The Prodigal Son Page 14

  “Well, Father, I can assure you of a couple of things,” Jack said. “First, that they will be praying for you. And second, they’ll be real surprised—and happy—to see you again. So bear with me and just do as I say and we’ll come out of this all right.”

  “I still don’t like the idea of being gone so long, Jack. It’s just too long, you know.”

  “Look, Father, I’m really sorry about that, but it has to be this way,” Jack insisted. “So it’s off to Hattiesburg for a few days. From there, if we have to, I’ll move you over to Alexandria, then on down to Baton Rouge. Wherever we are, wherever we end up, if all goes according to my plan we’ll return to New Orleans and you can safely show your face again. Hopefully everybody with a stake in this will be looking for you along the coast, and it’ll give me the time I need to be looking for them, as well. And preparing for what’s bound to happen because of the encounter.”

  “It seems you’ve thought this through quite carefully, haven’t you, Jack? You’re quite experienced in this kind of thing, aren’t you?” He paused, then added, “It seems I have very little to say in the matter, doesn’t it?”

  “To answer you, Father, I have had to do this on more than one occasion. And, no, you don’t have much of a say in this. I know what’s best for both of us.”

  “Then my choices are quite limited, aren’t they, Jack?”

  “Yes, Father Brennan, they are,” Jack replied as he headed toward the bathroom. He stopped when he got to the door and turned back toward the priest. “We’re burning daylight, Father, and right now, I need a shower and a shave. When I’m done, we’ll be on our way.”

  Father Brennan replied, “I’m still not convinced of the need for all of this—”

  Jack cut him off. “Don’t make me say it again, Father. We will be on our way, just as soon as I’m finished cleaning up. Trust me when I tell you this, Father—we’ll live to fight another day. I promise you that.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Jack had just gotten out of the shower, dried off, and was standing in front of the mirror studying his reflection. A shower usually revived him, but this one failed to do so. He just felt so. . .tired. He attributed it to the stress he was under, dealing with the fall out from his decision to not kill the priest and from thinking about what was ahead of him. He’d handled far worse than this, and he knew it. But this seemed different, and he wasn’t quite sure why.

  He really hated to be so tyrannical with Father Brennan, but he knew it was for the best to be like that with him. He knew the priest didn’t like being cooped up in a motel room going on three days, and he was reasonably certain the he was not going to cooperate fully when the three days turned into a week or more. He had calculated the risks and figured the odds were in his favor. He had gone over the different scenarios in his mind and concluded this was the best hand he had left to play. Maybe the only one. Despite any further objections he was certain to receive, the plan would remain just as it was.

  He went over the details in his mind, just to reassure himself it was indeed a good plan that he had come up with. The first stop would be in Hattiesburg; the last would be in New Orleans. Those were etched in stone. He would not deviate from them no matter what the priest would say during their drive north on Highway 49. The stops in-between, well, he could be a little more flexible, so long as he felt they contributed to the end result of flushing out his ex-client, that idiot brother of his, and the guns for hire they sent to kill the priest and himself. No matter what, the ultimate goal was to drive into New Orleans after having ‘stirred the pot’ a while and see what came out of it.

  He knew he had an arsenal big enough for what he had planned, enough firepower to cause some real excitement wherever he’d find them—or where they’d find him. He’d have both the .45 and the 12-gauge pump loaded and within immediate reach; he had plenty of reserve ammunition if it was necessary. He also planned to move the .38 Smith & Wesson from the trunk of the Camaro to the glove compartment—easy enough to pull it out from there if he needed it, as well, he reasoned. There was no doubt that Father Brennan wanted desperately to return to his church in New Orleans, perhaps even head over to the Catholic Charities Office on Baronne Street to resume his duties there, but Jack figured the ex-client and his brother would have both places staked out and Father Brennan would be a sitting duck if he showed at either one. It’s got to be my way, he thought. That’s just the way it is. He wrapped himself in the towel, grabbed another one to finish drying his hair, and walked out the door of the bathroom to check on Father Brennan. There wasn’t really anything for the priest to pack, so Jack thought, He ought to be ready to go.

