Zoo shrugged. “It was a cop. And only a fluke kept it from being homicide. But” — he smiled at his brother-“I guess you wouldn’t buy the fluke bit, would you?”
The priest returned the smile. “Oh, we’re not quick to claim miracles. The fact that the bullet hit the Bible in the officer’s shirt pocket could, I’d be the first to admit, qualify as a fluke.”
“I’ll bet his family doesn’t think it’s a fluke,” Anne Marie said.
“Not for a second,” Zoo said. “And I really can’t blame them. There’s no way of tellin’ where a bullet’s gonna go once it enters a body. Take the Kennedy bullet: went through him and maybe Governor Connally. I don’t know whether that really happened, but it could’ve.”
“So what really happened here, Zoo?” asked Anne Marie.
The lieutenant paused to swallow. “Deflected. It went through the pocket Bible and coursed downward ….” He gestured to show the invisible path the bullet took. “Lodged in his abdomen. Still and all, it was a tricky operation … a lot of internal bleeding. But it looks like he’ll make it.”
“Thank God,” the priest intoned.
“Maybe … maybe. Maybe ‘Thank God.’ If it hadn’t been for that bulky little book, the slug definitely would’ve taken some other direction. No one could know which way. But it easily could’ve killed our guy. So at the time of the shooting through the time of the operation, it could’ve been a homicide.” Zoo looked somber.
“I know Sergeant Marcantonio. Met his wife and kids. A good cop. Besides, I started the investigation … see?” He addressed his brother. “There were lots of reasons I followed this thing through to the end.”
The priest nodded. “Ordinarily I’m against capital punishment. But if there had to be one crime that carried that penalty, I’d vote for the Good Samaritan offense. In addition to being cowardly and terrorizing and deadly, it definitely discourages well-meaning people from coming to the aid of someone who really does need help. So I’m doubly glad you caught them.”
Anne Marie caught the waitress’s eye and asked for a doggie bag for the remainder of her salad, which was substantial.
“I’m sorry I have to leave,” she said. “If I don’t get back to school, my kids-good as they are-will be plotting the destruction of our building.”
Zoo looked up, suppressing a smile. “I suppose you’re going to stick me with the check.”
Straightfaced, she replied, “As a taxpayer, I pay your salary. It’s the least you can do.” She scooped up the doggie bag and left.
“You two have a lot of fun, don’t you?” said Father Tully.
“You noticed.”
“It’s obvious. This is better than anything that went before?”
Zoo looked sharply at his brother. “You want to know about my personal life before Anne Marie?”
The priest shook his head. “Anne Marie brought me up to speed when we first met. When she picked me up and drove me to your home. She thought it would be easier on everyone.”
Zoo was finishing his lunch, as was the priest. Both, for far different reasons, were fast eaters.
“She’s right,” Zoo said. “As usual, she’s right. She undoubtedly told you: it’s the job. My being a cop was what challenged the other two relationships. With my first wife, I didn’t know there was going to be this competition. But it grew. Both of us fought it. We fought it until there wasn’t any strength left. So we called it quits.
“I was alone for a long time after that. Then a real neat lady entered my life. This time, I knew about the job and how it would complicate my life with somebody-anybody-else. I was straight with Alice. We thought we could lick it as long as we were aware of the problem. Turned out we couldn’t.
“Then Anne Marie came along. We were together a long time before we thought seriously about marriage. We talked and planned. Honest, I was the one who fought getting married. Early on, Anne Marie was convinced we could do it. And so far” — he rapped the table-” so good.”
The waitress, taking Zoo’s gesture as a summons, popped up at their side. “More coffee?” Zoo shook his head and presented a credit card.
“Oddly,” Father Tully said, returning to the subject at hand, “I think I’m best able to understand what you’re saying.”
Zoo looked surprised. “You’re not married!”
The priest chuckled. “No. And my experience with women is more like that of a spectator. But it’s coming.”
“What’s coming?”
“A Roman Catholic clergy that freely chooses to be married or celibate. It’s just around the corner. There’s hardly anybody in the seminary studying to be a priest. The time is fast approaching when there won’t be enough priests left to serve the Catholic population. Catholicism is a sacramental religion. And to make sacraments you gotta have priests. When the supply of priests dwindles down to a precious few, the Pope and the bishops will undoubtedly be forced to accept what just about everybody seems to think is the ultimate solution to the priest shortage: a married priesthood.
“Personally, I don’t think this is the answer. I think the Church has to open up interiorly, fearlessly-like it did back in the days of Pope John XXIII.
“But the first step will be an optional married clergy. And that’s when we meet problems like yours: which comes first, my priesthood or my marriage?”
The waitress returned. Zoo added a tip and signed the chit. As he tucked his wallet in his pocket, Zoo, one eyebrow arched, said, “Would you get married … I mean if the Church let you?”
“I don’t really know. I may never get the chance to know. When I say the move to optional celibacy is just around the corner, I mean the Church’s distance to the corner. The Church thinks in hundreds of years. And, while I doubt this change will wait for a hundred years, I also doubt it’ll take place tomorrow.
“As for there being problems for priests and their wives, I don’t mean it would be an epidemic. I’m sure that cops who experience marital problems are in the minority. Not everybody, by any means, is as dedicated to police work as you are. And not all priests would experience similar problems. But I think the average for priests would be higher-at least in the beginning.
“I could be wrong, but I think that among priests the sense of total dedication and availability is more common than among police.”
“Interesting,” Zoo said, whether or not he agreed.
The two rose and headed for the exit.
“Say,” Zoo said, “when Anne Marie was giving you a little history on me, did she mention anything about our wedding?”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, I was married before. But at no time during the process of getting married did that come up. We did have a few meetings with her priest. I kind of anticipated we’d have to get into that. From some of the things I picked up working with Father Koesler, I know your Church requires more than a civil divorce before another marriage. It’s called an annulment, no?”
Father Tully nodded. He desperately wanted to change the subject. Nothing came to mind.
“It was like waiting for the second shoe to fall. The subject just never came up. I didn’t push it. I was happy it was apparently going so smoothly. I was sure if the priest insisted on getting this annulment there would be lots of paperwork and long delays.” Father Tully made no comment.
“Well, that was her priest.” Zoo smiled indulgently on his brother. “Now I’ve got my priest. So, how about it: Do you have any idea what went on?”
Zoo’s beeper sounded.
“’Scuse me, I’ve got to get this.” Zoo headed for a phone.
Father Tully breathed a sigh of relief. He knew perfectly well what had been done and not done in the marriage of his brother and sister-in-law. He had, on occasion, done something similar for couples. Resulting in a valid and real marriage in civil law as well as sincere consciences. But being invalid and carrying no weight in Church law.