The Prodigal Son Read online

  Jack figured to hang around at the bar for another couple of beers and listen to the honky-tonk blaring from the jukebox in the corner. There was no need to rush now that he had the needed information; armed with it—and what he had it the trunk of his Camaro—he could take his time now. He had eight thousand dollars in the briefcase for necessary expenses and whatever—or whomever—he needed to buy. Added to that he had more than enough time for the short drive down I-10 to Gulfport.

  It was nearly four-thirty when Jack Brantley pulled out of the parking lot at Jake’s and drove back to Government Street. He found his way back to the interstate and was soon westbound again. It wasn’t long before the lunch and the beers began working on him, making him not only drowsy but also in need of a bathroom. He pulled off the interstate at the Mississippi Welcome Center for the much-needed break.

  Jack was soon back on the interstate, and forty-five minutes later he spotted the sign that read, “Gulfport/Beaches Next Exit.” The sun was approaching the horizon, splashing the low clouds in the western sky with a brilliant touch of pink and purple and orange. He glanced at his watch. Six o’clock. As he moved over to the far-right lane, a couple of television advertisements came to mind. Perfect ending to a perfect day. It doesn’t get any better than this.

  He entered the exit ramp and slowed as he approached the intersection with the highway ahead. He waited for a couple of cars to pass to clear the intersection and accelerated quickly to turn left onto Highway 49. He spotted a sign just ahead on his right that told him he was inside the city limits and that the beaches were just ahead. He wouldn’t be going downtown or to the shore; his business and concerns were far from there.

  He passed a Burger King on his right and the image of Randy and Billy in the parking lot at the one in Moss Point flashed briefly in his mind. He wondered why he was thinking of them now, as this was a completely different exit and they wouldn’t be found around here. Maybe it was just his antennae going up, warning him to get focused again. To be alert for other jerks like them. You never know what, or who, you might encounter, he thought.

  He soon spotted a Kentucky Fried Chicken sign on his left. There wasn’t much else around the exit—the Waffle House up ahead would take care of breakfast tomorrow morning. He turned into the parking lot of the KFC and pulled up to the drive-through menu. He placed his order, pulled up to the window, and handed a twenty to the teenage girl at the window. She returned his change and the bag containing two dinner boxes and handed him two drinks. He placed the bag on the seat next to him, the drinks in the center console, and pulled away. He hated going back to this run-of-the-mill fast-food diet he so often found on the road, especially after today’s lunch. The colonel’s original recipe will just have to do for tonight, he thought.

  Jack pulled up to the exit sign, waited for the passing traffic to clear, and turned left onto Highway 49 for a hundred feet or so and then made a right turn into the parking lot of the Best Western Motel. He drove past the main lobby on his left and continued toward the end of the long wing that extended from the office. He turned left at the end of the building and drove around to it the other side. He spotted his room number and pulled into a parking space in front of it and turned off the ignition. He grabbed the drinks and the bag containing the dinners, picked up the briefcase and the duffel bag containing the weapons from the back seat, and got out of the car and locked the driver’s side door. He noted the DO NOT DISTURB sign was still hanging on the motel room door and smiled. He inserted the key into the door lock, turned the handle, and stepped inside, quickly closing the door behind him.

  “Jack, so good to see you again!” Father Edward Brennan said as he arose from the bed he was lying on. He walked to the television set, turned the volume down, and added, “I see you stopped to pick up some food. God Bless you, my son. To coin a well-worn phrase, I’m so hungry I could eat a horse!”

  “Well, Padre, I hope a chicken dinner and a Pepsi will suffice,” Jack replied.

  “It will do just fine, Jack, just fine,” Father Brennan said. “Here, let me help you with those things.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Jack left Father Brennan to fuss over the take-out dinners and drinks and went back to his car to bring in the remaining bags and his other belongings. He laid everything on the top of his bed. He left the room once more, this time to move the Camaro to the end of the lot, down and away from the building that contained his and the priest’s room. He parked next to the motel’s enclosed dumpster, hoping it would be less noticeable there in the darkened corner of the parking lot. He walked back to the room, closed and locked the door, and slid the safety chain in its slot. Lot of good that’s really going to do, he thought. If they were to find us here and get the door unlocked, that chain won’t do a bit of good. It was a force of habit, and habits comforted Jack Brantley.

