The Prodigal Son Read online

  PART THREE

  RECONCILED

  CHAPTER 15

  Jack had been driving a little over half an hour on I-10 since leaving Gulfport and was preoccupied with pressing the SEEK button on the radio, trying to find a station with some current news about Father Brennan. None of the stations in Gulfport or Biloxi were reporting anything, so he continued to press the button on the radio, trying to locate a station out of Slidell or New Orleans instead. It tuned in on a classic rock station—probably one out of New Orleans, he figured—and he recognized the Doors’ “Light My Fire” blasting over the airwaves. He turned up the volume and found himself distracted for a few minutes as the song played through. He was willing to listen to anything this afternoon, from the Allman Brothers to ZZ Top and almost anything else in between, just to take his mind off his troubles and pass the time. Maybe they’ll play some Led Zeppelin, some Santana, a little Rolling Stones, he thought. That would help a lot along this God-forsaken stretch of the interstate. Foreigner was up next instead, and when they sang, “My mind is racing, but my body’s in the lead; tonight’s the night, I’m gonna push it to the limit,” he thought it was quite appropriate considering the circumstances he faced.

  An orange-colored hatchback flashed by him on his left and abruptly moved over into his lane a few feet in front of him. Jack pressed hard on the brake pedal to back off and avoid a likely rear-end collision with the vehicle. He felt his anger beginning to rise, but he quickly let it pass. Any other time he might be tempted to chase the idiot in the car, do the same to him, and initiate a confrontation, but he had far more important things on his mind. First things first, Jack, he thought. Focus on what you have to do. Find out what’s going on with Father Brennan. He pressed the SEEK button again and kept trying to find a news station coming out of the Big Easy, but he didn’t have any luck finding one. Finally, he caught the tail end of a report coming out of a station in Slidell and he listened intently.

  “. . .Our source at the Gulfport Police Department told us Father Brennan was to be picked up later today by a representative from the Archdiocese of New Orleans and returned to his residence at the Sacred Heart Church on St. Charles Avenue some time this evening. Officially the department wouldn’t reveal any details of the disappearance of Father Brennan, nor would they tell us where he had been for the past few days. We contacted the Office of the Archdiocese of New Orleans but a spokesman there declined to reveal specific details, as well. His only comment was, and I quote, ‘It is certainly good news for the many residents of New Orleans that Father Brennan has been found unharmed and in good spirits.’ And now, for your local weather. It will continue to be sunny and warm this afternoon. . .”

  Jack turned down the volume on the radio. Glad to hear he’s okay, he thought. Problem is, if I’m hearing all this, so are Sal and Gino and the goons they’ve hired. He imagined the two brothers ordering his replacements to take care of the priest first, then him. He knew he had it coming to him for what he did—actually, for what he didn’t do—and he knew they would not give up until their objectives had been accomplished. After all, he had taken twelve and a half grand of Sal and Gino’s money. His refusal to fulfill his obligation meant two things: first, he was out the other twelve five, of course, and secondly, Sal and Gino were highly ticked off at him. But he was okay with it all; he found it quite surprising that he was thinking this way. Something about the priest must be rubbing off on me, he thought.

  * * *

  Jack drew closer to the Mississippi/Louisiana border on I-10 and was bouncing a couple of ideas around in his head, trying to deal with the problem he faced—how best to protect Father Brennan now that he was back in the public eye. He needed a specific plan, and he had to think of one quickly. He knew he had to make it foolproof. The priest’s life—and his—hinged upon what he would end up doing.

  He was beginning to come up with a plan—a pretty good one, he thought—when the need to find a restroom arose. He crossed the state line into Louisiana and saw the sign for the Welcome Center. He exited the interstate and slowed his approach to the building, looking for an empty parking space. It appeared crowded this morning; the parking spaces directly in front of the building were filled, so he drove farther down, past them until he could find an available spot. He turned off the ignition, but didn’t get out right away. Instead, he sat in the Camaro for a few minutes, thinking through the rest of the plan. It just might work, he thought. But so many things have to fall in place for me to pull it off.

