The Millstone Prophecy by Jack Harney

Author:Jack Harney [Harney, Jack]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dax Productions, LLC
Published: 2011-07-27T04:00:00+00:00

chapter

THIRTY TWO

Dax waited in a middle booth in a line of several set across from an expansive mahogany bar that was backed by a wall of large gilded mirrors framed in more of the same hand carved wood. As the required accessories to front those mirrors for any popular drinking hole, the usual brown, silver and clear bottles of alcohol stood in wait to be chosen by patrons wishing to soothe their day’s distresses.

When Hirsch arrived, he had to navigate around pods of business types who had recently arrived for Happy Hour. Dax grinned at his well worn black wool overcoat that had no chance of being buttoned around his torso.

“Pretty cold walk, eh Seymour?”

“They don’t call it the windy city for nothin’.” he said casting a full chilled body response.

Before he sat down, he caught the eye of one of the busy female bartenders. He raised his hand in a form of sign language. He turned it down and wiggled all his fingers, then made the “thumbs up” sign, the peace sign next, and then just an open hand. Leaving his arm extended, “You all set with that drink you’ve got there?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” Dax said and Hirsch just nodded to the bartender.

“These folks obviously know you. One of your favorite haunts?”

“I mentioned I get cabin fever this time of day? I’m here a lot.”

Despite the mass of people demanding service, the bartender arrived almost immediately with his drink, which Dax noted was an easy translation of his hand signals…dirty martini, up with two olives. After they completed a “cheers” salute with both libations, Dax launched into the reason for their meeting.

“Seymour, I’d like to pick your brain on something.”

“Ah, Mr. McGowan, you are already a man of sufficient mental capacities without stealing any of mine.” he jousted.

“Then let us share thoughts and deductions on a particular subject, leaving neither of us any less diminished.” Two strong smiles of instant friends followed Dax’s humorous retort.

He began again. “Yesterday, before I left New York, I encountered a trio of what would appear to be either young priests, or as someone else has described them, over-sized altar boys who, shall we say tried to remove me from the planet. All three of these guys had shaved heads and wear masks depicting the visage of a wolf…the kind you’ve seen as gargoyles on the rooftops of old European Cathedrals. You’re the Church history guy…any idea who they might be and who gives them their orders?”

“Gulp, Dax! You’re telling me these guys tried to take you out and you’re still amongst the living?”

“Uh…yes Seymour…alive and kicking!”

“All jesting aside man, I can tell you that over the years there have been people who were considered a danger to the hierarchy of the church, who have ended up unexpectedly dead. No clues to their killers were ever found and the cases just ended up closed. The only piece of information that has come up from time to time that ties these deaths together, is the

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