  He was concerned, also, if he and Father Brennan were tracked down, whoever was sent to finish the job he refused to do would find another way in anyway. He remembered doing that very thing, when he was on one of his last assignments with the CIA. His target had locked himself in his room on the ground floor of an old Austrian inn and he had tried repeatedly breaking down the barricaded door. Unsuccessful in his attempt to get in, Jack told himself there was more than one way to skin a cat. He got in his Jetta and drove it through the door, pushing the bed and table jammed against it out of the way. He remembered getting out of the car that was now halfway in the room, putting two well-placed shots in the man’s chest, adding his signature finale to the forehead, getting back in the car, and simply backing out of the room and driving off thinking, Well, that was interesting.Tossing the keys on the nightstand next to his bed, he proceeded to the bathroom and emptied his very full bladder. He washed his hands and was drying them with a towel when he stepped back into the small room and noticed that Father Brennan had set out the dinner boxes, drink cups, plastic ware, and the napkins on the small table in the corner of the room and had turned on the floor lamp next to the table. He saw the priest sitting on the edge of his bed, not at the table, with his eyes seemingly transfixed on the television set.

  “So nice of you to set the table, Father,” Jack said. “Gives the place a real homey feel, don’t you think? I trust your accommodations have been suitable and that you’ve slept well these past two nights?”

  Father Brennan turned toward Jack. “Yes, Jack, everything’s been fine,” he replied. “I’ve been quite comfortable, as a matter-of-fact. And I’m certainly glad you showed up with this dinner. I ran out of the food you left for me after I ate last night, so I missed both breakfast and lunch altogether today. It’s just as well. A little fasting is good for the body as well as the soul, you know.”

  “So you stayed in this room, even though you were out of food?” Jack asked.

  “Yes, Jack, I did,” Father Brennan replied. “Just as you asked. Actually, as you told me to. I have to admit it was difficult, but I saw how serious you were about my staying out of sight, so I did just that.”

  “What did you do to pass the time, Father?”

  “Besides watching a lot of television, I found a Gideon’s Bible in the nightstand there and reread Matthew, Luke, and John. And several of the Psalms. My favorite is the twenty-third; I read it several times. Considering all that’s transpired, it’s quite appropriate. You know—walking through the valley of the shadow of death and all.”

  “That’s nice, Father. Real nice,” Jack said. “Has anyone come to the door? Has anything out of the ordinary happened since I left you here yesterday morning?”

  “I heard the housekeeping staff pass by a couple of times, that’s all. They didn’t come in, of course, not with that DO NOT DISTURB sign you left hanging on the doorknob. No one else came calling after you left, if that’s what you’re asking.” Father Brennan paused a moment, then added, “Jack, are you sure you need to go to all this trouble? Hiding me in this motel room, keeping me out of sight like this?”

  “Yes, I do, Padr
e. I can’t express to you enough the seriousness of this whole situation. Some very unpleasant men will be sent our way. I don’t know when they’ll come, but they will come sooner or later. It’s only a matter of time until they track us down wherever we are.”

  “It seems then I’ve become the object of another manhunt, doesn’t it, Jack?” Father Brennan turned up the volume of the television set when the commercial ended and the news came back on. “It’s one thing having the police out looking for me, and now you tell me ‘some very unpleasant men’ want to find me, as well.”

  “Us, Father. They’ll be after both of us. Me, for not doing the hit on you, and you, because the man who hired me still wants the job done.”

  “No matter how many times I’ve heard that phrase said on all those police shows on television, I never thought it would apply to me. I still don’t understand why there’s this ‘hit’ on me in the first place, Jack.” He paused and turned toward the television screen. “See, there I am again. It looks like I’ve become somewhat famous, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Yeah, Padre, you’re what’s known in the media as a ‘celebrity figure.’ Keep it up and you’ll outshine the archbishop. Maybe even the Pope himself.”

