He tugged at it irritably.
"Didn't it go well?" Gregory asked nervously.
"It went fine."
"The lady showed up?"
"On schedule."
After following Remy Duvall for a few days, it had become clear to Burke that she was never alone. Either she was inside the mansion and completely inaccessible, or in the company of her husband, or with the bodyguard. She never went anywhere unaccompanied. The only time she was by herself was when she went to church to pray.
"Pray?" he had exclaimed when Ruby Bouchereaux told him of the occasions on which she saw Mrs. Pinkie Duvall.
One of the madam's carefully penciled eyebrows arched."Which surprises you most, Mr. Basile, that she goes to church to pray, or that I do?"
"I didn't mean any offense," he'd muttered abashedly."It's just that "
"Please." She raised her hand to indicate that she hadn't taken umbrage at his shock."I frequently see Remy Duvall at prayer. I've never spoken to her. Nor does anyone. She's not there for show. She appears very devout and is always the first one there to go to confession."
After following Pinkie's wife into the cathedral for several days in a row and verifying Ruby Bouchereaux's information, he had thought, Perfect.
What better way to get inside someone's head and learn what she's about than to hear her confession? Did she do drugs like her mother, Angel?
Would she confess her affair with Bardo? What sordid sins would she cite to her priest that would be useful to someone out to destroy her husband?
Come Saturday, Burke determined to be in the booth waiting for her. It was a ballsy plan, but brilliant. Except for two hitches: how to sound priestly, and how to forestall the real priest. The last time Burke had been to confession was the day following his mother's funeral, and then he'd gone only to honor her memory He was a little rusty on the drill, although, once trained in Catholicism, one never completely forgot. But even if he could do a passable job, that still left him with the problem of delaying the parish priest. That's when he'd thought of using Gregory James, who'd been trained both as a priest and as an actor.
"Did you say everything right?" Gregory asked him now.
"You'd been over it with me a dozen times." Burke cursed a slow driver as he whipped around him."I said everything right."
"She didn't guess?"
The tearful remorse he'd heard in her voice couldn't have been faked.
"She didn't guess."
"Good thing she couldn't see that scowl on your face. It hardly looks saintly."
"Well she didn't, so relax."
"I'm relaxed. You're the one who's sweating and driving like a maniac." Having said that, Gregory sat back, smiling. He tapped his fingers on his knees in time to a tune inside his head."I did my part great.
Waylaid the priest outside the rectory, just like you told me to.
I told him I was trying to hook up with Father Kevin, that we'd been seminary students together.
"He'd never heard of him, of course. Are you sure?" I asked. I'm positive his mother told me that he'd been assigned to Saint Michael's in New Or-leens." Those voice classes I took in New York sure helped cover my accent," he told Burke in an aside.
"Anyway, the priest says that my friend could very well have been assigned to Saint Michael's, but I was at Saint Matthew's. So then we laughed. I said the taxi driver must've gotten his churches mixed up.
Or his saints," says the Father. And we laughed some more.
"To keep him occupied a while longer, I asked if he was a New Orleans native, and he said he'd been here ten years. But he knew all the good restaurants. Not that he could afford them, he rushed to say, but some of his parishioners could, and they were generous enough to invite him out frequently. Duh-da-duh-da-duh-da. So we killed maybe ten minutes.
Enough?"
"Plenty. Now will you shut up?"
He didn't want to chat with Gregory. He wanted to reflect on those few minutes he'd been separated from Remy Duvall by only a thin wall and a screen. He'd been close enough to smell her perfume and to hear her soft sobs as she confessed a sin Burke hadn't expected.
Drugs, drunkenness, adultery none of that would have shocked him But guilt over a miscarriage? He hadn't expected that, and it had knocked him for a loop.
All the same, he would use it to his advantage. Even while her perfume was making him damn glad he'd never taken a vow of chastity, he'd been in his policeman's mode, wondering how he could apply this confidential information to the job that must be done. In a burst of inspiration not necessarily divine inspiration he'd dreamed up a penance that fit her sin and worked nicely into his overall plan.
