The Cin Fin-Lathen Mysteries 1-3 (55 page)

It
was my turn to outfit Harry properly.  I had him tone down his Brooks Brothers
look.  As I rifled through his and Father Michael's clothes, I picked out
things my son Alex would wear.  I wanted Harry to appear to not care about his
appearance thus giving him a more everyman type of look.  Betty came up with
the photo, and she almost cried when I creased it by bending it here and
there.  It needed to look old and worn, a keepsake that resided in someone's
wallet for some time.

Lucy
Blues was in an old converted cotton warehouse on River Street.  Its entrance
was just inside the cobblestone alley across from Maggie's, a bar where Betty
and I planned to spend the evening.  Maggie's was chosen for a little known
back door for a quick exit and the large windows where we would be holding
vigil.

We
worked out a code if anything went wrong.  If Harry exited Lucy's and dropped
his backpack off his shoulder and didn't adjust it, this meant he was in
trouble.  If he moved it from one arm to the other it meant to wait a minute
and follow him.  If he ran out of there it meant we should run too, and he
would meet us at the Marriott if he made it that far.

Betty
and I would enter River Street from the opposite way from Harry.  Harry would
meander in and out of the stores that were still open and end up at Lucy Blues.

It
all went according to plan.  Betty and I arrived at Maggie's, and she muscled
her way in and got us situated at the window.  It was great to watch.  All she
did was walk up and stare at the tourists occupying the table we wanted, not
saying a word.  It wasn't but a minute before they picked up their drinks and
moved across the room.  I sat down and held the table while Betty got us some
drinks and bar munchies.  I was dressed in blue denim: jacket, jeans and an
indigo shirt with button down pockets.  Betty had chosen the masculine look. 
She had changed out of her finery and wore old blue jeans, a flannel shirt and
gelled her hair back.  We must have made a great couple because although people
whispered as we went by, no one approached us.

I
saw Harry enter Lucy's just as Betty brought over a couple of bottles of beer
and a whiskey chaser.  I didn't want to make an issue of not drinking, so I
took a beer and pushed the remainder of the boilermaker Betty's way.  I noted
the time on my watch while Betty and I talked about books we were reading.  Her
tastes were literary and mine were trashy.  I did know some of the books she
read as my daughter Noelle insisted that for every four trashy books I read, I
must read something literary of her choice.  Betty asked me to tell her more of
what had happened over in England, and I did so, carefully editing any
supernatural occurrences out of my narrative.

After
an hour and a half of nursing our drinks we saw Harry exit the bar.  I watched
as he moved the backpack from one arm to the other.  Betty settled our tab at
the bar, as I kept an eye on the windows and saw Harry cross the street and
head down the river walk towards the park.  We got up and pushed our way
through the standing customers.  By the time we exited the bar he was out of
sight.  We followed in his direction and walked right past him.  He coughed
discreetly to get our attention and wadded up a candy bar wrapper and left it
on the bench he had just vacated.  Betty walked over to the bench and sat on
the wrapper while I looked around us to see if Harry or we had been followed.

"I'm
getting tired.  Aren't you ready to head home yet?" Betty's gruff voice demanded.

"I
guess so, but I really hate to walk all that way in these boots," I
complained.

Betty
got up, and we walked up river for a while before she directed me under a park
light.  She handed me the wrapper.  Inside of it had an address in Savannah, nothing
more.  We walked over to the Hilton where Betty hailed us a cab.  Once inside
the cab we rode in silence until we stopped in front of a set of row houses
backing a very small Catholic church.  I looked at the address again and moved
toward number eleven.  Betty stopped my progress with a reach of her arm. 
There was someone running towards us in the dark.  It was Harry, and before he
passed us we could hear another set of running footsteps.  Betty and I walked
toward the pursuer and basically with our combined bulk blocked the sidewalk.

A
small man narrowly missed colliding with us in the dark. 

"Hey,
watch it buddy," Betty growled.

"Sorry,
didn't see you, man, er, ma'am." The man tried to look around Betty. 

"Is
there something wrong?" I asked innocently.  "Not a nice neighborhood
for a midnight jog."

He
stepped to the side of Betty and looked down the street.  "Did you see
where that kid went?"

"The
other midnight jogger?" I asked.

"Well,
the kid that I was chasing."  The man dug his foot into the uneven
easement.

"He
got in the cab we got out of, why?"

"Ah
shit, never mind."  He turned around and walked a few steps before an
approaching car slowed down and stopped.  He babbled something I couldn't
understand and got in the car.  It started back up.  It passed us, but the
passengers never looked our way.  They just stared ahead.

"Well,
that was interesting," I said as I watched their lights disappear before
we turned back around and headed for number eleven.  "Whatever happens
tonight, Betty, Harry and I won't go back to Diane's house.  Wait a few days
and ship our stuff to us." 

"You
don't have to explain."

"Good."
 I wished I could afford an assistant like Betty.  She was worth more than the
diamonds in my pocket.

Number
eleven's door opened before we had a chance to knock.  We entered the dark
foyer and didn't breathe until the door closed after us.  A hushed voice at the
door beckoned us to follow him.  The light that came in through the windows
gave us enough illumination to see the voice turn into a shadow of a man, and
for us to navigate after him.  It wasn’t until we made our way to the back of
the house and behind another door that the lights went on.

I
blinked until I could focus in the light.  Before me sat a panting Harry with
his head resting on the table.  Standing at the light switch was a priest
dressed in the standard black but holding a very optional gun.  Where Father
Michael reminded me of Gabriel Byrne, this man had Daniel Craig written all
over him.  His priestly garb clung to his muscled limbs.  A set of steely blue
eyes bored into me a moment before the tall man saw my partner.  His face lit
up.  "Betty, so good to see you."

