Collision Course (A Josh Williams Novel)

by Joe Broadmeadow

  Hawk looked at Chris and back at Josh, "How many times a day do you shoot someone in his church?"

  Chapter 26: An Unlikely Association

  Father Jim met Josh during his brief stint as the Police Department Chaplin.

  While Father Jim was Chaplin, he would come in and ride with various officers. Most thought the idea of a priest being on calls was a bad idea. The last thing you need is a complete and unfiltered picture of a street encounter. This despite the fact Father Jim carried his own mahogany nightstick, knew how, and was not afraid to use it.

  Josh enjoyed having Father Jim along for the ride. They would discuss philosophy, religion, Yankees vs. Red Sox. Jim being a die-hard Sox fan, Josh never failing to point out the difference in the number of Championships held by the teams. The conversations were illuminating for Josh and a catharsis for Father Jim. It was Josh's version of a personal confessional, or a close as an Atheist could come to one.

  There were several occasions where Father Jim considered talking to Josh about the good Bishop, but his training on the sanctity of the confessional was too overpowering. At least up to that point.

  The Bishop, William James MacLoughlin, formerly the Pastor of St. Domenick's, removed Father Jim from the Chaplin's position citing more compelling Church priorities. Thus ending the ride-along program.

  The common belief was it was because of EPPD locking up the good Bishop's brother, Dennis, for DUI. The Bishop, in a testament to his faith in his faith, believed denying the officers access to a priest would hasten their descent into hell.

  Apparently the Bishop didn't believe that his brother, driving an unregistered car, after consuming ten to twelve beers and many shots of whiskey, going off the roadway, killing a 9 week-old puppy named Purdy, being walked by 7 year-old Kathleen Ackerly, in her front yard, while her smiling parents took pictures, warranted being locked up.

  Perhaps, the Good Shepherd thought he could damn them forever.

  Ironically, the Church's own lawyer did a masterful job of finding an error in the complex DUI forms and secured a dismissal.

  The bigger irony being the rest of the story.

  The brother celebrated his good fortune with dinner and drinks at a Federal Hill restaurant paid for by the Bishop with the charity of parishioners. He managed to liberate the keys of the Diocese's Cadillac SUV from the Bishop's jacket.

  On the celebratory ride to Foxwoods to rejoice in the triumph of Justice, the Cadillac's high-efficiency headlights illuminated a large deer in the roadway. The Good Shepherd's brother, suffering from the handicap of alcohol and loss of focus due to his young, female, and well-compensated compatriot's hands in his pants, overreacted, in a different, but nevertheless consistent, pattern of family behavior.

  The Cadillac missed the deer, deferring for the moment the brother's bearing the burden of killing another of God's creatures.

  It was a brief respite.

  It rolled.

  It spun.

  Once the forces of gravity, friction, and momentum returned to balance, the young woman was dead in the passenger compartment holding onto an item with which she held much experience. Perhaps it provided a familiar comfort in those last moments, in spite of being unnaturally separated from its original location and no longer functional.

  The Bishop's brother, if his faith was correct, at that moment was explaining himself to a higher being. If one is required to provide an inventory of all equipment issued when granted existence, he was short one.

  Poetic justice, bad luck, perhaps divine intervention, it did not matter. The accident photos were the cause of great joy among the cops.

  As a token of their great esteem for the good Bishop, he received several copies of the best of the images in the mail, as a way of helping him remember his brother's many good virtues.

  Father Jim and Josh Williams maintained their association in spite of the Bishop's attempts to derail it.

  Chapter 27: Confidences Betrayed

  Father Jim decided he needed to do something. Unsure if there was anything that would help.

  Who would best understand the need for confidentiality? The lawyer of course They have an obligation to protect their client and the attorney client privilege was as close to the sanctity of confession as it gets in the secular world.

  Father Jim called, asking for the lawyer representing Machado.

