The Prodigal Son Read online

  That one’s easy, he thought. Neil Diamond again. A few minutes later, Father Brennan sang yet another tune. “Hands, touching hands. Reaching out, touching you, touching me. Sweet Caroline.” Well, at least I know he likes Neil Diamond.

  Jack laid in the bed, figuring it would be a few more minutes before the priest would finish this new song, hopefully dry off, and get dressed and relinquish ownership of the bathroom to him. He reached over and extracted yet another cigarette from the pack. He lit it, leaned back against the pillow, but the urgency to get in there was growing stronger by the minute. As much as I’d like to hear “Solitary Man” next, Padre, you have to get out of there. I GOTTA GO!

  Jack finished his cigarette and the shower still ran. He sat up in the bed, rubbed his hand through his hair, and walked over and stood at the bathroom door. “Hey, Father, how much longer are you gonna be in there?” he yelled through the closed door. “I really need to get in. I have to go pee something fierce.”

  “Good morning, Jack!” Father Brennan shouted back. “I won’t be much longer. But don’t mind me. Come in if your business is all that urgent.”

  “Uh, that would be kinda awkward, don’t you think?” Jack replied.

  Father Brennan yelled through the closed door again. “Not at all, my friend. When I was in the seminary there was one small bathroom on my floor, and six of us had to share it. I think it will be okay if you come in. I promise I won’t look.”

  Jack hesitated a moment, but his bladder wouldn’t permit him to wait any longer. The heck with it, he thought as he opened the door and quickly lifted the lid to the toilet.

  Father Brennan continued to regale Jack with the story of his days at the seminary. “You see, Jack, the way it worked was one of us would be in the shower, one would be standing over the toilet, while another was shaving at the sink. The first three of us would rotate places and we’d all finish and head back to our rooms to get dressed while the other three took their turns in the bathroom. Modesty was a virtue we couldn’t afford to practice at that time, not if we wanted to get downstairs for breakfast and then make it to our classes on time.”

  Jack hovered over the toilet and replied, “Sounds like you had it a little better than I did when I was in basic training. Uncle Sam threw thirty of us together in my barracks. All we had available to us was this wide-open bathroom. Not a whole lot of privacy there, that was for sure.”

  “We do what we have to do in life sometimes, don’t we, Jack?” Father Brennan said.

  “Well, Padre, as long as we’re on such an intimate and friendly basis, as soon as I’m done here I’ll throw on my jeans and shirt and head over to the Waffle House and get us some breakfast. What can I get for you?”

  Father Brennan turned off the water to the shower. Jack heard him going through the motions of drying off with a towel behind the curtain. “Now, don’t go to any trouble, Jack. But if it’s all the same to you, I’ll take two scrambled eggs, a side of hash browns, two slices of unbuttered toast, some strawberry jelly, and a tall cup of orange juice. I’m famished, and that should do quite nicely.”

  “Jeez, Father,” Jack replied. “Maybe I’d better get a pen and a piece of paper to write it all down. Can I get you any sausage to go with that order?”

  “No, thank you all the same,” Father Brennan replied. “I’ve given that up. Permanently. Gave up the butter, as well. It’s bad for the arteries, you know. Oh, and get me a cup of coffee, will you, Jack? I can’t quite give up the caffeine just yet. No sugar, mind you. Just be sure to get a few packs of creamer.”

  “That powdered stuff? Isn’t that just as bad for you as sausage?”

  “You have a point there, Jack. Ask them for some half-and-half. If they don’t have it, get a cup of milk instead. That’ll be okay for the coffee, I suppose.”

  “I really should write this down, Padre. It’s so early in the morning, and I’m half asleep as it is. I might not remember it all.”

  “If you wait a few minutes, Jack, I’ll get dressed and come with you. We can eat there; I could certainly use a break from the confines of this room.”

  “No can do, Padre,” Jack said. “I can’t let you be seen right now. Just sit tight and maybe somehow, someway, I’ll manage to get the order right. I’ll be back.” He turned and walked out the door.

