I Detest All My Sins Read online

  Unfortunately, they also found his blood on the carpet of Eddie’s car, then the hatchet with Eddie’s prints in a dumpster behind Number One Chinese restaurant on Kensington Ave.

  Eddie’s rap sheet looked like a quilt comforter, but most of his felonies had been pled down. But he had one other felony at the time he killed his father, so he caught twenty for the voluntary manslaughter and sent away to West Penn. He got out after eight when the judge was caught smoking crack in chambers, and the esteemed judge’s candy man claimed he had been doing it for years. Three felonies later, the last for a botched bank robbery while impersonating a police officer in a uniform boosted from D&J costumes, Eddie shanked Mikey Osborne in the yard of Graterford prison.

  So, no, Eddie didn’t expect Jericho Lewis would be a problem, especially since chatter in the yard had been that Jericho might have reason to be glad Mikey bought it. But the priest might be a problem. He and Jericho were tight, and even if Jericho slow-walked the Mikey investigation, the priest had also been thick with Mikey. Then again, if the rumors about Jericho were true, who knows, maybe the priest’s hands were dirty too? Either way, if Eddie had to take out both of them, he would, then he’d spring his big surprise on Luca. One thing for sure, Eddie didn’t need any more fucking daddies.

  By the time they got to the Falls Bridge, Eddie said to Luca, “I thought about it already. I’d be honored.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Bill and Jericho sat whispering on a marble bench surrounded by the shuffling parade of people gawking at the work of Monet and Renoir.

  “Any luck with that thing?” Jericho asked.

  “Albert says I’m not the only one looking for Eddie. A week before I got to Radiant Hope, a guy named Cunnio also came asking around.”

  As Bill spoke, his eyes followed a leggy brunette. She spent no more than thirty seconds in front of each painting. Was she there to rendezvous with someone? Bill felt the old fires simmer.

  “What did Albert tell him?” Jericho asked.

  “He said Eddie liked to hang around Dirty Frank’s, had a room nearby was all Albert knew.”

  “Did you try there?”

  “Spoke to a bartender named Louise. She wouldn’t talk, said she doesn’t talk about who comes in and wouldn’t talk about me either if anyone came around asking. Said if I wanted to see who came in I should sit at the bar and pay for drinks and see for myself. What about this Cunnio? What’s that about?”

  “He’s the capo, so you know damned well it’s about drugs, whores, gambling, or homicide.”

  “But what’s his connection to Eddie? Can you find out from cop channels?” Bill asked.

  “Hey, that was before I went to law school. I haven’t been nurturing those relationships, not since I got into this ServMark Hospitality thing. Can’t trust anybody.”

  The prison food scandal wouldn’t go away. The contractor, ServMark Distributors, was fighting it on the public relations front. It dogged Jericho more than him. Bill’s interest was Mikey’s killer.

  “Then, I won’t drop the hammer on Eddie when I find him,” Bill said. His jaw muscles bulged from tightly clenched teeth. The prospect of letting Eddie Matthews live for another minute because ServMark got in the way was a cup of ink in a barrel of milk. “Still,” Bill added, “I’ll see what he knows first.”

  “Go slow here,” Jericho said, a look of concern in his eyes.

  “I’ll be careful. I hope it doesn’t bite me in the ass. Maybe I can kill two or three birds with one stone.”

  “I don’t want you killing, period,” Jericho said.

  Bill’s eyes wandered to the brunette again—to her four-inch patent heels, her tight red skirt at mid-knee, white blouse, and powder blue sweater hooked by a finger over one shoulder. A shoulder bag with a small red scarf tied to its strap dangled loosely from the other hand. Bill thought work of art, yet her insouciance strummed a chord—thrilling but sad—a reminder of the young woman and painful events so many years ago that damaged a young girl and led to his imprisonment. But before he could enjoy at least the aesthetic vision of the dark-haired woman, Eddie reclaimed his mind.

  Finally, Jericho blurted, “I heard from Crystal. She wants a divorce. Wants to keep the kids.”

  Bill covered Jericho’s hand with his and looked into his face, a sad giant trying to control a quivering chin.

  “It’s not the end. You’ll be able to see the kids, be their dad. It’ll help if you act fair during proceedings.”