  "Public Defender's office," the young voice answered, "Kelsey Campbell."

  "Do you represent the Machado case?"

  "Machado, which Machado, we represent a couple people named Machado."

  "I may be phrasing this incorrectly, the one that was shot the other day, and died."

  "Ah, well if he died we can't represent him, he's dead."

  "I mean, the other guy, the other one that was there, not dead.”

  "The one that was where? If it's the case I am thinking about, it was a police officer that shot him, we don't represent him, the city does."

  "No, the other guy in the robbery, the one that did the shooting at the Cumberland Farms."

  "Ah, Ventraglia, yes we represent him."

  "Well, I heard what Machado said; he said 'I tried to stop him."

  There was a pause and then, "Sir, could I have your name and a way to contact you? The lawyer representing Mr. Ventraglia is not here at the moment, but I am sure he will want to talk to you."

  "Of course, giving the girl his number; my name is Father Jim Swanson."

  "Father," pausing to figure this out, "you're a priest?"

  "I am."

  "Oh, well then I am sure he'll want to speak to you, I will call him now, expect a call back within the hour."

  Before Father Jim could say goodbye he heard the connection drop. Kelsey was already on the line calling Harris.

  Chapter 28: Steven Harris

  Steven Harris came to the law by an uncommon path.

  He was raised in a strict Protestant household by a blue collar, union member, machinist father and a stay-at-home mom who were less-than-embracing of academic pursuits.

  "Why," his mother would say, "waste time reading about places you will never see or things you can never achieve? Better to get out of high school, let your father get you in the union, and marry that girl Sara you are always staring at in church."

  Steven loved to read. He would be up to all hours of the night reading anything he could. They owned a TV but that was only for ‘family’ time and certain approved shows. TV was never to be on when his parents were not there, he didn't watch it anyway.

  As the time came for graduation, Steven announced he was going to college.

  His mother laughed, his father looked at him and said "and who do you think is going to pay for this?"

  Harris excelled in college and managed to be accepted to law school. Upon graduation, he passed the bar on the first attempt and took a position with the Public defender’s office.

  He would never get rich, but he found the work challenging and rewarding. He quickly developed a reputation as a tough, well-respected trial lawyer.

  Chapter 29: Fun and Games

  It was supposed to be just for fun, so they thought.

  Harris came out of the shower, stopped at the mirror, and examined himself.

  "You are such a pussy, get away from the mirror."

  "Nice talk for a Catholic girl."

  "What's this, now you have religion?"

  "Equal to or exceeding yours."

  "Come over here, I don't like wasting the limited time we have."

  They say opposites attract, this was strong nuclear force level attraction.

  They were lost.

  Lost in each other's pleasure.

  Lost in their own.

  Compelled to ignore the conflict, in order to satisfy the compulsion.

  The climax of pleasure, the addiction of ecstasy, the irresistible lure of the denied, and the pull of the undeniable.

  They lied to themselves and enjoyed it.

  That which is denied
, is often all you believe necessary for survival.

  Both determined to survive.

  Two normal, intelligent, rational people engaged in abnormal, irrational behavior neither one would have even considered possible.

  This was one of those relationships.

  Intense physicality.

  Complimented and enhanced by intellectual curiosity and compatibility. Their conversations jumping from quantum physics, to Mozart Sonatas, to Dante's Inferno, to their exploration, page by page, of the Kama Sutra.

  Attenuated by the sheer overwhelming sexuality, risking both their personal and professional lives.

  It was exhilarating, invigorating, and irresistible.

  It was crazy.

  It was fun.

  Dangerous fun.

  During these encounters, they often shared things. Things best left unshared.

  The problem with taking someone into your confidence is obvious. There is no protection against their taking someone else, and their taking someone else again, ad infinitum.

  Lying in bed, after sharing ultimate physical intimacies, unveiling ones darkest secrets can sometime seem natural, almost contributory to the intensity of the moment.

