The Angel of Milan by R. J. Grant

Author:R. J. Grant [Grant, R. J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B008EX6CE8
Published: 2012-06-24T23:00:00+00:00

I took a taxi back to St. Andrew. The line of cabs had the usual bunch of drivers standing beside their rides, shouting to one another in small talk as they waited for their fares. I entered my taxi, telling the driver to go to St. Andrew. Unlike most Milan cab drivers, he didn’t say a word, but drove right off and remained silent the entire distance. I was thankful for that. I had a lot to churn in my mind about this Del Cielo and his beautiful messenger. I expected our paths to cross, but under much different circumstances than a lunch invitation.

Strangely enough, I found no good reason to go back inside the rectory when I arrived. For the time being, things were at a standstill again, or so I thought. I decided to walk down the street, and made a point of watching for someone following me. It was unlikely that they would be back again so soon after just being seen, but you never know.

The outdoor café at the corner looked inviting; it was not too crowed, and an espresso might hit the spot. Besides, the caffeine would help me think more clearly. I had learned that little trick in university. If you wanted to crash through a test, just load up the java, and your brain becomes a rocket!

My waiter had just brought my coffee when I heard a familiar voice from the street.

“Father Adama, what a pleasant surprise to see you here. May we join you?”

When I turned around, my ass immediately began to hurt. It was Father O’Malley, that little Irish bastard that annoyed the hell out of me at the Vatican. He was with another priest, and they immediately began to make their way towards my table. O’Malley, already short, was made to look like a midget next to his companion, a tall, lanky, basketball player type.

The overbearing shit didn’t even have the manners to wait for my acceptance of his request. Not that he would have gotten it; I am sure I would have found some reason to shoo him away. The waiter brought two more coffees as soon as they sat down.

“I heard you were in Milan, but I had no expectation of actually running into you here,” he said enthusiastically. “This is Father Donnelly. We are here on holiday, and were just on our way to Como.”

“This is a surprise,” I said, with a hint of sarcasm. However, I immediately suspected a rat. He gave himself away when he said he heard I was in Milan. No one knew that except Burtuchi and his minions. These two were as queer as a Turkish whore at a Rabbinical school. I noticed a funny gate on Donnelly when they approached, and decided to test a theory. When their coffee arrived I shuffled my chair, and made it a point to bump my knee into Donnelly’s thigh. He didn’t make a sound, but I caught a wince in his eye. There was no doubt in my mind about the sneaky bastards now.

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