  “Try not to be gone too long, Jack. And by the way, it’s your turn to say the blessing.”

  Jack closed the door to the bathroom. “I’ll leave the praying to you, Father,” he said quietly.

  “What?” the priest yelled through the closed door. “I didn’t quite catch that.”

  “Nothing, Father. Nothing at all,” Jack yelled back through the door. “I’ll be back shortly.”

  * * *

  “That was a wonderful breakfast, Jack,” Father Brennan praised as he emptied the contents of one of the small containers of half-and-half into the Styrofoam cup in front of him. “Thank you.”

  “Hey, no problem at all, Father,” Jack replied. “Although when I looked at the bill, I was glad I went by the bank yesterday morning and held it up. Figured I needed lots of cash to cover your room and board.”

  “I thought your profession was knocking off people, not banks.”

  “Just kidding, Padre. I did take out a lot of money, but I did it the proper way.”

  “Well, Jack, that’s a relief. I appreciate all the trouble you’re going through on my behalf.”

  “It’s the least I could do, Father,” Jack assured. “By the way, I enjoyed listening to you belt out a few tunes in the shower this morning.”

  “I’m sorry if my singing woke you, Jack,” Father Brennan said. “I wasn’t too loud, was I?”

  “At first you weren’t, but the more you sang the louder you got. Thank God there wasn’t anyone next door to us on either side. They’d have complained, that’s for sure.”

  “I always try to keep it low when I sing, but you’re right. I’ve been told I have a pretty good voice, but the same people who tell me that also tell me I’m rather boisterous when I sing. I know I must have woken you. I’m truly sorry I didn’t let you sleep longer.”

  “That’s okay, Padre. The sun was coming in through the window and that’s what really woke me up. It always does. I usually don’t sleep well anyway. I won’t go into detail with you as to why, but suffice it to say a lot of bad dreams don’t help very much.” Jack paused a moment, then said, “Funny, I don’t remember dreaming at all last night. It felt good. I feel like I got a good night’s sleep for once. Then I woke up and heard you singing.”

  “Was it okay, or was it really dreadful, Jack?”

  “It was actually okay, Father. Like I said, it was kind of fun listening to you. You do a pretty good impression of Neil Diamond.”

  “Well, he is one of my favorite singers, Jack.”

  “I especially liked ‘Sweet Caroline,’ Father. It took me back in time a little bit. I heard him sing it at a concert once. Woburn Abbey in England, back in seventy-seven. I had some down time from the CIA, there was this girl I had the hots for. . . Oops! Sorry about that, Padre. . .there was this girl I especially liked and I was lucky enough to get two tickets for us. I’ll never forget that concert. Fifty-five thousand British fans packed in there! That producer, William Friedkin, had his cameras there, filming the performance. It was great.”

  “And your date, how did she like it?”

  “Get this, Father. Her name was Caroline! She was thrilled when he played ‘Sweet Caroline.’ She said it was ‘her song’ and she was convinced he was singing it just for her. I knew better, of course.”

  “Didn’t she know it was written about Caroline Kennedy, when she was a little girl?” Father Brennan asked.

  “Apparently not. I wasn’t about to spoil it for her, so I played along and we sang along. I’m not a huge fan of his; I’m more of a rock-and-roll kind of guy, but it was great watching him perform.”

  “It sounds as though you and Caroline had a great evening.”r />
  “We did, Father, we certainly did. What happened after the concert—well, if I told you it would have to be in the confessional booth.” Jack smiled like the Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland and quickly changed the subject. “Did you ever get a chance to see him, Padre? You being a fan of his and all, I hope you’ve seen him live at least once. Nothing quite like his shows. They say he feeds off the energy of the crowd. He certainly did that night at the Abbey.”

  “I did, once,” Father Brennan replied. “I got to see him at one of his Winter Garden Theater performances in New York City in nineteen seventy-two. I was in the city attending some special training sessions the Church provided for its Catholic charities administrators, and a few of the other priests and I went to see him. He is quite a talented man. And energetic, too, as you pointed out.”

