicted.”