Colonel Delcano’s face, as Father Hugh remembered it from the last time he had negotiated with him, appeared in the darkness of the shelter. The priest saw it clearly; it seemed carved in white stone. Suddenly, the image distorted. It wrapped itself around Hugh’s throat making him choke on saliva.
“What’s the matter, Pal? You getting the heebbie-jeebies?”
Augie’s voice sounded in the recesses of the priest’s mind, shoving away the Colonel’s face. Hugh looked around hoping that someone might interrupt but he saw only dark silhouettes of sleeping or huddling people. There was no one to relieve him of the memory of Augie, not even Luz, who was now angry and refusing to speak.
“Tell you what, Hughie Boy. What do you say we pray together? Remember Sister Philomena’s prayers? She really was big on the litanies. You know, the ones that used to put all the kids to snoring. Come on! All you have to do is lead, and I’ll answer.”
Hugh closed his eyes. As if in a trance, the priest began to mumble, then to chant the prayers.
“Lord, have mercy…”
“Aw, come on, Hughie! Cut the preliminaries, and get to the meat and bones of the thing.”
Father Hugh complied, then continued with the litany, “Seat of Wisdom…”
“You mean Seat of Caginess, don’t you Pal?”
Hugh ignored the sarcasm. “Tower of Ivory…”, he persisted.
“Ha! There you go again. How about Tower of Gold?”
Hugh began to sweat. He hated Augie’s cynicism.
“Well, come on, get a move on it! Me and Sister are waiting for you, old Buddy. Go on with the prayers. Don’t tell me that you’ve forgotten how to pray. You were always great at mouthing things, you know.”
“Queen of the Apostles…”
“Got it all wrong again. You mean king, don’t you Hughie? King of hypocrites, or maybe emperor of liars. You ought to know, because that’s you, isn’t it?
“Fuck you, Augie!”
The voice fell silent and Hugh was relieved. Suddenly, however, he thought he sensed Augie’s presence; it moved closer each moment. He thought he heard a grunt as Augie plopped down next to him, leaning against the sticky wall. The priest thought he saw Augie stretch his artificial leg rigidly forward, then rub it with his hand.
“What’s with the old bag? What’s she staring at? Hasn’t she ever seen a gimp before? “
Hugh looked to his side and saw that Luz was looking at him and not at Augie.
“¿Qué pasa, Señora? Aren’t you able to sleep?”
“Padre, I thought I heard you praying, and I thought I would join you. But then you said strange things that I’ve never heard before.”
“I must be falling asleep. Perdón, Señora.”
Father Hugh stiffly turned his head to where Augie’s shadow had been, hoping that it had disappeared. It was definitely there.
“You sure can whip out the Spanish, can’t you? Not that I’m knocking it, Hughie. I admit it came in handy back when we were down here making our deals with these bastards. Remember? Sure you do. I can tell because you’re sweating again.”
Father Hugh remained silent. His eyes were shut, and his arms were folded over his chest.
“You know, Hugh, you really gall me. Look at you. You look like the picture of innocence with your eyes shut and head hanging low, just as if you were really feeling sorry.”
“I am feeling sorry! I regret everything! That’s what you want to hear, isn’t it?”
“Feeling sorry! Ha! That’s a laugh. As if I didn’t know you, Chum. Who are you feeling sorry for? Yourself, right? Sure! I know because you’ve never given a damn about anyone except yourself. Let me tell you something about feeling sorry. Feeling sorry is when you’re laying on a stretcher, waiting your turn to be hauled onto a growling chopper because your leg has been blown to hell and back. Sorry is laying flat on your belly in a stinking hospital bed, crying your eyes out, just like a baby, while a nurse is wiping your ass because you’re too useless to do it for yourself. Sorry is knowing that you’re going to be nothing but a bum for the rest of your life because, Baby, all you’ve got is a plastic leg to stand on, and three hundred lousy bucks in your pocket. Let me tell you, Kid, sorry is seeing other human beings blown to bits right in front of your eyes. Sorry is …”
“Shut up, Augie. Just shut up, will you? Now, who’s being the phony! You make me sick to my stomach. I could puke right on top of you! You talk of people being blown up. Now, you tell me, just how do you think you became a millionaire, huh? Come on, speak up. I’m fed up with these little games you play on me every night. If I’m a liar and a hypocrite, so are you! You’re the one that snagged me into…”
“Into what, Pal? Into giving you exactly what you wanted from that stinking university? Into making you the center of attention? Look, what you and I did was business, pure business, and if a few people got killed somewhere along the line…well, tough!”
Hugh thought of how it had all started, and of how simple it had been. Simple and deadly. His and Augie’s renewed association began with a letter addressed to the president of the university and written on Augustin Sinclaire Enterprises stationery. Along with the letter, a check in the amount of one million dollars had been enclosed. The message was brief. The money was an unconditional donation to be used to assist needy students. The letter was signed with Mr. Augustin Sinclaire’s tight, small signature, and followed by a postscript that casually sent best regards to his friend, Father Hugh Joyce.
That same evening before dinner, Father President had approached Hugh to tell him of Mr. Sinclaire’s donation and of his personal greeting. When the president asked him why he had kept his friendship a secret, Hugh replied that he had not heard from Sinclaire in a number of years.
In fact, Hugh was stunned by the news of the donation because he had not imagined that Augie had really become the millionaire of his boyhood dreams. Hugh was also surprised because he had not heard from him in years. The last time they had met had been after Augie’s return from the war when he had unexpectedly visited Hugh at the university. The priest remembered that he had been embarrassed by the shabby man who approached him in front of his campus colleagues. Hugh had felt disgusted by Augie’s uncombed long hair and beard, and he had not known how to react when he saw him hobbling awkwardly on a cane. Instead of sympathy, Hugh had felt repugnance when Augie good naturedly attempted to embrace him. Even now, after all those years, Hugh could still smell the rancid odor of tobacco and alcohol that had clung to Augie. That stench, he recalled, had nauseated him.