  “I don’t feel so fair,” Jericho said.

  “C’mon, we talked about this. You’ve been married to your job. Ignore someone long enough and they go away. God gives and he takes, but then gives again. You have to trust that.”

  “But I loved her. How can she do this?”

  “She’s doing what is best for her. We’re the sum total of our choices. You need to think of what you got out of the deal. You got the career you wanted, a family, and a woman who gave her all to you.”

  “I guess my career didn’t light her up so much,” Jericho said. “Let’s get to the cathedral. I need to be on my knees.”

  “Sure, let’s.”

  A fancy basilica like the Cathedral of Saints Peter and Paul provided no more prayer amplitude than a gas station rest room, but if that’s what Jericho needed, who was he, the former Brother William Conlon, S.J., to argue? All he prayed for was to find the guy who robbed him of his chance at salvation. Find him and kill him.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Dirty Frank’s u-shaped bar was filled with the usual eclectic crowd comfortable with dive-bar chic. Louise and an effeminate guy called Peter Jambalaya, who wore a tank top and cute little shorts, worked the bar. A smattering of cross-dressers in both directions occupied the tired and scarred bar stools, along with a few Brooks Brothers types and some goths splattered with ink and metal ware protruding from surprising places, one a frozen orange juice can piercing an earlobe stretched thin as phyllo.

  But no Eddie Matthews.

  Bill squeezed an arm between two people at the bar and gave his hand a light lift as Louise scooted by. When he caught her eye, he gave a smile and a wink. Crazy busy as she was, she smiled back and held up a finger: be right with you.

  On her next trip, she said above the din, “What’ll it be?”

  “Double J&B. Neat,” he said. “Start me a tab.”

  He got his drink, retreated to a corner, and leaned against the wall. He surveyed the raucous crowd. A stool facing the door became available. He pulled it out, parked, and ordered his third double. By 1:30 and three doubles later, the crowd had thinned. Bill picked his head up off the bar, and with the too-deliberate enunciation of a half-drunk person trying to sound sober, said to Louise, “This place always so busy?”

  “Mostly on Fridays,” she said, wiping the bar.

  “How long have you worked here?”

  “’Bout a year. Where do you work?”

  “At Temple. Security.”

  “I couldn’t help notice, those jailhouse tats?”

  “’Fraid so. They scary?”

  “Not unless you’re a serial killer. When’d you get out?”

  “’Bout a month ago.”

  “I thought so.” She continued wiping the same section of bar. “I noticed how you looked around, nervous, like you were suspicious, like you expected somebody to jump you or something.”

  “Still getting used to being on the outside.”

  “How much time did you do?”

  “Twelve years. What’s your name?”

  “Louise. You?”

  “Bill. Let me have another double, Louise.” If only he could clear the dust bunnies from his brain and ask about Eddie.

  “Can’t. You’ve already had enough. Besides, we’re closing up.”

  “Already?”

  “You fell asleep on the bar when things quieted.”

  Asleep? Did he black out? Jesus, out only a month and relapsed already, and after twelve years sober.

  “I need
to get going anyway.” He paid the tab and headed out. But where? Too late to go back to Radiant Hope. It was August, when the city’s heat and mugginess, even in this early morning hour, caused dog tails to droop and soggy people to sag under the pressure of the relative humidity. But he’d be fine. There was a park a few blocks away. Find a bench. He hadn’t been able to get his demons drunk enough to escape his memories. Maybe they’d let him sleep.

  Louise was kind of sweet, well put together too. Nice to think about her, nicer than picturing Mikey dying in the yard, or Dennis floating down the Delaware River with the letter wrapped in a baggie in his pocket, the one from the Naval Academy withdrawing his appointment. Not too many congressmen willing to sponsor cadets who had brothers arrested for rape, especially Congressman Rogers, whose niece Bill had violated.

  His heavy-lidded eyes scanned the sidewalk and his unmoving arms dangled as he ambled down the quiet street and cut over to the entrance of Seger Park. The tennis court lights were still on, lighting it up like Times Square. He collapsed onto the nearest bench. Before drifting off he studied the long shadow stretched before him, the black shape of a man who once had promise and faith, then was unable to save Mikey from dying in the dirt.