  “Jack, no one will surpass His Eminence, and I have no intention of drawing any further attention away from the work my beloved archbishop is doing in New Orleans,” Father Brennan replied. He paused, then added, “This seems so unnecessary, and it’s taking me away from performing my duties, you know.”

  Jack noticed the anxious, concerned look on the priest’s face as he listened to the voice-over on the television set. He turned his own attention to the screen and saw the familiar photo of Father Brennan and the phone number of the New Orleans Police Department below it.

  “As of this broadcast,” the male voice stated, “police have not revealed to us anything further about the disappearance of Father Edward Brennan of the Archdiocese of New Orleans. As we have been reporting, Father Brennan has been missing since late Tuesday afternoon and there’s still no word as to his current location. Father Brennan, the much-beloved associate parish priest at the Sacred Heart of Jesus Catholic Church on West St. Charles Street, is perhaps better known throughout the Business and Warehouse Districts of downtown New Orleans for his work at the Catholic Charities Office on Baronne Street. As we have been reporting, he was last seen. . .”

  “Well, well, Padre,” Jack interrupted, “you have indeed become ‘the man of the hour,’ haven’t you?”

  “Jack, I really can do without all this notoriety, all this fuss and bother, you know,” the priest replied. “I’d really like to get back to my normal duties and routine. But I’m quite certain you have other plans for me, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I do, Padre. I’m thinking about taking you up to Hattiesburg right after breakfast and our checking out of here tomorrow morning. It’s only a couple of hours up Highway 49. I’m certain the police and my ex-client won’t think to look for you there. They’ll all be focusing their attention up and down the coast instead in their search for you and me.”

  “Jack, I am forever in your debt for what you’re doing for me, but I have my responsibilities to attend to and I can’t stay hidden forever, you know. How long can this go on? Sooner or later they’ll find me—and you, and then what?”

  “I know you have your obligations, Father,” Jack replied, “but I have a good reason for keeping you alive. At the appropriate time, I plan to have you resurface back in New Orleans, but until then you’ve got to trust me. I’ll keep us one step ahead of the police until I’m ready to let them find you. I’m not too worried about them. It’s my ex-client and his brother I’m more concerned with. I’m sure my failure to take you out is not sitting well with them, and I know they’ll be sending somebody else to finish you off. They’ll come after me next.”

  “Well, I’m sure they don’t appreciate your taking their money and not carrying out their wishes, but you chose not to do it for a reason, Jack. You could have easily pulled the trigger on that gun of yours two days ago and could have accomplished what you say you were hired to do, but you didn’t. Instead you brought me here, to these lovely accommodations, and made sure I was all right before you left yesterday. For all that I am eternally grateful. But this goes far beyond the two of us, Jack. You see, there is a higher power at work here. You and I both know that God’s hand is all over this.”

  “Father, I really don’t have time for this. I’m hungry and tired and want to get some sleep. We have a busy day ahead of us tomorrow, so let’s just eat and turn in, okay?”

  “All right, Jack, we’ll eat. But we have a lot to talk about tomorrow. You must tell me why you were hired to kill me in the first place, and why you are now so intent on keeping me alive. Then you will listen to my side of the story, of what I must do despite all your best-laid plans.”

  Father Brennan walked over to the small table, pulled out a chair, and sat down. Unfolding a napkin and placing it on his lap, he looked over at Jack.

  “Young man, would you care to join me in this bountiful feast the Lord has been so gracious to provide us with?”

  Jack walked to the table, sat down, and opened the box in front of him.

  “You mean what I have provided, don’t you, Father?” he countered.

  Not waiting for a reply, Jack pulled out the containers of mashed potatoes and coleslaw from his box and placed them on the table. He pulled out a drumstick from the box and proceeded to lift it to his mouth. He looked up and noticed Father Brennan was staring at him.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Excuse me, young man,” Father Brennan said, “will you be so kind as to wait a moment before you indulge yourself?” The priest then folded his hands and closed his eyes. “Bless us, O Lord. . .” he began.