  “Father, I hope you’ve gotten everything ready—not that you have a lot to begin with. . .” Jack stopped in mid-sentence when he realized there was no one in the room but himself. “Dammit, Father,” he said as he went to the front door and placed his hand on the knob, only to realize the futility of opening the door—he knew the priest was long gone, and he wasn’t dressed to go chasing after him right now anyway. “Dammit!” he yelled as he walked back to the bathroom.

  * * *

  Jack quickly dressed and gathered together his gear and laid it all on his bed. He had already thought about what he’d do next—pack up, check out at the front desk, and ask the clerk there if he or she knew anything about the priest’s whereabouts. It was a longshot, but he had to start somewhere. Besides, I might get lucky, he thought. Father Brennan wouldn’t have wanted to use the phone in the room with me being around and may have gone to the lobby to use the one there to call the police, maybe even somebody from the church, to come get him. Can’t blame him for that. I’d have done the same thing.Jack started packing his gear into his duffel bags. He was upset with himself that he had lost control of the situation. It hadn’t happened before, and he didn’t like the feeling. He was also upset with himself for overlooking the possibility the priest would do just what he did—head out the door and never look back. He had no one to blame; he merely assumed the priest would be in such fear for his life that he’d allow Jack to control the situation and go along with what was planned.

  As he was packing, something odd struck him. After looking around for a few seconds, he saw what it was in the room that made him feel that way. He looked over and noticed that Father Brennan had pulled up the sheets and the bedspread on his bed; it didn’t surprise him at all that he had done that. What caught his attention was the Gideon’s Bible that was propped against one of the pillows on the bed, along with a folded piece of paper with Jack’s name written on the outside. He picked it up, unfolded it, and read it.

  Jack,

  It is late Thursday night as I am writing this, and by the time you find it tomorrow morning I hope I’ll have found someone to help me so I can begin the process of getting back where I belong—back to my parish in New Orleans. Do not worry, my friend. I will not mention you to the police or to my superiors at the archdiocese. When they ask why I was in Gulfport, I will offer them some excuse about my desire to “get away from it all,” or something like that, and that somehow, I ended up here. I’ll figure out what else to say as I go along. Yes, Jack, it will be a lie, and I hope the Good Lord will forgive me for that small sin. Rest assured I will not reveal your whereabouts or your participation in this matter.Thank you for your concern for my well-being, Jack. I hope we’ll have a chance to talk before I leave. In case we don’t, please know I harbor no ill will toward you, and I absolve you of any wrongdoing in this matter. I simply must get back to where I am needed, and as always, I will place my life in God’s hands. If He wishes that I live, then I will do so and will continue His work back in New Orleans. If not, then the men who you say are looking for me will undoubtedly find me and, I am certain, will no doubt kill me, just as you have also said. Either way it goes, Jack, God wins. I am reminded of a verse from Philippians (1:21) where Apostle Paul said, “For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain.”

  May God be with you, my friend.
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  Father Edward Brennan

  P.S. I have a special request of you. Please read the several passages of Scripture I have marked for you in this Bible. I’ve numbered them for a reason, Jack, and hope you will take the time to read them in that order and reflect on them. My prayer is that you will seek God’s forgiveness and return to Him.

  “Father, you really don’t know what you’re getting yourself into,” Jack said aloud as he picked up the Bible. He noted the several pieces of paper protruding from it that marked the passages the priest selected. He sat down on the edge of the bed and examined the book. Can’t bother with reading them right now, he thought as he folded the note from the priest and placed it inside the cover. I’ll read them some other time, Padre. Right now, I’ve got to figure out what to do about your situation.