  “Well, now that we’ve established our mutual admiration for Neil Diamond, I’d like to ask you who else you like to listen to. What I’m trying to find out is the name of that first song I heard you singing in the shower this morning. The one about the moon and the river. I know I’ve heard it before, and it’s driving me nuts trying to figure it out. What was the name of it and who sang it?”

  “That was ‘Moon River’ by Andy Williams,” Father Brennan replied. “A classic from the early sixties. A bit before your time, though, wasn’t it?”

  “Yeah, just a bit,” Jack replied. “Good to know the answer, Padre. I thought it sounded familiar. I think my mom and dad actually owned some of his albums.”

  “They’ll be worth a lot of money someday, Jack. Tell them to hang on to them.”

  “Not possible, Father. They’re dead now. But if I ever see my younger brother Richard again, I’ll be sure to tell him. He was the only one of us who wanted their record collection, so he has it. I got Dad’s guns. I was the only one interested in them.”

  “I’m sorry to hear they’ve passed away, Jack. I hope they were faithful servants of God and the Church.”

  “Oh, they were, Father. You couldn’t have found two people more devoted to God, the Church, or to each other. All that church stuff wasn’t for me, but it was for them. I grew up with it at St. Michael’s School, and went to Mass and all that, just to make them happy, I suppose. Once I left for the army I never attended another Mass.” Jack paused, then looked at Father Brennan. “I suppose that makes me an awful person in your eyes, you being a priest and all.”

  “I don’t think of you that way, Jack,” Father Brennan replied.

  “Well, with what I’ve done, I don’t think I have a chance at all, Father.”

  “I’m sorry you feel that way,” Father Brennan replied. “But if I may—I know this is going to come across as a lecture, and believe me it’s not intended to be—I do believe God allows us the freedom to choose what we wish, and you have chosen this particular path you are on in your life right now. It’s not a good one—you know from your upbringing it’s not. But do I believe He will forgive you and allow you to return to Him if you wish—”

  Jack quickly interrupted him. “You’re right, Father, it does sound like a lecture, and I don’t care to go there with you on the subject right now. Maybe some other time, but not right now. Okay?”

  “As you wish, Jack, as you wish.”

  “That is my wish, Father,” Jack sternly said. “Now, enough about me. You said last night you had some questions for me, some things you wanted to know. Let’s talk about you then. More specifically, about what I found out about you and why I was hired to kill you.”

  “I’m very interested in what you have to tell me about your client, his brother, and the reason why they wanted me killed. But before you do, promise me we’ll get back around to talking about you, your parents, and your family. Most importantly, about your relationship with God.”

  “I’ll agree to talking to you about me and the family stuff, Padre, because there’s something there to talk about. The ‘God’ stuff—well, there’s nothing going on between Him and me right now so there’s really nothing there to talk about. Okay?”

  “Then by all means go ahead and tell me about this man who hired you, and what you will do to stop your replacements. From the guns I’ve seen you display, I’m quite certain it won’t be a pleasant experience for them.”

  “No, Father, it won’t,” Jack said.

  “Before we get started, however, I need to visit that bathroom over there,” Father Brennan said, pointing to the open door. “Excuse me, will you, Jack? I promise I won’t belong. If you’ll pardon the pun, I’m just dying to find out.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Father Brennan emerged from the bathroom and found Jack sitting in the worn, overstuffed chair in the far corner of the room. The light hanging over the small table had been turned off, and the thick, heavy curtains over the window had been drawn so that almost no sunlight entered the room. Jack had turned the chair so that it faced the front door of the room. He held a cigarette in his left hand; a thin plume of smoke drifted slowly from it toward the ceiling.

  “You know, those things are going to kill you one day,” Father Brennan stated. “They took my father’s life. He was just fifty-two when he died from lung cancer.”

