Conduct in Question

Chapter 39

Donnie lay under the eaves in darkness for almost an hour. Wrapped in Gram’s fur, he was comforted by the warm, perfumed aroma. Now he struggled to be free. Through some loose shingles, he peered out onto the lawn and sidewalk. The goons in the Buick with the New York plates were walking up from the church.

Huddled together, the men talked and looked up at the house. Donnie held his breath to hear what they were saying. The fur tickled his nose and almost made him sneeze. The men climbed up the veranda steps, where he couldn’t see them.

“You think he’s still in there?” one of the men asked, twisting the doorknob.

“We saw him come in and he ain’t come out,” the other said flatly. “He’s probably hiding in the basement.” The man lit a cigarette.

“What’s this McKeown guy like, Bill? He’s a lawyer, right?”

Bill nodded. “I’ve done a few jobs for him. A real mean bastard. He wanted a complete report on Sasso’s execution.” After a pause, he concluded disapprovingly, “He’s a real sicko.” Bill tossed his cigarette over the railing and pushed past the bushes to the back of the house.

When the back-door buzzer erupted, panic shot through Donnie. They’d be looking through the kitchen window, ready to smash their way in. Donnie felt for his gun. If he hid behind the trunks, he’d shoot them when they opened the door. But they’d slashed Frank’s throat ear to ear. They could do anything.

Tony sat in his Jaguar in the church parking lot. Caressing the stickshift, he watched the house. In the rearview mirror, he saw the Buick with the New York plates, parked in the vicar’s space behind the church. Moments before, he had seen them struggling through the bushes at the side of the house. Climbing onto the back porch, they knocked a garbage can to the driveway and whispered loudly. Tony was disgusted with their ineptitude. Returning to their car, the two men disappeared out the laneway to the street. His message to call them off had gotten through to Benny. The boy was his.

Donnie dared not move from his cramped spot. Pulling back the shingle, he watched the Buick’s taillights pull out of the laneway. The car passed slowly up the street. When his breathing returned to normal, he shoved the gun into his pocket and headed downstairs.

Getting out of the Jaguar, Tony decided to concentrate on his pleasure. If Donnie were an intelligent boy, it would be amusing to match wits with him. He gazed at the house. There were plenty of windows on the ground floor to look into.

He would give the boy time to relax and breathe his last sigh of relief. On the sidewalk, he loosened his tie and then began circling the block at a leisurely pace. At the corner, he glanced up at the church. The massive oak doors were securely shut, presenting an implacable face to the world. Rather like the archbishop, thought Tony. And the archbishop wondered why church attendance was dropping. A chilly, light wind stirred the trees.

Tony turned up the alleyway toward a side door of the church. The thought of buying a church amused him. With the plans for the development of the shopping mall scuttled, the church had to sell out to him. Soon the whole area would be one prime block of real estate under his control.

A voice boomed out of the darkness. “Stop right there, mister. Where ya think you’re goin’?”

Tony’s eyes darted about, but he saw no one. Swiftly, his hand sought the razor in his pocket. Detecting a false note in the voice, he hesitated.

“This is private church property, mister, so get goin’ or I’ll call the cops on ya.” Still he could see no one.

Tony was expert in ferreting out weakness. Somewhere hidden in the voice he detected a pleading note.