The Auction House by Vito Zuppardo

Author:Vito Zuppardo [Zuppardo, Vito]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Vito Zuppardo
Published: 2021-06-14T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22

Across town, Mario met with Monsignor Simms at the rectory, a brownstone next to the church. A glance at the property brought back memories for Mario. Simms, a priest who assisted at the church before he was assigned a permanent location, helped with city-wide Catholic Conformations for the schools in the area. Mario was twelve years old when he first met Father Simms, and now he’d made a full circle as a Monsignor at the same church.

Mario pushed the button on the front door frame. The doorbell rang much like a bicycle bell, a sign it was dated. The house lady of the day, one of the church volunteers, answered the door. She and a few other women took turns looking after the priest as the story was told to him by his grandmother years earlier. They cleaned, cooked, washed, and ironed.

His grandmother said it was an honor for the opportunity to serve in the priest’s house. Mario’s smile came over him just thinking of the look he got from the family at Sunday morning breakfast when he first heard of the privilege to serve in the priest’s house.

“Sounds like the priest found some suckers to take care of them—and free.” That statement got him sent to his room for the rest of the day.

The woman escorted Mario to the Monsignor’s office. His eyes shifted around the room when Simms welcomed him. He had heard the inside of the rectory was creepy, and his visit confirmed all the childhood rumors. Too many statues—their eyes followed you.

Mario got through the small talk and asked for the monsignor to take him to the girl. They went down a flight of steps just off from the office, through the basement hallway for twenty yards, and they were in the back of the church.

“Like a bat cave, huh, Monsignor,” Mario joked.

Simms didn’t have much of a sense of humor but did say he watched the TV program back in the late 1960s. Mario remembered it from the reruns twenty years later.

The church had a main altar in the center and two smaller ones on each side. They stepped in front of one of the smaller alters, and Monsignor Simms pointed to a corner. There, curled in the corner, was a young girl that appeared about sixteen to eighteen years old, from Mario’s estimation. However, he couldn’t get a good look at her face in an area only lit by candles and the little sunshine coming from the stained glassed windows.

On his knees from a distance, he reached out and touched her arm. She didn’t respond. Mario, an experienced detective, had dealt with people on the verge of an overdose, stone drunk out of their mind, and severely injured—it was crucial to gain their trust. The last thing he wanted was to frighten them, causing the person to bolt.

“Good morning,” Mario said in a whisper and a gentle tap on her hand.

A hand came from under her, holding a rusted small pocketknife.

Mario caught her wrist and held it tightly.

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