  * * *

  Jack quickly finished packing and put everything in the Camaro. He checked the room, saw that he’d left nothing, and closed the door. He walked to his car, got in, and started the engine. Let’s see how much of a head start you’ve gotten, Padre.He drove around to the front of the motel, parked beside the lobby, turned off the ignition, got out, and walked inside to the front desk. The lone female clerk looked up at him from whatever it was she was working on in front of her.

  “Good morning, sir” she said. “How may I help you?”

  “Just checking out,” Jack replied as he handed her the key to his room.

  The clerk checked the number against the registration log in front of her. “I hope your stay with us was satisfactory, Mr. Pittman,” she said while making out the final receipt for him. She stamped it PAID IN FULL. “Is there anything else I can help you with today?”

  “Yes, as a matter-of-fact, there is,” Jack replied. “I was wondering if you’ve seen a man in a black suit come in here this morning. He’s white, middle-aged, kind of tall—six-one or so—balding.”

  “Yeah, I did,” she said. “And boy, oh boy was it ever exciting! Not when he first walked in, but toward the end it sure was.”

  So he did come here, Jack thought. He needed to find out what Father Brennan did while he was here, and hopefully, where he went afterward, as well. He had to think quickly and come up with something to get the desk clerk to tell him. A few lies would be told, but so what? He was good at telling them, and she looked like the type who’d listen to anything he had to say.

  “What do you mean?” Jack asked her. “My brother’s not that exciting.”

  “Your brother?” the clerk asked. “The priest is your brother?”

  “What priest? My brother’s just a boring accountant,” Jack said. “I told him to meet me here after I checked out this morning. I’m supposed to drive him back to Mobile today. But then you go and mention something about a priest.” He paused, then added, “Now that you’ve gotten my curiosity aroused, what exactly is going on?”

  “I’m sorry. I assumed you were looking for the priest,” she said. “The whole thing was kinda weird anyway. I mean, in walks this man, kind of like you described: tall, balding, wearing a black suit. But he looked like some sort of minister, the way he was dressed. You know, with that white-collar thing and the all-black suit. And then it came to me—he was the priest on the news! The one that went missing in New Orleans, the one that everyone’s been looking for. He asked if there was a pay phone in here. I told him there wasn’t one in here but there was one outside. Then he fumbled through his pockets and said he didn’t have any money to make a call anyway. Next thing he does is ask me if he could he use the desk phone for a call over to New Orleans. I said I couldn’t let him do that, because of the long-distance charges. Motel rules and all, you know. He said, ‘Sure, I understand.’”

  “Yes, I’m certain you have your rules to follow.”

  “You bet I do. I’d get in some serious trouble really quick for something like that. But then, to top it off—I’m sorry, Mr. Pittman. Here you are looking for your brother and I’m going on and on about the priest instead.”

  “Hey, that’s all right,” Jack said. “My brother can wait. Tell me more about this priest. You said it got exciting toward the end. What happened?”

  “Well, then he asked if there was a Catholic church nearby, and I told him there was. St. Anthony’s is just down the street, I said. Then he said, ‘That’s perfect. I’m sure they’ll help me get back to New Orleans.’ He asked how far it was to the church. I told him it was about a mile or so down on the right. He said something like, ‘That’s not too far. I’ll walk.’ Then he turned and headed out the door!”

  “He walked to the church?” Jack asked.

  “He was about to, but I wasn’t gonna let him do that. I ran right after him and told him it was way too dangerous to be walking down Highway 49,” she replied. “All that traffic—he could get run over! So I told him to come back in here and I’d call the Gulfport police and get them to pick him up. I told him I was pretty sure they’d take him to the church, if he asked them and told them that’s where he needed to go. He said not to bother them, he didn’t want to get them involved, and could I just call a taxi instead? I told him, ‘Father, the police have been looking for you and I think they’ll be wanting to see you first.’ And he just sort of shrugged and said, ‘Okay, I’ll wait for them.’ So I called them and the next thing I know an officer shows up, asks him a few questions, and off they go in a patrol car.”

  “Wow, that does sound exciting,” Jack said. “Bet it made your day, didn’t it?”