  “That’s a very real possibility for me, too, Padre,” Jack replied. “It’s a bad habit, I know, and I’ve tried to quit a number of times. But hey, we’re all going to die someday, and I’m figuring it will either be these cigarettes or someone’s bullet that’ll do me in.”

  “That’s not a healthy philosophy of life to harbor, Jack. It’s a bit fatalistic, wouldn’t you say?” The priest paused before adding, “And why are you sitting over there in the dark?”

  “Just another habit of mine, Father,” Jack replied. “Unlike these cigarettes, this one’s a pretty good one to have in my profession.”

  Father Brennan saw that Jack had his hand resting palm down on the right arm of the chair; beneath Jack’s hand was the gun he had pointed at him Tuesday afternoon. It was the same gun he had seen Jack place in the nightstand last night. The sight of it was enough to send a chill down his spine again. When that had passed, he understood what Jack meant. A scene from an old episode of Columbo came to mind; in it a brooding, menacing assassin—just like Jack over there, he thought—sat alone in a similarly darkened room, waiting patiently for his intended target to walk through the door. Even though the central theme of the popular television show dealt with someone’s murder each week, he loved watching it. He considered Columbo a “thinking man’s” show. He made it a point to keep his schedule free when it was on so he wouldn’t have to miss an episode.

  “I suppose some habits are hard to break, aren’t they?” Father Brennan said as he sat down in one of the chairs at the table, adjusting it so he could face Jack.

  “Some are a little harder than others,” Jack replied. He took a final draw from the cigarette and mashed the end of it in the ashtray next to him on the other arm of the chair. He turned his head and looked over at the priest sitting next to him. “Well, Father, there’s no sense in beating around the bush, so I’ll get right to the point,” he began. “After I made a few phone calls when I got back to my apartment Wednesday afternoon, I set up a meeting with the accountant of my ex-client at a bar and grille in Mobile yesterday afternoon. For a reasonable amount of money—and a lunch at my expense, as well—I was able to get some very interesting information from the little snitch. It seems my client’s brother paid a visit to your church recently and you, Father Brennan, were the lucky one who got to hear his confession. In-between bites of his steak and baked potato, the little weasel told me he had overheard a conversation between his client and his client’s brother; he had stopped by their office one afternoon and apparently neither of them knew he was outside their office door listening. He said the younger brother sounded really nervous as he told his older brother he had killed one of their business rivals over a woman. He said he heard the elder one reply, ‘So what, Gino? Just as well that it happened anyway. That’s one less comp
etitor we’ll have to deal with.’ Then came the kicker, Father. The accountant said it nearly floored him when he heard it. It wasn’t just some woman—it was Gino’s wife! The accountant told me he heard Gino tell his brother he had walked into their bedroom and caught his naked wife and her equally naked lover in a rather passionate embrace. He heard Gino say, ‘Sal, I had no choice but to pull out my .38 and shoot him. Then I looked at my wife, shook my head, and walked out the door.’”

  Father Brennan sat motionless at the table next to Jack; one side of his brain listening to him, the other lost in thought, recalling the confession he had heard that Saturday afternoon at Sacred Heart. He remembered sitting in his chair in the darkened confessional, meditating and grieving over the sins he had just heard and that he had just absolved, waiting patiently for the next person to enter the adjacent booth and pull back the small screen that separated them. Before long another penitent entered the confessional; he heard the small window slide back and he focused his attention on the male voice coming through the thin curtain separating them. How I wish I had never heard that man’s confession, he thought. It was one he’d just as soon forget, but unfortunately he couldn’t. The words had been forever etched into his memory.

  “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” the husky male voice intoned. “It’s been four weeks since my last confession.”

  “Go ahead, my son,” Father Brennan said to the voice.

  “Father, I have committed the following sins in the past few weeks: I have lied on several occasions to my wife and to my business partners, I have taken God’s name in vain at least seven times, I have not attended Mass the past two Sundays, and. . .”The voice paused.