  He glanced down at the seat next to him and saw the Bible lying there. He picked it up, opened it, and pulled out Father Brennan’s letter. He read through it again, folded it carefully when he was done, and placed it back in the Bible. He looked at the cover of the book and noted the Gideon’s label at the bottom. He knew that they placed them in hotel and motel rooms across the country in the hope they would be picked up and read; he wondered if the organization counted on some of them being removed, to be read later. There you go, Jack. Feeling that “Catholic guilt trip” again. He smiled at the thought. Well, if it is a sin for keeping it, it’s just one of those small ones. One of those “venial sins.” Can’t get into too much trouble over them, if I remember correctly.

  He got out of the car, locked it behind him, and stepped onto the sidewalk leading to the building. He really needed to find that restroom soon, and was relieved when he spotted the sign directing him to the left side of the building. After his brief visit there, he sought to put his newly formed plan in motion. The first step meant finding a phone. If there was one here, great. If not, then he’d just drive to the next exit and find one at a gas station or fast-food restaurant.

  He had been thinking how best to handle the situation now that the priest was heading back to Sacred Heart tonight. He thought Father Brennan would want to make the Catholic Charities Office his first stop if it was during normal business hours. But the announcer on the radio mentioned Father Brennan would be at the residence later this evening, which meant the Catholic Charities Office would be closed and Father Brennan would have to go to the church instead. That being the case, Jack planned to go to the rectory next to the church. That was step two. He figured Father Brennan would get dropped off and stay there for the rest of the night. He was counting on that. Step three was where it got a little tricky, a little more. . . Don’t get too far ahead of yourself, he thought. Find the phone. Make the call first.

  He walked into the visitor’s center and quickly scanned the interior. He spotted a pay phone hanging on the wall near the exit to the building. He was glad it was far enough from the main counter so no one would listen in on his call. He walked over to it, picked up the receiver, and punched 0. After a moment the operator came on.

  “May I help you?” a female voice asked.

  “Operator, I’d like to place a call to the New Orleans Police Department,” Jack said.

  “That would be long distance, sir,” she replied. “You’ll need to deposit two dollars to begin the call.”

  “No problem,” Jack replied as he reached into his pocket for some loose change. He pulled out a couple of quarters and a dime. He chided himself for not having enough change for the call.

  “I don’t have enough change on me,” he told her. “I’ll have to find someone here to break a five. May take a while. I really need to make this call, but I guess I’ll have to call back later.”

  “I’m sorry for the inconvenience,” she said. Then she added, “Sir, is this an emergency call you’re placing?”

  Jack thought about it for a moment before responding. It may not be now, but it might be soon enough. “Yes, ma’am, as a matter-of-fact it could end up being one.”

  “One moment,” came the reply on the other end. “I’ll see if someone at the department will accept the charges. May I tell them the nature of the call?”

  Jack thought she sounded like she’d been an operator for a while and knew the ropes; maybe one who could really help him. “Just tell t
hem I have some vital information regarding Father Edward Brennan,” Jack stated. “They’ll recognize the name. Tell them I was involved in his disappearance and now there are some people who are looking for him who want to see him dead.”

  “You mean the priest who went missing?” the operator gasped. There was an awkward moment of silence on the line before she spoke again. “Sir, is this a. . .?”

  “I know what you’re going to say. No, ma’am, this is not a hoax. I’m quite serious. I really need to get through to someone at the police department before something tragic happens to Father Brennan.”

  “I know someone who works there,” the operator said. “He’s a desk sergeant. I think he’ll be interested in talking to you, but I’m just not sure if he’s on duty right now. I’m going to put you on hold while I try to find out.”

