Jack sipped coffee at the bar and watched the TV while he waited for Barney to show. He’d put on a gray turtleneck to hide the bruises on his throat and wore sunglasses despite the bar’s dim interior. Made it hard to see what was happening on the TV. Everyone around him, including Julio, was glued to the on-the-scene reports from what was being called “the house of horror.”
He thought about Lyle and wondered how he was dealing with his brother’s death. It left him alone for the first time in his life. Jack knew alone. He’d handled it, but he probably had a better tolerance for it than others. He wondered
about Lyle’s tolerance. He was tough. He’d done all right last night. Hadn’t liked it, but he’d hung in there.
He’d be all right.
Bellitto. Lots more questions about him beyond where the hell he was.
Hell … yeah, if it existed, he’d be a charter member.
He’d said he was hundreds of years old and didn’t seem to be lying. Could that be true? Not likely. Maybe he’d just thought he was telling the truth. Told himself he was that old for so long he’d come to believe it.
Still, Jack wondered where Tara had taken him. Down through the dirt and into the fault line? Someplace where she could toy with him for the longest time without being disturbed?
That was all right with Jack. The longer the better.
And then the question of Edward, Eli’s ersatz brother. Early last night Jack had wanted to wring his neck; by the end of the evening he’d wanted to thank him. If Edward hadn’t put him onto Eli, Adrian might have got to Vicky …
His mind refused to go there.
A familiar face popped through the door then and bellied up to the bar about three stools down.
“Barney!” Jack called, waving. “Sit over here. I’ll buy you one.”
Barney grinned and hurried over. “Never turn down a man who’s in a buying mood, I always say.”
He’d just got off work and needed a shave. The essence of his grimy Willie Nelson T-shirt gave advance notice of his approach and he had pretty much the quantity and quality of teeth you’d expect in a Willie fan.
“What’re you having?”
“A shot of Johnny Walker Red and a pint of Heinie.”
Jack nodded to Julio who laughed. “Ay, meng, what happen to your usual Ol’ Smuggler an’ eight-ounce Bud.”
“That’s when I’m buying.” Barney turned to Jack. “To what do .I owe this generosity?”
“Julio tells me you recognized an older gent dropping off an envelope for me the other day.”
Barney took a quick sip of his Scotch. “That was no gent, that was a priest.”
Jack hadn’t been expecting that one. “You mean as in Catholic priest.”
“Right. That was Father Ed from St. Joseph’s. You thinking of converting, Jack?”
“Not this month.” Ed … well at least he hadn’t lied about his first name. “You’re sure it was this priest?”
“Course I’m sure. St. Joe’s was my church back when I used to live down in Alphabet City. Father Edward Halloran’s the pastor. Least he used to be. You mean you don’t know who he is and he’s leaving an envelope for you?” Grinning he lowered his voice and leaned closer. “What was it? A message from the Vatican? The Pope got a problem he needs fixed?”
Jack gave him a hard look. “How’d you know? You been reading my mail?”
Barney stiffened. “Hey, no, Jack. I wouldn’t—” He stopped, then broke into another spotty grin. “You rat! Almost had me there!”
Jack slipped off the stool and clapped Barney on the back. “Thanks for the tip, my man.” He waved to Julio. “Another round for Barney on my tab.”
“Hey, thanks, Jack. You oughta stick around so I can buy you one.”
“Some other time. Barn. Gotta go to church.”