  The conversation seemed safe, secure. However, like an image posted to the net, irretrievable.

  Another layer of risk, heightening the excitement.

  It was the great unspoken consensus among those that spend time in courtrooms; everyone was coloring the truth to some degree.

  "Never let the facts get in the way of the truth" was a common refrain, as it was the mantra of the opposing elements of our confrontational system of justice.

  The cops enhancing the probable cause for the search.

  The prosecutors exaggerating the sound of the magazine inserted into a weapon, the echo in courtrooms enhancing the noise, frightening the jury.

  The defense weaving a tale of a sad childhood, lack of parental control, even abuse to garner sympathy for the defendant.

  It would often seem the better liar wins.

  Sometimes Juries find it hard to doubt the word of a police officer over a defendant with a lengthy record.

  Sometimes Juries disregard the officers' word because of bad personal experiences with other officers.

  The better liar.

  When told of Josh's recent creative testimony in the case involving sale of alcohol to a minor, Steve Harris added it to his reserve of things that might come in handy.

  While he hoped never to use it, information like this could prove invaluable in pre-trial discussions with the Attorney General's office.

  They would never suspect how he came upon it, but they would worry about its veracity. Unreasonable doubt works almost as well.

  Harris' cell phone rang.

  "Hey, you know the rules, no answering anything that might be traceable."

  "Just looking at caller ID, I am expecting some calls about the Morin case on appeal."

  "Okay, then next week, I'll be looking for someone with an appreciation for this body."

  "Fuck, it's the office, I told Kelsey I'd be with a witness all day, this must be important, I have to take it."

  "But, he'll find out...."

  It was too late. Harris answered the phone.

  "Hey, Kels, what's up?"

  A short pause, he glanced up, then walked into the bathroom, closing the door. "A fucking priest," trying to whisper, "you're telling me I got a call from a priest that was there? Holy shit, literally."

  "Okay, listen to me, call the priest back and ask him where I can meet him, no, no, not at the office, anywhere but there, can priests go to bars? Just figure out something with him and call me back," walking out of the bathroom, grabbing his clothes, "I am ten minutes from the office."

  "Jesus, Steve, why don't you just tell the world the fucking address and who you are here with"

  "Listen to me, I have to go, this is major, nothing to do with us. Sorry, I will make it up next time. I'll give you one of my special full body massages; the one that makes you squirm."

  "The only thing making me squirm now is if this gets out, we're going to be worried about some serious issues. I can't believe this, go and I will see you later, maybe."

  Steve got into his 350Z and headed back toward the office. His cell rang just as he pulled into the parking lot. "Well, where is he?" Looking around the lot, not sure what he was looking for, but he was nervous about this.

  Kelsey Campbell answered, "Jeez, Steve, will you calm down for Christ sake, he's not going to take your soul. Oh, wait, you have nothing to worry about as a soulless bastard lawyer."

  "Point of law, my parents were married, ergo I am not, by definition, a bastard, but I am going to be a prick when I get back to the office. Remind me to give you a raise for your amazing sense of humor." Slowing to a deliberate pace, “where the fuck is my priest?"

  "Hi, excuse me, I believe I am the priest you are looking for," Father Jim said into the driver's side window. "Are you Mr. Harris?"

  "Jesus Christ, you scared the fuck out of...I mean, you startled me, your... Priestness? What the f...ah, what do I call you?" A rattled Steve said as he looked at Father Jim standing next to his car.

  "I was just around the corner when your secretary called my cell phone; I told her I would walk over and wait for you here. For some reason, she tried to dissuade me of this, but I did not want to be a bother.” Pausing a moment.

  “You can call me Jim if you like, I will act 'off-duty' and excuse myself from, what did you call it, Priestness?"

  "Ah, yeah, sorry, you just, ah, I didn't expect you to be here, get in we need to find someplace private to talk."