  Jack held on, waiting for the operator to return. I’m glad she recognized the name of the priest, he thought. She should have. He’s been all over the news. He hoped she would find this “someone” she knew at the NOPD who would accept the call and be willing to listen to him and take him seriously. If not, then he’d think of something else. He knew this was a long shot, but he had to play it out anyway. It was a matter of life and death.

  A couple of minutes later the operator returned on the line. “Sir, I have Sergeant Michael Gillette of the New Orleans Police Department on the line. Officer Gillette, will you accept the charges for this call?”

  “I will,” came the reply.

  “Go ahead, sir,” the operator said to Jack.

  “Sergeant Gillette, do you recognize the names Richard Pittman and Raymond Patterson?” Jack asked.

  “I do. In fact, the entire New Orleans Police Department is quite familiar with those names,” the voice on the other end replied.

  “As am I, Sergeant,” Jack said. “Very familiar. I’m quite close to each of them, as a matter-of-fact. And I think you’ll be very interested in what I have to say about them.”

  “Are you calling to report the whereabouts of these men? It would help tremendously if you can tell me where they are. We have APBs out on both of them. The NOPD has been looking for them for a few days now.” There was a moment of silence on the line, then Gillette said, “The operator told me you have some information about the disappearance of the priest and that his life may be in danger. What exactly is your involvement in this matter?”

  “To make a long story short, Sergeant, there was a hit placed on Father Brennan, and I’m the man who was hired to kill him. My name is Jack Brantley, but I’m also Richard Pittman and Raymond Patterson. I used those aliases when I was looking for the priest. Are you interested in me going into more detail?”

  “I am,” Sergeant Gillette replied. “I’m very interested. Please continue.”

  “I located Father Brennan in the Desire Projects Tuesday afternoon, at the apartment of his former housekeeper on Abundance Avenue, and I forced him to leave with me at gunpoint. But something strange happened to me afterward—it never happened to me before. I had a change of heart and refused to kill him. Just couldn’t do it, you know what I’m sayin’? So I drove over to Gulfport and stashed him away in a motel for a couple of nights until I could figure out what to do next. I knew all this wouldn’t sit too well with the men who hired me—I knew they’d get someone else to find him and kill him, then send someone after me.”

  “I’m sure they would,” Sergeant Gillette said. “Are you looking to turn yourself in? Is that the reason for the call, Mr. Brantley?”

  “No,” Jack replied. “That’s not the reason why I’m calling. I’m calling you because I’m more interested in protecting the priest. I’m counting on you to help me do that.”

  “And just how am I to assist you, Mr. Brantley?”

  “By helping me protect him. I heard the news over a radio station out of Slidell a little while ago. And if I heard it, I’m sure my former employer, his brother, and the guys they hired to finish the job on the priest heard it, too. I had Father Brennan under my protective custody back in Gulfport, with plans to keep him under wraps until I could flush out the men I knew would be coming after him and me. But then the priest took off on me this morning. I knew where he was headed, or where he wanted to go anyway. Right back to his church. I also know that when he gets there, my replacements will be waiting. I need him placed under your protective custody now, Sergeant Gillette.” He paused for added emphasis. “I’m sure you can understand the urgency of this situation.”

  “I can, Mr. Brantley,” the voice on the other end said. “But I must advise you—you’ve probably figured it out anyway—I’ve had this call traced and we’ve located the phone you’re calling from. A Louisiana State Trooper is en route as we speak. He should arrive at the I-10 Welcome Center very soon.”

  “It doesn’t matter, Sergeant. When he gets here he won’t find me at this phone. I’m headed into the city to see if I can find Father Brennan before those goons do. I want to see him come through this thing alive. They don’t.” Once again, he paused for added emphasis. “They’re going to want to report back to my former employer that he’s dead, and that they sent me packing along with him.”

  “What specifically do you want the New Orleans Police Department to do?”

