Free Pagan Babies by Elmore Leonard Page B

load, and returned the truck. Later on I called the house. Regina tells me Johnny and Dickie are in the Wayne County jail and people from Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms are going through the house as we speak. See, at that time no one knew if it would be taken state or federal. So the next day I collected from Mrs. Moraco--"
    Debbie stopped him. "Did you tell her?"
    "I told her she better close the office for a while, and left town."
    "You had a passport?"
    "I told you, I'd already made plans to leave, go to Africa. But that doesn't mean I planned to skip."
    She shrugged, maybe not caring one way or the other. "So the Pajonnys were brought in and they gave it up."
    "They gave me up. The prosecutor worked on them a few days and offered a plea deal. They said I hired them; I was the one always delivered the load and collected the money. They knew better than to give 'em Mrs. Moraco. But then once I was involved Fran got on it and talked to the prosecutor. Fran said there must be some mistake, as I was an ordained Catholic priest at a mission in Rwanda. By now a few weeks had passed. I'm over there and the genocide's going on, hundreds of thousands of people being killed and I'm in the middle of it. Did the state really want to indict me? Fran says I'm in the clear, but still have to talk to an assistant prosecutor, Gerald Padilla, downtown at the Frank Murphy, what they call Recorders Court; it's all criminal. I have to get a black suit and a collar and shine my shoes."
    "Why don't you have a suit?"
    "When I left, I gave it to a man less fortunate than myself. There's always a need for clothing over there."
    She said, "Terry?"
    "What?"
    "Bullshit."
    He watched the glow of her cigarette as she drew on it and blew the smoke out in a slow stream, directly into his face. Terry closed his eyes. He didn't wave his hand at the smoke, he closed his eyes and opened them again, knowing what was coming.
    She said, "You're not a priest, are you?"
    He heard himself say, "No, I'm not," sitting there in the dark.
    "Were you ever a priest?"
    "No."
    "Or in a seminary in California or anywhere else?"
    He felt the interrogation winding down.
    "No."
    She said, "Don't you feel better now?"
    They were on their way again following taillights, Terry with a sense of relief, because he'd wanted to tell her even while they were in the restaurant talking and knew he would sooner or later. But not with Fran around. Fran needed to believe he was a priest. Debbie didn't want to believe it--he could tell--so he was himself with her most of the time, even talking about Confession when Fran was away from the table. That part was easy because it was true, and he almost told her then, tired of acting a part. After that he was open, giving her a chance to have a funny feeling about him, suspicious, and if she had the nerve she'd ask the question. And she did.
    In the dark he offered a little more.
    "You're the only person who knows."
    "You haven't told Fran?"
    "Not while he's talking to the prosecutor."
    "No one during all that time in Africa?"
    "No one."
    "Not even your one-armed housekeeper?"
    Look at that--she'd picked up on Chantelle.
    "Not even her."
    "She lived with you?"
    "Almost the whole time I was there."
    "Is she pretty?"
    "Miss Rwanda, if they ever have a pageant."
    "Did you sleep with her?"
    Debbie asked it looking straight ahead.
    "If you're wondering about AIDS it was never a threat."
    "Why would I worry about AIDS?"
    "I said 'If you were wondering.' "
    Debbie dropped her cigarette out the window.
    "She believed you were a priest?"
    "It didn't matter to her."
    "Why've you told me and no one else?"
    "I wanted to."
    "Yeah, but why me?"
    "Because we think alike," Terry said.
    She glanced at him saying, "I felt that right away."
    "And when I explain how it happened," Terry said, "you'll think it's funny and see it as a skit."
    They came to an intersection, the light green, and Debbie turned right onto Big Beaver. Now they were passing low rolling hills on