  He awoke disoriented, his head thundered. Kids were playing, and young mothers gabbed side-by-side while mindlessly pushing toddlers on swings. Bill immediately launched his six-foot-two frame upright, embarrassed to be a vagrant among these attractive, well-dressed moms. He brushed off his jeans as if they had collected crumbs from a buttery croissant rather than wrinkles from a drunken snooze on a park bench. He smoothed his thin brown hair with his hands and nonchalantly strolled out of the park toward Broad. As he approached Eleventh he glanced into the park through the wrought iron fence where he noticed a woman in khakis and a tee sporting a big, yellow happy-face winking above a perky breast. She sat by the sandbox next to a two-year old who poured sand from one pail into another. Their eyes caught, then quickly averted. Bill walked on, but no question, it was Barbara Jenkins, one of his former students from the summer he taught classical literature at the Eldon School in suburban Rosemont. He would have stopped to say hello but didn’t want to be spat on.

  She had been good friends with Pam Rogers, the girl he got caught having sex with, the one with a body as precocious as her mind, the one who jumped two grades and was fifteen but looked eighteen, the one who introduced Bill to smack and caught him his stretch and the weight of the sky on his shoulders.

  The train pulled in just as he hit the station at Broad. He slid into the molded plastic seat next to a window as it rumbled north. Barbara Jenkins’ face rather than his reflected back at him from the glass. Closing his eyes didn’t erase the image of her on the witness stand, pointing to him as the man who had seduced her friend, Pamela, and that the two girls wouldn’t know heroin from talcum powder. Did that happen in another life? It must have. This one hurt too much.

  When he arrived at Radiant Hope, he saw Albert and two other men jawing in front. As they talked, they periodically looked over their shoulder. Bill gave a quick salute and bounded up the steps, not wanting to chat, still disoriented from the bender the night before and seeing Barbara in the park. Before he disappeared through the door, Albert said, “Yo, Bill, guess who came around? The guy you been asking about. Yeah, Eddie hisself. He’s lookin’ for ya.”

  “Did he leave a number or address?”

  “Nope. Said he’d find you.”

  “Thanks Albert.”

  Bill went to his room and checked under the bed. The metal chest chained to the bedframe with the heavy-duty lock was still there. He opened it and tucked the Sig Sauer .38 into his waistband. He eyed the rest of his arsenal; the Smith and Wesson .357 and boxes of ammo that Jericho had given him (“If Eddie comes after you you’ll need a fucking cannon”), plus the Indian Jagdkommando knife and Beretta M9 Bill had purchased from Rick’s Pawn Shop on Lehigh Avenue, where the only question asked was whether you could pay. His life’s mission used to be raising a chalice to God in service of the faithful. Now it was to raise hell.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Eddie waved to Luca’s pals and pulled up a chair at the card table as the other men extended hands to shake.

  He had earned his spurs when he shanked Mikey, and these guys had more juice than he could have imagined. During the preliminary investigation and hearings over Mikey’s demise, none of the prison staff witnessed enough to say much, nor did any rats crawl out of their dens.

  This was a sharp crew, organized, been around the block, not like the Kensington street-punk meth-heads Eddie usually ran with.

  “Hey Eddie,” one of the men said, “tell us what happened in the yard.”

  Eddie told the story, the men at the table interrupting with snickers at how it came off, the paid-off guards, the victim that lay bleeding and nobody helped. “I’ll betcha they was standing around whistling,” one of the men said, and snickered. Eddie puffed out his chest. “Never knew what hit him,” he said, “like puncturing cheese.”

  “Yeah,” another said, “mozzarella.” The whole crew roared, the reference to Italian cheese a salute to the ethnicity that gave root to their shared aversion of authority.

  The drinking, cards, and banter continued. Half smashed, Eddie said, “You shoulda seen my old man lying on what was left of his face when I pulled the hatchet outta his skull. Could you imagine, your father looking into a mirror and not able to see half his face gone…” He began laughing in his high-pitched giggle and shaking so hard he could hardly get more words out. “…then putting shaving cream on the leftover face?”