But he wasn't all that happy about it.
He wished he didn't know about the baby she'd lost. That made her human. He wished he hadn't touched her hand through the screen.
That made him human.
"Say, Basile, did you undergo a religious experience or something?"
Drawn from his thoughts by Gregory's question, Burke shot him a dirty look.
"Because you're acting really weird. You came out of the cathedral looking like you'd seen God." Again, Burke gave him a disparaging glance."Okay, forget it. I guess I'm just not used to you sans mustache, and with your hair slicked back like that. I don't think your own mother would recognize you. The glasses are a nice touch, too."
Realizing that he'd forgotten to remove the square, horn-rimmed eyeglasses, he did so now, dropping them on the console between him and Gregory. The lenses were only clear glass, but it was strange that he hadn't thought to take them off. A guy could get himself killed overlooking a detail like that. Cop or criminal, it was the small stuff that tripped you up.
He ordered himself to snap out of it, whatever it was. If he started second-guessing his decision, he might waver in his determination to avenge Kev's death. If he couldn't go through with it, he couldn't go on breathing. It was something he had to do or die trying. His right hand flexed around the steering wheel.
When they reached Gregory's townhouse, he wheeled into the driveway and applied the brakes with such resolve that the car rocked to a halt.
Gregory reached for the door handle."Reluctant as I am to admit it, it was fun. See you around, Basile. But only if I'm very unlucky."
To his consternation, Burke got out of the car along with him and accompanied him up the brick walkway."I'm glad you had a good time.
Because you're not finished yet, Father Gregory."
Pinkie cut into his rare filet mignon."What's it called?"
K} Remy looked away from the blood-red juice oozing across his plate.
"Jenny's House. Named in honor of a three-year-old girl whose mother abandoned her. She was starving when they found her. They couldn't save her."
"That's incredible," Flarra exclaimed."In America, a nation of overweight people who spend fortunes dieting, a kid actually starved to death?"
"Horrible to think about, isn't it?"
Remy had carefully chosen a night when Flarra was joining them for dinner to broach this subject with Pinkie. She knew Flarra would rally to her side. Her sister was a crusader against any social injustice.
Pinkie swirled his stem of Merlot."This priest, Father?"
"Gregory," Remy supplied."He called and asked if he could meet with me to discuss the special needs of the facility."
"Needs, meaning money." She conceded with a nod."He said they're struggling financially to get Jenny's House open and operative."
"Places like that are always begging for donations. How come you're not eating?" he asked, motioning down at her plate.
"I'm not very hungry."
"Your appetite was spoiled by all this talk of starving little girls.
My wife, the soft touch." He reached across the table and stroked her hand."If it'll make you feel better, I'll have my secretary send Father Gregory a check tomorrow." "That's not good enough," she said, sliding her hand from beneath his.
"I want to become directly involved."
"You don't have time to become involved."
Believing that he'd put an end to it, he went back to his steak.
But Remy couldn't let the matter drop. This was more than just a need for a hobby. It was a spiritual matter. The priest had said, "Maybe if you did something to benefit children ..."
Jenny's House had been a direct answer to her prayers. She'd asked for an opportunity to atone, and it had come in the form of Father Gregory's telephone call this morning. If this is what God wanted her to do, not even Pinkie Duvall could deter her.
Keeping her voice casual, she said, "I have a i that aren't committed to anything else."
"I think it would be good for her, Pinkie," Flarra chimed in.
"She's been so despondent lately."
"I have not," Remy said.
"You've noticed, too?" Pinkie ignored Remy's protest and addressed Flarra.
She nodded, her black curls bouncing."For months she's been a real drag."
"Thank you."
"Well you have, Remy. It must be true if both I and my favorite brother-in-law noticed." She batted her eyelashes at him."May I please have some wine?" "No, you may not," Remy said, answering for him.
"Jeer, no public school. No boys. No wine. I might just as well live on Mars."
"Sister Beatrice would have a fit if we returned you to the convent tipsy."
"I bet Sister Be takes a nip on the sly. Can we talk about Mardi Gras?"
