Pagan Babies Part 6

"Saint Agatha," Terry said, "had her b.r.e.a.s.t.s cut off and then was thrown on a pile of hot coals."

"b.u.mmer," Debbie said.

And he knew what she was thinking.

"Do a martyr bit. The Christian chick trying to talk her way out of being thrown to the lions."

Debbie picked it up. " 'Hey, some of my best friends are pagans. Love their idols.' Did you see The Life of Brian? The Life of Brian?"

"Monty Python, yeah-'Blessed are the cheesemakers.' What was it they sang at the end, when they were crucified?"

"Yeah, it was perfect, but I can't remember."

They pa.s.sed lights shining down on rows and rows of sparkling used cars.

"I understand you were an altar boy."

"Six o'clock Ma.s.s every morning."

"Your sister thinks that's why you became a priest."

"Except that by the eighth grade I was staring at Kathy Bednark's rear end."

It seemed to stop Debbie for a moment.

"But later on you did enter a seminary."

"In California," Terry said.

"But you weren't ordained till you got to Africa?"

"The way it worked out."

"You took your vows there?"

Getting to poverty, chast.i.ty, and obedience now.

"They're part of becoming a priest," Terry said, wondering where she was going with it.

"I would imagine," Debbie said, "living in an African village, you'd have no trouble keeping your vows."

He had to ask, "Why do you say that?"

"Well, living in a third-world country on a poverty level? On your own, no one you had to answer to . . ."

That took care of two of the vows. Terry said, "Yeah?" and waited to see how she'd handle chast.i.ty.

When she ducked it, saying, "And now you'll try to raise money for the mission?" he was surprised.

"It's why I'm here. The priest whose place I took, Fr. Toreki-?"

"Your uncle. Fran told me about him."

"He'd come home and visit parishes around Detroit, and make a pitch at the Sunday Ma.s.ses. I don't think I can do that. I'm not any good as a preacher. Anytime I gave a sermon there'd be a guy there doing a translation, and it always sounded better in Kinyarwanda. I have a lot of pictures of kids, most of them orphans, that'll hit you right in the heart, but I don't know what to do with them. I remember in grade school there'd be a jar in the cla.s.sroom and a sign that said FOR THE PAGAN BABIES, and we'd put change in it left from our lunch money."

"What would that bring, ten bucks a week?"

"If that."

"About what you made smuggling cigarettes?"

She did it. Got to what she wanted to talk about by way of Africa. Sneaked up on him.

"I can tell you," Terry said, "the money we made on cigarettes wasn't cigarette money. We'd drive a U-Haul to Kentucky, six, seven hours, and come back with ten thousand cartons at a time. Make three bucks a carton, thirty grand a trip, a day's work. Fran told you about it, uh?"

"He said you were an innocent victim."

"That's right, and he explained it to the prosecutor. All I did was drive."

"Not knowing you were committing tax fraud."

"That's all it was. You ever cheat on your income tax, list phony expenses? That's fraud, too."

"As a matter of fact," Debbie said, "I've never cheated on my income tax."

"And I've never run over anyone with a Buick."

"Riviera."

Terry smiled. "You see us as a couple of cons, don't you, talking in the yard? Only I've never done time."

They stopped for the light at 13 Mile Road and he saw her turn to look at him, maybe for the first time.

She said, "You don't count Africa?"

"I went there of my own free will."

"With an indictment hanging over you. And, according to Fran, a guilty conscience, worried your mother'd find out what her little altar boy was doing."

"He told you that?"

"He said you took off and the Pajonny brothers went down, and that's all I know."

"It was the other way around. They were picked up before I left."

"You make those plans pretty fast?"

"I'd been thinking about going over there for some time, help out my uncle Tibor. He was a saint."

"Whatever you say, Father."

He could feel her confidence, little Debbie sitting there in the dark looking straight ahead at the traffic lights, knowing exactly where she was going, Terry paying close attention.

So when she said, "I met a friend of yours at the funeral."

He knew right away who she meant and said, "Does he have bad teeth and stands real close when he's talking?"

"His breath could use some help, too," Debbie said. "How'd you know?"

"You've been working up to this," Terry said, "and now you're there. You met Johnny Pajonny."

She looked over at him, this time with a smile.

"He's a beauty."

"You want to use him in your routine."

"I'm thinking about it."

The light changed and they were moving again, Debbie keeping to the right-hand lane, taking her time. She said, "He thought you'd be at the funeral."

"Was d.i.c.kie there?"

"He's still in. Johnny says he f.u.c.ks up and spends most of his time in the Hole."

