“Maybe we shouldn’t have a look at it after all,” the first policeman says.
“That’s what I’ve been telling you all along. We could have saved ourselves ten minutes arguing about it here, and a few phone calls before this,” and he laughs and puts the envelope back into his pocket.
“Well, good afternoon,” Howard says and smiles at them and leaves the building.
He’s rounding the second floor when he hears voices downstairs. He stops.
“Definitely we should have acted sooner,” a man says.
“And if we did, what then?” a second man says. “It wouldn’t’ve changed things. It all ends up at Pickle Creek.”
“One’s either too early or too late but never on time,” a third man says. “Nothing we can do about it though, and nothing we learn from it will help us the next time around.”
He continues downstairs and sees two policemen and a priest. “Hello.”
“How do you do, sir,” the priest says and the policemen nod at Howard and resume talking almost at once.
“If, if, if,” one says. “I’m sick of it.” “Then let’s drop the whole freaking thing,” the other says.
“You boys really mean that?” the priest says. “Because if you do, then at least we came to something constructive today.”
“Excuse me, but is anything wrong in the building?” Howard says.
“What could be wrong?” one of the policemen says.
“I don’t know. Two policemen and a priest standing, midafternoon, in the hallway of a small apartment building? The priest dressed all in black—”
“This is the way I always dress outside.”
“But also the two policemen here. When you’re all together like that-”
“We’re friends of Father Keiser,” the other policeman says. “And we’ve official business to discuss with him.”
“So it’s not Mr. Spady in that apartment? He’s been rushed to the hospital twice in the last couple of months — maybe more, I’m not quite sure.”
“It isn’t Mr. Spady,” the priest says. “I was on my way to the mall, the policemen saw me from their car and wanted to talk. It was too hot to stand on the street or sit in the car and talk—”
“We would’ve given you a lift, Father. We still could.”
“No, I need the exercise badly — So, when we saw someone entering your building, we said ‘Why don’t we do that too?’ and we came in here. That’s the only reason — to get out of the sun. Now if it’s all right with you, sir, thanks for your interest, but these men are very busy and we have to finish our little talk.”
“Yes of course, I’m sorry,” and he leaves the building.
He’s walking downstairs, thinking of the work he wants to do and how he might start it, when the sight of three men stops him. A priest in a black suit and two policemen in white shirts with no jackets. Something about the bright light on them from the hallway window, making the shirts seem illuminated and the suit look as if it has a white outline around it. They’re talking low, stop, look at him a few seconds and continue talking low. He can’t make out what they’re saying, but by their looks he can see it’s something very serious to them. Then the priest slaps his hands, keeps them clenched and says “Don’t worry, leave it to me. It’ll turn out aces, I guarantee it.”
“There’s never a guarantee with something like that,” one of the policemen says.
“Excuse me,” Howard says. “Is anything going on in the building that I can be of some assistance to or that as a tenant here I should perhaps know about?”
“What could be going on?” the policeman says.
“Just that you three men here. It’s not the kid — maybe I shouldn’t say this.”
“No no, go on, what?”
“The young man above us — our apartment. I mean, I don’t want to start anything, but it’s only that he has been in trouble with the police before that made me bring it up. They’ve been here a couple of times the last year, so I thought — Just that, well, when you live in a building with your family — even alone, if that’s the case — and there’s one guy who occasionally acts like a punk and once or twice has been one too—”
“Wait, you mean the Huffman kid?” Howard nods. “Right, for a moment I didn’t realize what building we were in — Drugs, selling them,” he says to the priest, “and supposedly ripping off a bike in this or the next building a few months ago.”
“The next one, which is the sister one to ours,” Howard says.
“Anyway, all straightened out now, I heard — You know the Huffman kid, don’t you?” he says to the other policeman.
“No, who?”
“Long hair, kind of stringy, dirty. Tall, hefty, really fat-faced kid we came here or the next building to see about that bike, and maybe last year also, winter.”
“You probably came here for him but to the next building for the bike owner,” Howard says.
“I wasn’t on with you either time,” the other policeman says.
“I don’t know the young man either,” the priest says. “But he has nothing to do with our being here,” to Howard, “nor does anyone in the building, far as I can tell. And we do have to finish our talk…”
“Sure, certainly. And I’m sure I shouldn’t have said anything about the Huffman kid.”
“Why not? Neighbors should look after neighbors, so long as they’re not being nosy; and if there’s wrongdoing, to do what they can to discourage it. That’s all you were doing.”
“I suppose. Thank you,” and he goes past them.
He’s walking downstairs when he hears men on the first floor and then sees two policemen and a priest. “Excuse me, is anything wrong?”
“No, we’re just talking,” the priest says.
“It’s only that you all look so grave. For a moment I thought it could even be my daughter at nursery. She goes to the one over there at First Lutheran Church.”
“I’m a Roman Catholic priest.”
“Of course, I’m sorry. Also, I didn’t really think it seriously, that something was wrong about my daughter. It was just something that came all of a sudden when I saw you.”
“It isn’t your daughter, don’t worry,” one policeman says.
“I know; but someone here?”
“Nobody regarding anything grave,” the priest says. “I was returning something to a member of my church,” and he nudges a shopping bag on the floor with his foot, “and the officers were talking to me outside when it began to rain.”
“Oh, it’s raining? I better go up and get an umbrella. Excuse me,” and he goes upstairs.
He’s walking downstairs when he sees two policemen and a priest. Priest is in a black suit, clerical collar, has white hair. Police are jacketless and in long-sleeved white shirts, black ties held down by clips, no hats. One’s leaning against the radiator, other’s against the wall, both with their arms crossed, listening to the priest. The priest stops talking when Howard approaches them. “Good afternoon,” he says.
“Afternoon,” the priest says. The policemen nod, arms stay crossed, look at him, he thinks, as if he may be the one they’ve come to see.
“Something wrong in the building?”
“Nothing’s wrong, everything’s right, thank you.”
“But having the police and you—”
“We’re just—”
Walking downstairs. Hears voices from the second floor. Men’s. Three to four, it sounds like. Stops halfway down to listen. Garbled, can’t make out a word. Maybe it’s a foreign language. But he knows a few foreign languages, or two fluently and parts of others. Nothing. He goes all the way down. Two policemen and a priest. Priest is gesticulating with his hands and head. Police are shaking their heads animatedly. “But we have to,” the priest says. “Not on your life,” one policeman says. “I also have serious reservations,” the other policeman says. “No, we have to, that’s all there is to it,” the priest says.