"Father
David. I should have known a rogue like you would be up to something." 
Betty clapped her hands together in joy.  "Father David, may I introduce
my friend Cin, and you've just met Harry of course."

"I'd
shake your hand, but it seems to be occupied at the moment."  I gestured
toward the gun.

He
smiled and thought a minute before he dropped the barrel, but I noticed he
omitted putting it away.  "Until I figure out what brings you to my humble
abode, I’ll just keep this handy.  Betty, how are you mixed up in this?"

"You
know my family has worked for the Williams family for generations.  Well Mikey,
excuse me, Father Michael is missing, and his aunt has hired these folks to
find him.  Me, I’m just along for the ride.  How do you fit into all this,
Father?"

"Later. 
First let's start with the young man here, since he arrived first."

Harry
looked up.  "We had no way of locating Father Michael, so I went to Lucy
Blues to ask some questions.  I sat down at the bar and the bartender, after
checking my ID, asked what he could do for me.  I told him I was exhausted and
would like a beer.  He asked me what kind, and after serving me he stuck
around, as it was pretty quiet in the bar. We talked about this and that until
he determined that I wasn't from around here, and he asked what I was doing in
Savannah.  I told him that I had finally tracked down my birth father and had
arranged to meet him, but when I arrived he wasn't there.  I pulled the old
photo of Michael out of my pocket.  He looked at it and at me as to see any
resemblance.  There must have been some because he leaned over the bar and
quietly told me that he had seen the man in the picture in Lucy's on a number
of occasions.  I asked him if he was there now, and he told me he didn't think
so.  He hadn't seen him in several weeks.  Plus, he indicated that he usually
went straight upstairs with the other fathers and they hadn't been in for the
same amount of time.  I sat there stunned for a moment and asked him, ‘What
fathers?’  And he told me the Catholic fathers, you know, priests.  I was still
stunned and gibbered something like, ‘You mean my dad's a priest?’  At that he
gave me a pat on the hand and went and poured me a shot of whiskey and told me
it was on the house.

“I
sat for a while and sipped the shot as I’m not accustomed to hard liquor.  He
was filling a drink order and kept looking over at me, pity-like.  He came
back, and I whispered to him that maybe I better go back home and forget
meeting my birth father as it would cause him more embarrassment.  Maybe that’s
why he wasn't here to meet me.  I was just adjusting my backpack to get up and
the bartender came back over.  He told me that one of the priests that my dad
hung around with lived in town and gave me Father David's address.  I jotted it
down on the back of a candy wrapper I had in my bag and thanked him.  Then I
left.”

"Well,
that explains you, but how did you two ladies get here?"  Father David
scratched his head with the business end of the gun.

"We
followed Harry to the park and found the wrapper he left for us to find.  We
made sure no one was watching and eventually took a cab here."

"So
you're the lad's mum?"

Okay,
so this was the time in the conversation when I had to ask myself if I was
going to lie to a priest (maybe) - a priest with a gun (no). "I’m Harry's
friend.  Father Michael is not his father, er, birth father.  We just need to
know where he is."

"For
a minute there I thought I had some scandal on young Michael.  Now explain the
men chasing you, Harry?"

"I
was just walking, making my way here, and just as I crossed over by the fire
house, I saw in the reflection of the truck setting outside that this guy
seemed to be following me.  To test my theory, I stopped to tie my laces.  He
stopped.  As soon as I started walking, he started up again.  I really intended
on running past here and keep on running, but when I saw Betty and Cin getting
out of the cab I knew I could use the situation.  I really intended to knock
not just barge in.  Sorry, Father."

"Under
the circumstances, no problem.”  He looked over at Betty and I.  "Did he
see him come in here?"

"No,"
Betty and I answered together.

"He
asked us if we had seen a guy running by, and we told him that he got in the
cab we got out of.  He left and got in a car that was following him down the
street.  He said something to the driver, but I didn't catch what was said. And
then they drove off," I explained further.

"Well,
if they thought he was here, they would have already been in here by
now."  Father David put the gun on the counter.  "Where are my
manners?  Sit."

Betty
and I pulled out the chairs and sat as requested.  Harry, having caught his
breath, reached over and grabbed my hand and Betty's.  "Thanks."

"I
never saw you run so fast," I said as I started to laugh.  I couldn't help
it.  Harry usually moves slowly with grace and elegance.  "Sorry, Father
David, here's the situation.  We know that Michael is on some kind of mission. 
Whether it is church related or not isn't my business.  What is my business is
where he went so I can find him.  He's my friend, and I’ve this bad feeling
right now. I think we’re over our heads here, am I right?"

"Way
over your heads."  He reached forward and adjusted the necklace I was
wearing.  "He give you that?"

"Left
it for me."

"You
know what it is?"

"Oh
yes."

"Fine,
here's what I know.  Father Michael, myself and three other priests have been
meeting in Savannah for years now.  With the exception of Father Michael, we
were all chaplains in the military.  Some of us were in areas of the military
that I can't talk about, but basically our jobs have always been ministering to
the spiritual needs of the men and women of the armed forces and their
families. I, myself, have left the service and minister to the parish here
presently.  Father Paul and Father Thomas are still active.  Father Peter, who
is also a veteran, has a missionary parish down in the Everglades.  Where, I'm
not too sure, but I can find out.  Last time we were together, Father Peter was
very distracted.  We pestered him until he told us.  At his parish he heard the
confession of a man that disturbed him enough to question whether he should
break his vow and report this information to Homeland Security."

"Homeland
Security," I repeated, embarrassed by my voice squeaking.

Father
David nodded and continued, "He didn't want to compromise all of us, so
that is where Michael comes in.  Father Michael, let's just say for
simplicity’s sake, takes care of unpleasant things that the church doesn't
really want anyone to know about."