  Father Jim went around to the passenger side, opened the door, and slid into the seat. Trying to shift around the files, documents, and Steve's briefcase until he could fit his legs in.

  "Sorry about the mess, Jim. I never have anyone in the car with me,"

  "No problem, my office looks just like this. Speaking of which, why can't we talk in your office, your secretary sounded very pleasant, don't you trust her?"

  "Kelsey? No, no she's great, I trust her, hell I already do trust her with my life, Jesus Christ," swerving around a car turning onto Waterman Avenue, "oops sorry for the language."

  Trying to his maintain composure, looking for someplace they wouldn't be seen, The cops here are pretty sharp, he thought, and if they see me talking to the Pastor of the church where this went down, they will be knocking the door down to talk to him too.

  "Don't worry about the language, I have heard it all, and thought of a few creative phrases myself. And since, technically, I work for Jesus Christ, I will just consider that a reminder of why I am here."

  "And why is that, ah, Jim?" Steve looked to the priest, trying to gauge him.

  "To get the truth out of course, I saw what happen, I knew Anthony, ah, JoJo I believe he is, or was, called, from a long time ago, and I saw Josh do everything he could to avoid shooting him. And I heard what he said."

  Father Jim looked out the window, watching as they went onto 195 Westbound and then took the South Main and Wickendon Street exit.

  "You heard what who said, Jim?" Steve asked.

  "Well, both of them," Jim answered.

  "Jim, would you like a beer or wine or something? I don't want to keep driving around and I need to hear the whole story."

  Jim smiled, "You know, since I have shed my priest persona and official status that would be good."

  "Oh yeah," Steve said "sorry about the inarticulateness of my familiarity with the proper way to address a Catholic Priest. I was raised a Protestant."

  "Well, seeing as you are a Protestant and all, please tell me you have at least one redeeming characteristic." Jim looked gravely at him.

  "Ah, shit, I mean, I never paid much attention to that whole church thing."

  "Well, to borrow your favorite phrase, in the name of Jesus Christ at least tell me you are a Red Sox fan!"

  "Oh, well, sure, of course, that
's the only fan around here isn't it?" Steve replied

  "Ah my son, sorry, priests love calling people son, there are those among us that are not, the worst of them are Yankee fans, and thus unredeemable in the eyes of the Lord."

  "Well, shit then, I am on my way to Angel's wings," Steve laughed.

  Jim looked at him and smiled "let's reserve judgment on that for someone more qualified."

  Steve parked the car and they got out. Jim, standing at the back of the car, removed his white collar and looked at Steve, "Undercover Priest, what do you think?"

  "Well, you look like a waiter at a Federal Hill restaurant; I guess it's the best we can hope for." They walked over to small café overlooking the riverfront.

  Since the Providence ‘Renaissance,’ the river front area was a nice place to people watch and enjoy a drink. They found an outside table and settled in.

  The server came over, smiled at Steve, and asked for the drink orders.

  "What will it be Father, I mean, Jim?" Steve stammered as the server tried to figure out this combination.

  "Well, under the circumstances, I would like, wait, ah sorry, whose paying for this? I don't like to waste my parish..., ah, parent's money," raising the server’s eyebrows another notch.

  "Oh, have whatever you want, it is on me. I'll take it out of Kelsey's Christmas bonus." Smiling back at the waitress.

  "Do you have Cold River Vodka?"

  Waitress shook her head.

  "How about another favorite of mine, Thor's Hammer? No," reacting to the continuing denial, "Okay, perhaps Ketel One? Wonderful," noting the change in the response, "on the rocks, three olives, loose in the glass, do not stab my olives, and if you have a bottle that's been kept in the freezer, as you know all vodka should, use that, please."

  Steve had not met many Catholic priests but he was starting to regret the Protestant upbringing, if Jim's performance was any indication of the norm for them.

  "So Jim, you said you saw and heard what happened. How? Where were you? The cops didn't list any witnesses."