  After he was laughed out, he looked around the table at his new friends. Nobody was laughing. They stared at him, cigarettes and cigars dangling loose from their lips. Eddie was too naïve to know: government and cops were one thing, family another.

  By midnight, Luca threw down his cards and motioned for Eddie to step outside. Walking with his arm around Eddie’s shoulder, he said, “I want you to jump right on your assignment. I don’t want you comin’ back a month from now tellin’ me you don’t know shit. Timing is important. Got it?”

  “Sure, Luca. I know just where to start,” Eddie said. “Albert at Radiant Hope halfway house told me the priest has been lookin’ for me at Dirty Frank’s.”

  “Whatever. Just find a way to get that deputy warden.”

  “When do I get paid?”

  “When the job’s done.”

  “Can I have fifty bucks to hold me over?”

  “Don’t be a punk. This ain’t prison.”

  Luca thought he was so fucking smart. Nobody thought Eddie knew anything about Mikey’s connection to ServMark Hospitality, but Eddie knew it was how Mikey wound up in a crematorium and his ashes on somebody’s mantel.

  “So Louise,” Bill said, “somebody told me you used to skate roller derby.”

  “Sure did. Eight years. Loved it. Loved the girls.”

  “You mean loved, or loved?”

  “Nah. Some were dykes, but we were all regular women, moms and stuff. Seven of us had other jobs too, like bartending, gave us freedom to skate out of town and do some damage. It was a wild and crazy life, but it was wonderful, we were close.”

  “What drew you into it?”

  She moved directly across from Bill, rested both of her elbows on the bar, leaned in, and looked directly into his hazel eyes. “You don’t know what it’s like being a woman. In derby you learn skills, are on a team, you get to hit, compete. Most women don’t get to do that kinda stuff.”

  She didn’t use the words, but what Bill heard was, “I needed it.”

  “Now I’m ready to settle down, maybe kids and all,” she added. “After my injury, I went to art school. I’d like to continue painting, too. Paint and raise kids. Sounds real good now.”

  “You’re not that big, you must have taken a beating.”

  “I gave as good as I got. Don’t let my size five fool you. I like being in control. How do you think I keep t
he assholes in line that come into this place?”

  Bill had seen it in her, yet she was also a flirt, not a shameless one, but as upfront with her femininity as her take-no-prisoners attitude at the bar. “You’d never guess it from your smile,” he said. It wasn’t a fleeting, superficial smile, but a smile that stopped for a second, wanted him to see it and take delight in her strawberry lips against sugar-white teeth. A smile that totally transformed her pouty mouth and suggested a hidden loving and giving personality. And for just that one second, her two incarnations grabbed his stomach and his mind groped the dark space of this complex woman, a woman necessary for needs he could only sense rather than knew he possessed.

  He ordered another Heineken. Didn’t want to get shit-faced again. Bad enough Louise had already seen him out of control on two occasions. No way to make an impression. His most recent visits to Dirty Frank’s were just a few beers and a lot of gabbing. Kept it light and bright, didn’t talk about prison, gossiped about the bar’s patrons, the owner, the Phillies, the Eagles season around the corner. This was the first time he had asked about her career skating for the Quaker City Queens. He withheld pressing her about Deadly Eddie Matthews. Make friends first. She’ll talk. But then she didn’t have to.

  Eddie Matthews walked through the door and straight to the stool next to Bill, who hardly recognized Eddie in his Wal-Mart jeans and black wife-beater. Like Bill, he had prison tats all up and down his chest and arms, but unlike Bill, Eddie’s ink went up his neck to his chin, reminding Bill of a medical chart with colored-in veins and arteries, topped by a beige billiard ball for a head.

  “Hey, Bill, well I’ll be…”

  “Eddie!” They reached hands across the bar and shook. “What’ll it be?” Louise asked.

  “Give us your best top shelf,” Eddie said. “On me.”

  She turned to grab a Lot #40 Canadian. It was still full. Not many calls for it in Dirty Frank’s. As she reached, her blouse rode up to expose the red thong under her jeans. Not taking his eyes off her, Eddie gave Bill a nudge and said in a normal voice, “Hard to find a nicer piece of ass, ain’t it Bill?” Bill didn’t respond.