  She smiled as she said, “Yeah, it sure did.”

  “Well, I’m glad he’s okay,” Jack said. “Anyway, like I said, the fella I’m looking for is my older brother. He was supposed to be dropped off at this motel and come inside and wait for me here in the lobby. I haven’t seen him for such a long time and, like I said, the plan was for us to meet here and I’d drive him back to Mobile. Catch up on things during the drive, that sort of thing.” He paused and looked around the lobby. “Obviously he’s not here.”

  “Like I said, the only man in a black suit to come through here this morning was that priest. And he’s long gone by now.”

  The desk phone rang and the clerk placed her hand on the receiver. Before she picked it up to answer it, she said, “He seemed like a nice-enough priest. I sure hope he made it to St. Anthony’s like he wanted.”

  Jack nodded his head to thank her for her information and turned toward the front door of the lobby. There were two places to begin looking for the priest—St. Anthony’s Catholic Church and the nearest Gulfport Police Department precinct. He knew going to either of them was not an option, and as he walked out the door he thought, I guess it’s on to Plan B then. The trouble was, he didn’t have a Plan B. He’d knew he’d have to come up with one in a hurry.

  * * *

  Jack left the motel parking lot and turned north onto Highway 49. He began to formulate an alternate plan, but found it difficult to focus on it—he was still upset at himself for letting his guard down back at the motel room. He assumed the priest would just sit tight and wait while he showered and dressed. He should have known better. Father Brennan was possibly at St. Anthony’s, but more than likely he was taken elsewhere for some answers before a call would be placed to the archdiocese office in New Orleans. But it didn’t matter. Either way he looked at it, the priest was off-limits now as he was in the hands of the Gulfport Police Department. Jack knew there would be numerous questions the priest would have to answer, first from the Gulfport officer who picked him up at the motel and then there would undoubtedly be many more thrown at him by the priests and staff at St. Anthony’s, assuming he made it that far.

  He also thought about what it would be like for Father Brennan when he made it back to New Orleans. The poor guy makes it through the first round only to face round two. He imagined the priest facing some burly detective with the New Orleans Police Department before someone at the archdiocese office got hold of him. Might even be the archbishop himself who’d do the grilling, wanting to get to the
bottom of it.

  Jack began to think more clearly now that he had gotten past his anger at himself for being so careless back in the motel room. All that questioning is bound to take a few hours, he figured. At least the rest of today. Maybe even most of tomorrow morning. That should give me enough time to do what I need to do.

  * * *

  About a half mile north of the motel Jack spotted the two large green signs that were attached to the side of the interstate bridge that crossed over the highway: EAST MOBILE/PENSACOLA RIGHT LANE and WEST NEW ORLEANS LEFT LANE. He eased into the left one and stopped under the overhanging light, waiting for the oncoming traffic to clear before making his turn onto the westbound ramp. As soon as he entered the on-ramp he quickly accelerated and merged with the flow of traffic that was westbound on the interstate.

  After a few minutes, he read a smaller green sign that stood on the right shoulder of the highway: NEW ORLEANS 70. He calculated he would be on the eastern edge of the city in about an hour. How long it would take him to cross the city and make his way out to the west side, to the church on St. Charles, on a Friday afternoon—well, that was anybody’s guess. However long it took, Plan B was set in motion: get to the far end of the Garden District, maybe even the Uptown area depending on what was available, and get a room for the night; grab some dinner at a nearby restaurant or café; head over afterward to the Sacred Heart Church and park somewhere nearby and conduct surveillance for the evening. The next day, as well, if necessary. He’d scope everything out and leave nothing to chance. Don’t know if the priest will show up tonight or tomorrow, but he’ll show up sooner or later, he thought. And so will the goons Sal and Gino are sending.

  Jack continued driving toward New Orleans, thinking, And I’ll be waiting for them. Tonight, tomorrow. It doesn’t matter. I’ll be waiting.