After that first encounter, Augie tried several times to reach Hugh by phone, but the priest refused to answer his calls. He was ashamed of the man who had been his boyhood friend. When a few more attempts to contact Hugh failed, Augie gave up. He took time only to scribble Hugh a note promising never to forget that he had rejected him.
Father Hugh now chose to block out that incident because things had evidently changed. His friend was wealthy, and since he had specifically asked the president to pass on his greetings to his old buddy, Hugh assumed that Augie must have forgotten their last meeting. Besides, he was delighted to be the center of the president’s attention and that of his fellow priests. There were toasts to him during the meal, and he was congratulated for having attracted a significant donation to the university.
Father Hugh was thrilled. He had been on the faculty for thirteen years, and even though he was recognized as a scholar and teacher by his department and the rest of his fellow professors, he had nonetheless felt left out of the core that governed the university. Unexpectedly, he now was being singled out and recognized. He was certain of this when the president invited him to sit at his table for dinner that night. He wanted, he said, to get acquainted with this old friend of Father Hugh’s. Mr. Sinclaire seemed to be the type of supporter the university needed, the president emphasized, and what could be better than to have Hugh invite him to campus as soon as possible.
Father Hugh obliged the request.
“Took the bite, hook, line and sinker, didn’t you Hughie? Just the way I knew you would. Nothing like money to make even a gimp like me look attractive. Man, oh man! Did you answer that letter of mine fast! Not like before when you wouldn’t answer my phone calls after you found out that I was lame, when I needed you most. You should’ve come to visit me when I was down and out, when I was a bum, peddling pipes in that two bit hardware store. You were too much of a star, weren’t you? But after all those years…ha!…that old moola, that mucho dinero, stopped you right in your tracks.”
The priest held his head in his hands. Augie’s voice whined in his ears, its tight accent crushing the words until they became almost incomprehensible. He thought of the years during which he had been a professor, and of how, after Augie’s contributions, he was appointed to the Board of Trustees and, within a short while, he was made Executive Assistant to the president. Hugh had known then that the positions were due only to Augie’s continued donations but he had accepted the assignments gladly and without question.
As the Sinclaire money continued to come in, Hugh gained prestige. Eventually he was even appointed chairman of the Finance Committee of the Board of Trustees. This last appointment caused dissention among several of the university administrators and faculty since Father Hugh’s field of experience was not finance. The president ignored the opposition, however, and Hugh continued in that position.
Under Hugh Joyce’s leadership, the Finance Committee proposed that the university invest large amounts of its funds in Augustin Sinclaire Enterprises, and the Board unanimously approved the plan. For every million dollars that Augie donated to the university, his firm received institutional monies in return to be invested in his business. These transactions went on for nearly ten years, even though only a cursory study had been made by the university of Augustin Sinclaire Enterprises and of how it generated its income and assets.
“Pipes. That was my business. Hardware and pipes.”
“Contraband, you mean. Gun-running.”
“But you knew it all the time and still lapped it up, Hughie old chum.”
Unlike the Board of Trustees and the president of the university, Father Hugh knew how Augie had made his millions because his friend had told him everything down to the last detail. He realized that the Sinclaire business had initially been legitimate, and that his friend had started with nothing or practically nothing when he was discharged from the army. He was aware that Augie had arrived in Southern California when real estate and new construction were on the verge of unprecedented growth and development. Orange, Riverside and San Bernardino Counties had embarked on building projects involving tracts of private and mobile homes, condominiums and shopping malls, and Augie had been there with his fledgling hardware enterprise Father Hugh often thought of this, and of how Augie had come out of nothing, not only surviving but overcoming his physical disability.
The business of pipes and other related products made Augie successful and wealthy. The priest knew, however, that this wealth was underpinned by the even more lucrative business of buying contraband arms from undisclosed sources and selling them to the highest bidders. Only a handful of men, among them Father Hugh Joyce, knew that Augie had stayed in touch with former war buddies, and that through them he had established ties with unnamed, powerful sources who were willing to illegally peddle arms to any group.
“Pipes are chicken feed, Hugh, just peanuts. But a good cover, eh? Did anyone ever imagine where the real money came from ? Sure, they did! They just didn’t want to ’fess up to it.
Initially, Augie dealt with clients in the Middle East, but soon he calculated that compared to what was unfolding in Latin America, his Middle Eastern possibilities were limited. He switched his geographical focus, concentrating his attention on Central America. Augie dealt with a wide assortment of customers in different countries in that region. The identity of his buyers was unknown to most people, but Augie, through direct contact with them, knew that they were ministers and commissioners and colonels. He also knew that if he didn’t do the selling to them, someone else would beat him to it. He concluded that he might as well be there first.
The business was tricky and dangerous, and it posed serious problems, the greatest being the need for secrecy. Transportation and delivery of cargos posed grave dangers. However, Augie’s shrewdness, coupled with his gift for making new contacts and friends, made it possible for him to bypass the many hurdles of the business.
He developed a simple plan. Arms brokers secretly sold their goods to Augie at a lower than official price. He then peddled them to foreign military enclaves at inflated prices. The brokers were glad to unload their goods at a low price because Augie provided a solid, continuous market, and the foreign customers were equally open to him because he offered a lower than official price. It was of little importance to anyone that he walked away from the deal with his initial investment doubled.
Augie wanted more than two times what he invested though, so he set his sights on even bigger money. To achieve his goal, however, he knew that he needed additional capital. It was at this juncture that Augie Sinclaire and his money resurfaced in Hugh Joyce’s life.