"Not tonight." Pinkie had let the conversation between her and Flarra go uninterrupted, Remy noticed. He was focused on her, and his hard scrutiny made her uneasy."What are you thinking, Pinkie?"
"I'm thinking how much I hate the idea of my wife rubbing elbows with riffraff."
"I don't even know what Father Gregory plans to propose," she argued.
"He may only want permission to add our name to their list of supporters, or to ask that we encourage our friends to contribute I won't know until I meet with him, but I'd really like to get involved in this project. At the very least, I'd like to personally present our check." few hours a week "Where is this new facility?"
"He didn't say specifically."
"Where did he propose the meeting take place?" "He said I could pick the place."
His index finger impatiently tapped against his wineglass."Why is this so important to you, Remy?"
How she answered was critical. For Pinkie to agree, he must hear something he liked."It's important to me because little Jenny didn't have a Pinkie Duvall appear in her life in time to save her. She wasn't as fortunate as Flarra and I." "That gives me goose bumps," Flarra said.
Pinkie relaxed and signaled Roman to refill his wineglass."All right, Remy, you may have your meeting. Here in the house. During the day."
"Thank you, Pinkie." "Cool," said Flarra.
Father Gregory hung up the pay telephone and turned to Burke.
"Their house, tomorrow afternoon."
During their previous conversation Father Gregory had given Mrs. Duvall the number of a telephone in the men's room of one of her husband's own strip joints. The sounds of bass instruments vibrated through the paper-thin walls.
"Their house?" Burke repeated, rubbing the back of his neck."I was expecting to meet in a public place."
"Well, no such luck," Gregory said."So it's no go, right? You have to ditch the plan." Upon reflection, Burke said, "Actually, this might work out better.
What time did you set the meeting?"
"Didn't you hear what I said, Basile?" "Yes. You said, their house tomorrow. And I asked you what time."
"This is never going to work."
"It'll work. If you keep your cool and do everything I tell you to do, it'll work."
"Maybe you think you know me, Basile, but you don't. Basically I'm a coward. When it comes to choices, I always think of myself first."
Good. That's good. Think of yourself. If you leave me in the lurch, or choke up and blow the sting, think of yourself in jail for a very long time."
Gregory moaned forlornly."Even if something goes wrong that's not my fault, you'll probably blame me."
"No, I won't. I promise," Burke told him, meaning it."No matter how this goes down, you'll walk away free and clear."
"Free and clear? From Pinkie Duvall?" Gregory snorted scornfully.
"I nearly shit bricks just calling his house on the telephone. I remember my folks talking about him around the dinner table when I was still in grade school. He's a freaking legend, one of the most powerful men in this town, if not the most powerful." "I know all about him."
"So then you know he's a damn scary character. It's rumored that he's had people killed if they crossed him."
"It's more than rumor."
Gregory's jaw dropped open with incredulity."Yet you expect me to walk into his house impersonating a priest, meet his wife face to face, and take money from her?"
"Unless you want to go to jail and become the sweetheart of a guy everybody calls Bull."
"You've used up that marker. I went to the cathedral with you and acted out my scene. Brilliantly, I might add. That squared us." "I never said that," Burke countered blandly."I said that if you agreed to play Father Gregory, I'd let you off the hook."
"I assumed I only had to pose as Father Gregory that one time."
"Well, you assumed wrong. What time tomorrow?"
"You're crazy as hell, Basile."
"Probably."
Gregory had him there. This plan of his was crazy. Dramatic, yes.
Effective, assuredly. Crazy, definitely.
Since hearing Mrs. Duvall's confession, he'd thought the plan through from every angle. There was always a damn good chance that something would go awry, but he was taking every precaution against failure.
He'd vacated his apartment and, using a false name, had moved into another place that was equally as disreputable. He'd ditched the Toyota for an older model.
When in the new car, he kept an eye on his rearview mirror. On foot, he checked frequently to see if Bardo, or someone of his ilk, was tailing him. He was fairly certain no one was.
