Читать книгу Father Luke’s Journey into Darkness - Nancy Carol James - Страница 9

The priest dressed himself: snug dark blue T-shirt, Levi jeans, and a red Nationals baseball cap partially pulled down over his face. Calling his contact in the diocese, he heard again the plans.

“Two of them for all of us. Tonight in northeast Washington, DC at Stanton Park in the playground area. At our magic midnight.”

“How much?” he asked.

“Five hundred. Your discretionary fund has plenty. I will meet you later.”

The priest paused. “There is no harm in this, right? Only occasionally do I get to do this.”

His acquaintance heard the pleading tone of voice and answered with words of comfort, “Of course not, Father. I will hear your confession tomorrow morning. And these enthusiastic workers get some needed money.”

Relieved, he hung up and started planning for the rendezvous so near the Capitol Building—both sex and power involved with this evening. And now with a few anticipatory drinks, the priest began his frivolities.

Late that evening, he entered one of the six gates leading into the circular park lined by cherry blossom trees with tiny buds. He walked past the central statue of Revolutionary War hero Nathaniel Green on his horse with his upraised arm pointing energetically toward the playground. The priest’s goal? The playground jungle gym with its large, raised platform. This playful atmosphere, surrounded by safety walls, concealed and allowing a happy view of the stars. Who would have thought of such a perfect place for a party? A discreet city park, surrounded by green boxwoods and pink flowers, full of memories of happy and innocent children. Then he saw her, a young Hispanic girl with long beautiful dark hair standing outside the gate. The priest walked up behind her and without a word began stroking her. Screaming, her terror brought running friends. In a blazing second, even through his drunken haze, the cleric realized his mistake.

Quickly two men swung their fists at him. Blow after blow rained upon the drunken priest. Then a man rode his bicycle from the opposite end of Stanton Park. Dressed entirely in solemn black, the letters on his t-shirt announced US Capitol Police.

“The police! Let’s get out of here!” one said. They dropped the beaten man near the playground equipment. The priest faintly heard the shocked eruption, “That’s the priest at my family’s church!” Then only running footsteps filled the air.

Dazed, the priest blacked out, while the unnoticing policeman calmly cycled past him.

Soon the pummeled cleric heard the faint sound of humming in his ear. Then an old spiritual song clearly emerged, “My Lord, what a morning, when the stars begin to fall!”

Opening his eyes, he saw a well-known man, Oscar, smiling and singing to him. Wincing, the priest looked at his growing bruises and felt his aching head.

Then reaching his cell phone, he pressed the speed dial.

“May day. Beaten up in the park.”

“What happened?”

“Hurry!”

Soon a tall man entered the playground.

“Can you walk?”

“Some.”

“Let’s get out of here. We’ll say strep throat in isolation until you heal. Your face looks bad.”