“Now you’ve learned something more about me: ask me the time and I’ll tell you how to make a clock.
“But it also should indicate that I’m not all that different from Bob Koesler. I wasn’t a priest before the council. But I was a Catholic who lived before, during, and after it.” He shook his head. “Just listen to me: I’m not asking for an extra job,” he explained. “I only thought I could put you at ease during what I’m sure will be a very brief vacation for one of your valued sources, Father Koesler. The way I’ve run on, anyone could swear that I was interviewing for the job.”
Now that dessert was finished they were on coffee refills.
Anne Marie smiled sweetly, leaned forward, and patted the priest’s arm. “Zachary, it helped. Believe me it did. I like to think I’m a pretty plugged-in Catholic. But some of what you said was new to me. Besides, it helped us understand what makes you you.”
“What about going into the living room? Let’s get comfy,” Zoo said.
Zachary felt reluctant to leave the intimacy of the kitchen. But, in the long run, it worked. The three newly introduced kinfolk talked far into the evening. They had so much to learn of each other. Anne Marie recounted her life before and since becoming a teacher. She spoke movingly of her first meeting with Zoo … how he had rescued her from a purse-snatcher. She counted the incident a product of Divine Providence. The priest found no reason to doubt that.
Zoo, ordinarily not garrulous, spoke sketchily of life in a large family-eight children. All the while his father was with them, they lived in modest lower-middle-class comfort. But after his unexpected departure, life hardened considerably. Now, five of the children had passed on. The remainder, aside from Zoo, lived in distant states. Anne Marie promised to give Father Tully addresses and phone numbers.
Zoo spoke of his life as a police officer and how he’d been “discovered” by Walt Koznicki and how close they’d grown. Koznicki had been Zoo’s sponsor in the Homicide Division-then the major league of the department.
Father Tully had already given a bit of a biographical sketch in trying to convince Zoo that there was life before and after Father Koesler. Now, he filled in the gaps.
So absorbed were they no one had thought to turn on any lights. They became aware of this only when it grew so dark they could scarcely see each other.
“Well,” Zoo slapped his knees as he stood, “it’s getting late. And I’ve got an early morning. What say I drive you home, Zack?”
“Good idea.” The priest felt stiff from sitting so long. “That way I’ll be up nice and early to take Father Koesler’s first call of the day.”
They laughed at the thought of Koesler’s lack of total confidence in his parish sitter. He was like a nervous parent phoning home repeatedly to make sure the children were still alive.
As Zachary prepared to leave, Anne Marie hugged him, then kissed his cheek affectionately. That one simple gesture more than anything else this evening made him feel as if he had found his family.
The two men entered Zoo’s car for the brief ride to St. Joseph’s rectory.
Zoo started the engine, but before he put the car in gear he turned and said, “This is good. I really didn’t know how it was going to go. But it was better than I hoped.” He extended his hand. “Welcome home.”
Zachary took his brother’s hand. “It feels almost as if we’ve grown up together, instead of just discovering each other. Tonight, I’m a happy camper.”
“Mind if I catch up on the news?” Zoo said, as he turned on the radio.
The lead story on the eleven o’clock newscast shattered the evening’s homey warmth. A police officer had been shot on the Lodge Freeway, not far from where they were now.
A car had apparently stalled on the shoulder of the freeway. A young woman had stood near the rear of the vehicle, in obvious distress.
A lone officer in a blue-and-white had pulled up behind the car. He’d got out and as he’d approached the seemingly empty vehicle, two men had jumped out. The first one had fired a single shot and the officer had gone down.
Several passing cars slowed as they reached the scene. The occupants saw clearly what had happened. With good reason, none of them stopped. But several with cellular phones immediately called 911. Some were so nervous and upset that they were not much help in identifying either what had happened or where. But one caller, who was regularly scolded for watching too much television, relied on what he had seen so often on cops-and-robbers TV. “Officer down,” he said tersely. Then he gave a calm description of the location. He answered all the questions asked him by the operator.
Zoo started his flasher and sped down the nearly empty surface street. His police band caught the organized chaos as his fellow officers operated on adrenaline. The police took care of their own in very special ways.
Father Tully volunteered to get out and hail a cab. At the very least, he urged his brother to drop him at the rectory and take off immediately. Zoo took the second option. Seldom had Zachary Tully ever been delivered and dropped so speedily and abruptly.
The priest preferred not to linger on a dark, abandoned street on the fringe of downtown Detroit. He hastened into the rectory, where he turned on the TV news to see if there was any more on the shooting.
Obviously, the shooting had been the lead story on the telecast. Father Tully recalled the TV news maxim: if it bleeds, it leads. Now the newscasters were reporting less momentous and lighter news items. Father Tully hoped they would return to the police shooting before they wrapped things up.
Just before sports and weather the anchorwoman announced that the new and controversial branch of Adams Bank and Trust would be opened for the first time and for the first customers at 9:30 A.M. Friday, the day after tomorrow. And, in a move that surprised many in the banking industry, CEO Thomas A. Adams had named Allan Ulrich as general manager of the new branch.
Until today, the anchor continued, front-runner for this position had been Nancy Groggins, wife of construction entrepreneur Joel Groggins. Mrs. Groggins, who also possessed many of the credentials of Al Ulrich, was African-American and a woman, which prompted some to speculate that she might have related better to the neighborhood.
There followed film of a smiling Nancy Groggins refusing to be baited by reporters and congratulating Al Ulrich.
The next shot featured Ulrich stating that he felt fortunate to be selected by Tom Adams, a man and a business leader respected by his employees and the city at large.
Next there was the mayor with characteristic enthusiasm-so completely absent in his predecessor-marking the launching of this bank branch as turning another corner in the rebuilding of Detroit.
Next, weather and sports. While a happy sportscaster and weather forecaster interplayed with happy anchors, Father Tully pondered.
This made no sense. Just last night, Tom Adams had explained the choice of bank manager, asked Tully’s impression of the two candidates, and given the impression he would name the candidate the priest favored.
Trying to be conscientious in this modest commission, Father Tully had made a determined effort to talk with and learn about both candidates. He understood, especially after his conversation with Joel Groggins, what would be expected of the new manager. Father Tully sensed how well matched these competitors were. Where one was slightly stronger in one category, the other was correspondingly strong in another. And vice versa.
Nonetheless, Father Tully had duly reported his choice to an oddly distracted Tom Adams. The priest was in agreement with Adams that Nancy Groggins should be the new manager in this pressurized position. Indeed, he had-at least until this moment-taken her accession as a fait accompli.
What could have happened in less than a day to change Adams’s mind? Whatever it was, it must have been significant.