Had Duvall called off his dogs? After Burke declined his job offer, Duvall might have dismissed him as insignificant. Maybe he was too cocksure of himself to fear retribution from a bummed-out, broke, besmirched ex-cop like Burke Basile. If he did expect reprisal, he would be looking for it to be violent.
That's why this just might work.
"Why can't another cop play the priest?" Gregory whined."How come an undercover cop can't be Father Gregory?"
"Because you're a better actor than anyone in the division."
Gregory still thought he was participating in a covert police action.
"Well, I quit," he said, taking a stand."I don't want to play Father Gregory anymore. I'd rather go to jail than have Pinkie Duvall after my ass."
Burke bore down on him."If you back out on me now, your skinny ass will be fair game for every pervert in the Orleans Parish jail.
I'll see to it." He now had the younger man backed against the stained wall of the men's room. Teeth clenched, Burke said, "Now, for the last fucking time, Father Gregory, what time tomorrow?"
"What a pleasure it is to meet you, Mrs. Duvall." Gregory James smiled disarmingly as he shook hands with their hostess."Thank you for agreeing to see us."
She glanced beyond him to the second priest."Uh, this is Father Kevin," Gregory stammered."My colleague and cofounder of Jenny's House."
Burke had chosen his pseudonym in honor of Kev Stuart, which seemed appropriate.
"Thank you both for coming," she said."I'm flattered that you want to enlist my help."
The solarium into which the butler had shown them overlooked the rear lawn and afforded a clear view of the gazebo. Looking at it, Burke remarked, "You have a beautiful estate, Mrs. Duvall."
He wasn't worried about her recognizing his voice. In the confessional he'd spoken in a muffled whisper and had faked several coughs Nor would she make a connection between the spit-and polished Father Kevin and the casually dressed, mustachioed man in the baseball cap who'd retrieved her forgotten sack of oranges at the outdoor coffee bar.
"Thank you. Please sit down."
He and Gregory sat side by side on a wicker settee. She sat in a chair facing them and asked if they would like coffee.
Father Gregory smiled at the butler."I'd love some. Decaf, please."
"Same for me," Burke said.
He withdrew, leaving the priests alone with Mrs. Duvall. And her bodyguard.
The man's wide shoulders extended beyond the back of his chair and the wicker seemed to be straining to support him. His dark suit was incongruous with the sunny garden room. He looked as out of place as a monkey wrench in a floral arrangement.
Burke had experienced a heart flurry when he entered the solarium and saw the familiar bodyguard. Mrs. Duvall hadn't recognized him, but the man was supposedly trained to be on the alert. Burke had given him a pleasant smile and a slight nod. He'd grunted a greeting, his eyes registering no recognition. Whatever Duvall was paying the dullard, it was too much.
Mrs. Duvall addressed him as Errol."You don't have to stay. I'm sure you'll be bored with this discussion."
He thought it over, gave each of the priests a look that could have passed for a stern warning, then stood."Okay. But I'll be right outside if you need me."
When he left, Father Gregory turned to their hostess."Is he always like that? Or is he sometimes dour?"
She laughed spontaneously. Burke silently thanked Gregory for putting her at ease. So far the young man was doing an exceptional acting job.
They chitchatted easily until the butler, whom she referred to as Roman, returned with a large silver tray and set it on a wheeled cart, from which Mrs. Duvall herself served them coffee and small cakes frosted with pastel icing. Her motions were fluid, effortless, natural. She handled the heavy silver coffeepot as gracefully as she handled her spoon, with which she stirred a single dollop of cream into her coffee.
"I'm anxious to hear all about Jenny's House."
Father Gregory cleared his throat and inched forward on his seat "The concept came to me ..."
Burke tuned out as Gregory launched into a flowery speech about a homeless children's refuge that didn't exist. While pretending to hinge on every word coming from Father Gregory's mouth, he watched Remy Duvall's face. She listened intently, responding as anticipated to the buzz words Burke had told Gregory to incorporate. Her questions were insightful and intelligent. When Gregory retold the fictitious story of little Jenny, tears came to her eyes "It's so tragic."