"What else did he say?"

"He mentioned you owe them each ten thousand."

"Just happened to mention it?"

"It seemed to be on his mind."

"He thinks I stiffed him?"

"He seemed a little b.u.mmed, yeah. Mostly he wanted to know if you still had the money."

"That was five years ago. Why was he asking you?" "He seemed to think I was your girlfriend." "Come on-doesn't he know I'm a priest?" "Your old girlfriend." As she said it, watching the road, Debbie turned into a lane that ran along a strip of storefronts and angle-parked close to a party store. She said, "I have to get some cigarettes," and opened her door. "Wait a minute. What old girlfriend?" "The one you were living with in L.A.," Deb bie said, "when your mom thought you were in the seminary. I'll be right back."

10.

HE COULD SEE HER INSIDE the store talking to the young Arab-looking guy behind the counter, the guy laughing at something she said, Debbie winning a fan while she bought a pack of cigarettes. The guy would tell his friends about this cool blond chick who came in and was funny, man. The guy not knowing how cool she really was- the way she could zing you when you weren't looking; set you up first, see if you'd admit things she already knew, things Fran would've told her, Fran and now Johnny Pajonny, who loved to talk and act like an insider, thinking Debbie was the girl in L.A. and Debbie no doubt letting him think it.

He should never've told Johnny in the U-Haul coming back from Kentucky about the girl in L.A.

Debbie had moved away from the counter, down an aisle toward the back of the store, out of view. Now she was at the counter again, the Arab-looking guy ringing up the sale with a big grin, Debbie standing in her raincoat talking, opening a pack of cigarettes, the guy stopping to give her a light, then handing her the Bic, or whatever it was. Terry couldn't see what she'd bought, but it looked like more than cigarettes the guy was putting in the paper bag.

The whole time in the car had been an interrogation: Debbie showing a keen interest in his life, more than just curiosity. But now where would she go with it? He'd have to bring her along to find out.

So when she came out and got in the car Terry said, "I can understand why Johnny asked about the money."

"I can, too," Debbie said, "thirty thousand in cash."

She started the car, but then sat back with her cigarette, the grocery bag on the seat next to her.

"He thinks I took off with it, uh?"

"Didn't you?"

"Let me tell you," Terry said, "how it worked on a run to Kentucky. We'd come back with a load, drop it off, and return the U-Haul. The next day we'd go to an office downtown in the Pen.o.bscot Building and the woman there, Mrs. Moraco, would pay us. Count out hundred-dollar bills without saying a word, mostly old bills, and we'd put the money in athletic bags we'd brought along."

"You know who the buyer was?"

"I didn't ask. Anyway, the first couple of times we made the run, no problem," Terry said. "The time we're talking about, only Johnny and I made the trip. d.i.c.kie wasn't feeling good and stayed home. But when I say home I mean Johnny's house in Hamtramck. d.i.c.kie lived with Johnny, his wife Regina and their three kids- two little boys swore all the time, did whatever they wanted, and a fifteen-year-old girl, Mercy, who was studying hard to become a hooker."

Debbie said, "Mercy?"

"Regina's born again."

"Don't tell me," Debbie said, "this is about Mercy and Uncle d.i.c.kie."

"Yeah, but which one needed protection? d.i.c.kie said Mercy was always showing off her young body-and it was all there, believe me. I stopped by to pick Johnny up one time, Mercy comes out to the car in a little sunsuit. The way she leaned on the windowsill showing herself, I thought she was gonna ask if I wanted to have a good time. What Regina wanted was d.i.c.kie out of the house, but Johnny wouldn't hear of it. He said if d.i.c.kie wasn't around he wouldn't have anybody to talk to. They watched sports on TV together and argued."

"At the wake," Debbie said, smoking her cigarette, "he asked me to go have a drink with him."

"What'd you tell him?"

"I met him at the Cadieux Cafe, looking for Johnny Pajonny material. The name alone. So then what happened?"

She'd zing him and Terry would have to remind himself this nice-looking girl was not only an entertainer, she'd done time. And smoked a lot. He pressed the b.u.t.ton to lower his window halfway.

"Regina comes home from working a checkout counter at Farmer Jack's and finds Mercy and d.i.c.kie in the bathroom together." Terry paused. "You had a drink with Johnny at the Cadieux? That's a popular spot."

"He wanted to go to a motel."

"Yeah...?"

"I told him I was a nun."

It hung there, Terry not sure if she was kidding, had actually said that.

"I handled it, Terry. Okay? So Regina finds Mercy and d.i.c.kie in the shower."