Pawn of Satan by Mark Zubro

Author:Mark Zubro [Zubro, Mark]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: gay mystery
Publisher: MLR Press
Published: 2013-05-05T16:00:00+00:00

TWENTY-TWO

Sunday 11:00 P.M.

Paul and Ben stood on their front porch in the unusual mid-May warmth. The boys were settled. Paul wanted to take a breath of fresh air before heading up to bed.

Paul checked for any incongruities or oddities on the street, the way any cop always checks his surroundings no matter what situation he found himself in. It was an automatic reflex. No limos. No burly guys bigger than Fenwick. No bishops swinging a thurible on the end of a chain, incense smoke spilling from the holes in the top.

But a Lincoln Town Car idled across the street from Mrs. Talucci’s. He could dimly see a skinny guy in wireframe glasses and a Roman collar in the driver’s seat.

He noted Mrs. Talucci on her front porch in her rocker. Mrs. Talucci waved and stood up.

Paul said to Ben, “I’ll be back in a minute.” He strolled to the bottom of her front porch steps. Mrs. Talucci was in shadow. She wore a summer shawl over her shoulders and a faded yellow-flower print housedress.

She asked, “How is Brian?”

“Doing okay. Asleep, I hope.”

“He’s a good man, just like his dads.”

“Thanks.”

She spoke so her voice barely carried down to him those few feet away. “I have someone who wants to talk to you.”

Paul wanted to get into his house, hug Ben, check on the boys, but Mrs. Talucci would not be mentioning someone wanting to talk to him if it wasn’t important.

Paul climbed the steps. Mrs. Talucci patted his arm, smiled, and said, “Don’t be gentle.”

She led him into the house.

A dim pole lamp burned next to Mrs. Talucci’s dark brown easy chair. The Cardinal Archbishop of Chicago, Albert Duggan, sat in the chair. A steaming cup of coffee and a plate of butter cookies sat on a small, round table next to him with a napkin and a doily in place for crumbs and aesthetics.

Mrs. Talucci said, “Al, this is my neighbor Paul. The detective on the Kappel case. You need to talk to him.”

Turner wondered, Al?

The Cardinal remained seated. He held out his right hand an inch or two above his thigh, palm down, wrist bent, which caused his Cardinal’s ring to flash in the light from the votive candle Mrs. Talucci had lit on the mantelpiece. It wasn’t that Mrs. Talucci was religious. She liked the soft lighting as she listened to classical music using her headphones connected to her iPod. The bishop’s hand remained extended as if waiting for Paul to kiss the ring. Paul reached and shook the hand.

After an instant’s touch, the cardinal yanked his hand away, reacting as if he’d been stung. What, Turner thought, he’d never shaken hands before? The Cardinal’s world was that insulated, he never soiled himself outside his own circle?

Mrs. Talucci noted the brief handshake and chuckled. “Give it a rest, Al, we’re beyond all that here.”

Again with this ‘Al’ shit. Mrs. Talucci indeed had connections.

Mrs. Talucci asked if Paul wanted coffee or another beverage. After he declined, she motioned for Paul to seat himself then settled herself onto a straight-back chair.

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