Father Tully’s scenario was considerably more complicated. In his scheme, one of the bank’s executive vice presidents, for self-protection, wanted Al Ulrich dead. He did not or could hot do the deed himself. So he hired someone to do it and to make it look as if the motive had been robbery, when what actually was intended was murder.
Whichever theory might be valid, the answer lay with the young man in that house. Soon, if this confrontation ended peacefully and successfully, everyone would know that answer.
Father Tully scrutinized the crowd. Some seemed highly agitated, as if wondering, How could something this violent be happening in my neighborhood? Some were quite unconcerned, as if they were watching an unexciting television program. Some seemed to be celebrating the action. They were laughing and joking. Father Tully could picture them betting on the outcome.
He jumped, startled when the driver’s side door opened and someone slid into the car. He relaxed when he saw it was a uniformed Detroit policeman.
The priest offered his hand. The officer, eyes on the outside action, didn’t notice the gesture. The priest cleared his throat.
“Oh … hi, Father. I’m Patrolman Teasly, Bob Teasly. Inspector Koznicki sent me.
“I wasn’t going to leave the car,” the priest said defensively.
“Nothin’ said about leaving the car, Father. I’m just s’posed to make sure nothing happens to you. That was the inspector’s idea. He thought maybe I could tell you exactly what’s goin’ on.”
“Okay … uh, Bob?”
“Yeah, Bob is okay.”
“So, what’s going on?”
“You really Zoo’s brother?”
“Yes.”
“You sure don’t look it. And nobody can get over Zoo havin’ a priest for a brother.”
“Put your last buck on it.”
“My, my. Wow.”
“So, what’s going on?”
“Well, Father, it all started this mornin’ when that bank was broken into and the manager killed. Some of the narc guys called in some markers and got a name. They put out an all-points. The kid’s name is Lamar Burt. “Then a 911 came in: wife abuse. Turns out the lady’s a live-in, they ain’t married, but her man is Lamar Burt. Our precinct crew responded before we matched the two, but the dispatcher reached our guys before they got here, and told ’em the murder suspect, and the abuser were the same guy. Lucky he got ’em in time or we coulda had a couple of officers down.
“The first crew kept the place under surveillance while they called for backup-plenty of backup ’cause once Lamar got the idea of what was goin’ down outside, he opened up-uh, started shooting.”
“Anyone hurt?”
“Luckily, no-not yet, anyway. What’s goin’ on right now is bargaining. We got a phone connection and our negotiator is trying to talk sense into the suspect. There’s no out for him: we got him one way or the other. We’re just tryin’ to find some things to concede that’ll get him to come out peaceably.
“Right now, I think we’re tryin’ to get him to let his lady go. He’s holding her hostage.”
“What’s that … over there?” The priest indicated a mobile trailer parked on the lawn not far from them.
“That? Oh, that’s SRT.”
“What’s that?”
The patrolman smiled. “Special Response Team-that’s the department’s version of SWAT. Anytime we get a barricaded gunman, this team is called in.”
They watched in silence. After a few minutes, the patrolman started whistling softly. “Pretty impressive, eh, Father?”
“Yeah. Looks like they’re wearing enough body armor to go to the lists.”
“The what?”
“The lists. You know, in the olden days, the knights would put on their armor, be lifted onto their horses-which also had armor-and accelerate headlong toward each other with huge lances. The object was to unseat the other horseman. It was a tilting tournament-you know: jousting.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen it in the movies. Like in Camelot?”
“Right. And Sir Lancelot not only unseated one of his opponents, he killed him and then brought him back to life.”
The patrolman shook his head. “I sure hope it doesn’t come to that now.”
“What?”
“If the shooting starts again, somebody’s gonna be dead … but’ I don’t think anybody’s gonna bring ’em back.”
“You think this is going to end violently?”
“I sure hope not. As long as they’re talkin’ most likely nobody’ll start shooting.”
Even as they spoke, the police negotiator shrugged, shook his head, and put down the phone. The priest and the patrolman looked at each other. “What now?” Father Tully asked.
“We’ll have to wait. I’ve seen ’em come out like babies, cryin’ and rollin’ around on the ground. And I’ve seen ’em come out like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.”
Fourteen
The quiet before the storm.
No one could predict a storm, but it surely was quiet. Everyone-police and spectators-stood or crouched motionless. Everyone either knew or sensed that communications had broken down. And everyone knew that the breakdown was not on the part of the police.
The next move had to come from within the house. There wasn’t a sound.
Suddenly, the front door slammed open. The frail body of a young woman was flung out the door. She tumbled down the stairs and lay motionless on the ground. She could have been dead, or she could have been paralyzed with fear.
Silence again.
A young man leaped through the doorway. He had a wild look about him-and a gun in each hand. He squeezed about two rounds from each gun before an SRT volley cut him down.
Father Tulley saw none of this. Just as Lamar Burt appeared at the door, Patrolman Teasly pushed the priest down and covered Tully’s body with his own.
It was over in seconds. Teasly helped the priest up. “Well, it was Butch and Sundance.”
“Wow!” Father Tully studied the scene. All was pretty much as it had been before the shooting. Except that officers began to move. Members of the SRT came forward cautiously. It was unlikely that the suspect-or anyone-could have survived their enormous firepower. But they took no chances.
When they reached the body, an officer knelt and felt for a heartbeat. He looked to the officers on either side and shook his head.
It was over.
Officers swarmed into the house. Others tended to the young woman.
“It’s okay to go out now,” Teasly said to the priest. “But stay back by the car here. The techs have a lot of work ahead.”
“Thanks.” The priest brushed off his black suit, and exited the car.
Everyone had been frozen in place by the gunfire. Now that the climax was behind them, life began again-for everyone but Lamar Burt.
The police began what for them was routine work. Members of the media were casting like fly fishermen for comments and the inside story. Some bystanders were clearly distressed. One elderly man was vomiting. Some, bored after the excitement was over, wandered back to their homes. Others appreciated the show almost to the point of applauding. A few paid off or collected on quickly transacted bets.
Lieutenant Tully turned and, for the first time, spotted his brother. Approaching, he said, “What are you doing here?” Then he saw Koznicki. “Don’t tell me, you’re here with him,” he said to his. brother.
Koznicki, Tully, and Rughurst met at the car. Father Tully, because he was already there, made a fourth.
“You okay?” Zoo asked his brother.
“Fine. I just gave that poor man conditional absolution.”
“You what?” Zoo was more amused than surprised.
Even Inspector Koznicki found some humor in the priest’s remark. “I fear there were multiple conditions in your forgiveness, Father.”