One more indication, thought Father Tully, of how little I understand big business. Hi diddlydee, the priestly life for me!
At this point in his rumination, the news program was all but completed. Before signing off, the anchor directed a return to the exterior of Detroit’s Receiving Hospital, where a TV reporter was doing a standup summation on the police officer who’d been shot.
Tully’s attention returned to the set.
“Carmen,” the sober-faced reporter said, “we’re told the condition of Officer Marcantonio is listed as serious. As we speak he has been taken to the operating room and surgery is under way. The doctors and other officers we spoke with were very guarded. As further details develop, we’ll keep you informed.”
Carmen Harlan’s face filled the screen. “Thank you, John. We’re running out of time. But before we go, here’s Dennis at the crime scene.”
“Thank you, Carmen. I have with me Lieutenant Alonzo Tully, who is the senior officer on the scene. Can you tell us, Lieutenant, what we have here?”
Father Tully leaned forward. He was so immensely proud of his brother.
Lieutenant Tully was occupied with something out of camera range. He appeared to be paying minimum attention to the reporter’s question. “It looks like one of those Good Samaritan set-ups.
“Can you tell our viewers just what that is?”
Both Tullys regarded the reporter as if he might be slightly retarded. Who would not know the original Bible story and/or its modern-day application in crime annals?
“It’s a scam,” Lieutenant Tully explained, returning his attention to what was occupying him off-camera, “where two or more people pretend they’ve got car trouble. They pull off the road onto a shoulder-usually, like tonight, on a freeway shoulder.
“A female stands by the car. She seems helpless and scared. Her accomplice, or accomplices, hide, usually in the car, but sometimes behind nearby shrubbery.
“They wait for some good-hearted person to pull off the road and-like a Good Samaritan-offer assistance. Then, when the would-be benefactor gets close enough, the accomplices jump out of hiding. They rob, maybe mug, maybe even kill the innocent motorist. Then they take off in his car-and theirs too if it’s not a klunker they may have swiped.
“Tonight they had bad luck. The one who stopped to give aid was a cop. So there went their scam. And they shot him.”
“Lieutenant Tully, do the police have anything to go on?”
Tully looked directly into the camera as if he were addressing those responsible for this attack. “Yeah, we’ve got a pretty good description of the vehicle they’re driving, as well as of the perpetrators themselves.” With emphasis, he concluded, “Their bad luck has just begun.”
Back to the studio for a speedy signoff, followed by a voice-over promising the “Tonight Show” “after these announcements.”
Father Tully would not wade through countless commercials. He turned off the set and headed for bed.
How silly it had been for him to even consider seriously helping his brother. There was nothing “Catholic” or “religious” about a Good Samaritan crime except the designation. Father Tully could take solace in the fact that even the redoubtable Father Koesler would be of no service to Lieutenant Tully in this case.
The priest decided right then and there that he was going to relax and enjoy this visit to Detroit and his prized contact with his newly discovered family.
Lieutenant Tully would just have to muddle through on his own.
But before he retired for the night, the priest prayed for the wounded officer, and for the surgeons who, as this prayer was being offered, stood between this brave man and death.
Nine
They were to meet at Carl’s, a venerable chophouse on Grand River near downtown Detroit. Anne Marie, on her lunch break from school, picked up her brother-in-law.
Only within the past hour was Lieutenant Tully certain he would be able to join them. At nearly 11 A.M., the Good Samaritan suspects had been arrested and booked.
It was Friday. Virtually all of Lieutenant Tully’s Thursday had been spent on the Good Samaritan shooting. Meanwhile Father Tully, escorted by one of Tom Adams’s PR people, had been taken on an all-day tour of Detroit and environs.
Anne Marie and Father Tully arrived first. They were seated at once at a table for four. There were no tables for three. Anne Marie explained that the relatively small crowd for lunch was a sign of the times. Twenty or so years ago, noontime would have found a crowd in the lobby awaiting tables. However, under a new administration, it appeared that the downtown area was on its way back up and, hopefully, would soon return to its former vitality.
Father Tully scanned the ample menu. He concluded this was basically a meat, fish, and potato restaurant. Anne Marie confirmed this, but assured him that what they did here they did well.
At this point Zoo arrived. Father Tully noted him nod to several of the patrons as he approached the table.
Obviously his brother was well known and, seemingly, well liked. This pleased the priest.
They greeted each other, Zoo kissing Anne Marie and patting his brother’s shoulder.
They passed on alcohol, ordering coffee instead. Zoo and Anne Marie were frequent patrons and knew what they wanted: ground round for him; salad for her. Father Tully settled for a tuna sandwich.
“I know I shouldn’t feel this way,” said the priest, “but I can’t help but think I’ve been a slacker. Yesterday you were working so hard on the Good Samaritan shooting that we couldn’t get together even for a minute.”
Zoo’s smile was sardonic. “Feel you should’ve been out there helping me catch the bad guys?”
The priest laughed. “No … no. We’ve been over that. I just felt as if I could or should be able to do something.”
“Cheer up, little brother. You’ve got some time left. And in my business you never know what’s gonna turn up next.”
“It all worked out well,” Anne Marie assured Father Tully. “Yesterday was your day on the town, courtesy of Thomas Adams. How was it?”
“A grand tour.” The priest broke a bread stick, and nibbled. “My guide knew his history of this city extremely well. I could almost see Cadillac’s landing party. And the construction of Ste. Anne’s. And the cholera epidemic.The street cars. Hudson’s. The place where Ty Cobb and Charlie Gehringer played. And-a real pity-the riot area.” He looked at them seriously. “You should really be proud of this city.”
“We are,” Anne Marie said. “Or, at least, we will be again.”
The coffee arrived. Zoo immediately took several appreciative sips.
“I hope,” the priest said to his brother, “we’re not keeping you from your job.”
Both Zoo and Anne Marie laughed.
“If you’re keeping me from anything, brother, it’s sleep. But sleep can be fitted into the cracks of life.” It was obvious that, for Zoo, coffee was replacing sleep.
“He’s been on the shooting case two nights and a day,” Anne Marie said. “He’s not kidding about sleep; all he’s had over the past roughly thirty-six hours are catnaps.”
“And,” Zoo added, “fortunately for our luncheon date, most of those catnaps came earlier this morning.”
Conversation halted as their order was served.
Zoo cut into one of the largest circles of ground round Father Tully had ever seen. Anne Marie’s salad was huge. And the priest’s tuna, fighting to escape its layers of bread, was nearly buried in chips.
“We made the arrests pretty quickly even for us,” Zoo said, picking up the conversation. “We collared the girl and her driver just hours after the shooting. The second guy was a little harder to find. But we got him early this morning.
“We went slow. We went by the book and made sure to touch all the bases.”
Father Tully decided to use knife and fork in eating his sandwich, rather than disgrace himself by squirting everyone with squeezed tuna. “What I don’t understand is why you stayed on the case. After all, it wasn’t a murder … thank God.”