  “First, I want you to dispatch a couple of officers to the Sacred Heart Church out on St. Charles and a couple more to the Catholic Charities Office on Baronne Street. I’m thinking he will go straight to the church, but he might just want to stop by the Catholic Charities Office along the way. He’ll go to one of the two and I’m afraid my former employer’s new hit men will figure that, as well. They can split up and cover both places, but I can only be at one place at a time. I’d like to even up the odds a bit. Cover all bases, if you know what I mean. I’m hoping your men will get over to Baronne Street while I head for the church.”

  “I don’t have the authority on this level to make that kind of call, Mr. Brantley,” Sergeant Gillette said. “Let me get Detective Zach Goodman on the line so he can talk to you. He’s been assigned to this case. Perhaps he can—”

  Jack cut him off. “Quit stalling, Sergeant Gillette,” he said. “I told you I won’t be here when that trooper arrives. You can tell him he can find me at the church, if he’s all that interested. I’m just counting on you to send some of your officers out to the charities office, like I ask. It’d be nice if you sent a couple of them to the church, as well, just for an added precaution.” He paused, then said, “And there’s one other thing, Sergeant Gillette. Radio the state police and tell them to have their trooper stop by the information desk here at the Welcome Center. I’ll have an envelope waiting for him with some very interesting information in it on my ex-client and his brother. I’m sure you’ll recognize their names, as well. Sal and Gino Russo.”

  “Those two hired you?” came the reply on the phone.“Yep,” Jack answered. “I’m counting on your department, the state police, and the D.A. himself to put a little more pressure on them with what I’ll leave behind. I’ve got a lot of details in there that should go a long way toward putting them away for quite a while. There’s a little old lady at the counter here, handing out state maps to anybody who asks for one. Have the trooper see her for the envelope.” He hung up the phone.

  I hope he’s going to do as I asked, Jack thought as he turned away from the phone and headed toward the information desk. If he doesn’t, then I’ll do what I can. I just hope we’re all not too late.

  * * *

  Jack walked back to his car, got in, and turned the key in the ignition. He was backing out of his parking space when he looked in his rearview mirror and noticed that a Louisiana State Police car had pulled into the welcome center and braked to a halt in front of the entrance. That was quick, he thought as he watched the officer emerge from the vehicle and walk quickly toward the entrance. As he pulled forward toward the acceleration lane, the thought occurred to him that his plan might just work after all. I’d like to see you come out of th
is without a scratch, Padre. And I’d like to see Sal and Gino nailed for this, and all the other stuff they’ve been involved in.

  * * *

  As he pushed on toward the city, he knew from experience he’d soon be at the I-10/I-12 juncture; there, he’d make his usual slight turn to the left to follow Interstate 10 into New Orleans. The rest of his plan included getting off the interstate at the French Quarter exit, make his way over to Canal Street, turn toward the river, go down a few blocks, and pick up St. Charles. There would be a lot of traffic to contend with at that time of day; he had no choice but to get in the middle of it and then follow St. Charles out to the church on the west side. He wasn’t certain what would take place after arrived, but he was counting on seeing at least one, maybe two, hit man waiting. He was just hoping to see a couple of uniformed officers from the NOPD there, as well.

  He glanced at his watch and saw that it was approaching two o’clock. He realized he hadn’t eaten since breakfast this morning, and hunger was gnawing at him now. His plan hadn’t included a break for lunch, so he made an addendum to it. I’ll just get off at one of the Slidell exits, he thought. Go through a drive-thru there and grab something. Jump back on the interstate and eat along the way.

  He began thinking about what he would do once he got out to the edge of the Garden District where the church was located. Get there, scope it out first. Then if everything’s okay, I’ll leave for a little while. I’ll have to find a hotel nearby and check in, then get some dinner somewhere before heading back to the church to check everything out again. He began to feel a bit anxious and he fought to control it. He knew what was causing it—it was the “what ifs.” What if my plan doesn’t work? What if I fail and Father Brennan gets killed? What if. . .? Stop it, Jack, he chided himself. You can only do what you can.