  Jack sheepishly returned the drumstick to the opened box and bowed his head. He kept his eyes open, watching the priest as he prayed.

  “. . .for these, thy gifts, which we are about to receive. From thy bounty, through Christ our Lord. Amen.”

  Father Brennan opened his eyes, and looked over at Jack.

  “Well go ahead, young man,” the priest said. “Eat your dinner, before it gets any colder.”

  * * *

  After they had finished eating, Jack walked over to his bedside and sat down on the edge of the bed. He watched Father Brennan throw the empty boxes and cups in the trash and wipe down the top of the table with a wet washcloth he had gotten from the bathroom. Jack unzipped the duffel bag containing the shotgun and his .45. He pulled the pistol out of the bag and placed it in the drawer of the nightstand next to his bed. He then pulled the shotgun out of the bag and laid it on the floor beneath the bed. He looked up and saw that Father Brennan was watching him intently.

  “That’s an awful lot of firepower you have there, Jack,” the priest stated. “Do you really need all that?”

  “I told you, Father, some very serious-minded people will be out looking for us. I’m not sure if they’re going to find us tonight, or tomorrow for that matter. But eventually they will find us. And I plan to be ready for them when they do. So, if you will, Father, let’s both get some sleep. As I said before, we have a very busy day ahead of us tomorrow.”

  “Very well, young man,” Father Brennan said, holding the Gideon’s Bible in his hand. “But if you don’t mind, I have a little more reading I’d like to get done. I found some stationery this lovely motel provided and I’d like to make a few notes, also. I’ll try not to disturb you.”

  “Suit yourself, Padre,” Jack replied. “Good night,” he added as he turned the light off above him.

  “Good night, Jack,” Father Brennan said. “Sleep well.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Jack woke from a deep, dreamless sleep as the first rays of light filtered through the drapes covering the motel room window. He slowly opened his eyes and looked around the room before remembering where he was and why he was there. He heard Father Brennan in the shower, singing
at the top of his lungs. He laid there, forcing his brain to begin functioning again, and listened to the lyrics and the tune of the priest’s song. It seemed vaguely familiar, something he had heard a long time ago. Was it on the radio, or on a television show? Sure isn’t on any of my cassettes, he thought. He laid there in his bed, struggling to recognize the song. One thing’s for certain. It’s certainly not ZZ Top.

  He continued to listen. “Moon river, wider than a mile. I’m crossing you in style, some day.” That sounds like something mom and dad would have listened to. “Two drifters, off to see the world. There’s such a lot of world to see.” What the heck is that he’s singing? he wondered.

  He reached over to the nightstand and opened the drawer. He picked up a pack of cigarettes lying next to the .45, extracted one of them, and lit it. He leaned back against the pillow behind him and drew in the smoke. He held it in his lungs for a moment, exhaled, and listened to the lyrics of a second song coming from the bathroom. “L.A.’s fine but it ain’t home. New York’s home but it ain’t mine no more.” Got that one! he thought. Neil Diamond. He listened as the priest continued singing. “I am I said, to no one there. . .” Still don’t know who sang the first one. I guess I’ll have to ask Father Brennan when he gets out. If he ever gets out.

  Jack continued to lie in the bed and the priest remained in the shower. He finished his cigarette, waiting for the song to end, hoping the priest would emerge soon from the bathroom. I need to get in there soon, he thought. Gotta pee like a racehorse.

  He thought he heard the water stop, and started to get up from his bed. However, the water in the shower kept running, and Jack heard Father Brennan launch into a third song. He sighed and shook his head from side to side, then laid back down in the bed and listened to the lyrics of the new song. “Song sung blue, everybody knows one.” Despite the need to pee, he was beginning to enjoy this. He thought of an old TV game show from the fifties called What’s My Line? If this game went on the air it could be called What’s My Tune? “Song sung, blue, every garden grows one.”