Free God's Favorite by Lawrence Wright Page B

Tony,” he said. “You’ve covered every base. Even the Americans have washed their hands of me.” He laughed in disbelief—an empty, despairing laugh. “But you still have the problem of Hugo. Getting rid of me won’t change anything. People are demanding justice. They won’t let you get away with this.”
    â€œI think you would really rather resign than be impeached,” said Tony. “I tell you this as your friend. Think of your family. Think of your future. Why don’t you sign the letter Roberto has prepared? Then perhaps we can all go to Naomi’s and spend some time with the girls.”
    F ATHER J ORGE sat in the antechamber of the massage parlor, feeling like a spy. He rarely wore a Roman collar, except in the confessional and during Sunday services, and because he was dressed very simply, with no outward indication of his vocation, he supposed the women responded to him as they did toward any other potential customer. He had expected either boredom or else highly exaggerated interest. Although they looked at him, of course, simultaneously sizing him up and selling themselves with their eyes, they were mostly polite and familiar, accepting him as if he were a classmate or a cousin, which left him with the disconcerting sense of being entirely at home in their company. Once they determined that he did not want to make a selection right away, they went back to watching cartoons on the cable. Father Jorge and the whores watched and laughed companionably. He tried not to think about the fact that he could pick one of the women, have sex with her, then return to the next Roadrunner cartoon without causing the least comment. No one would know but God.
    A businesslike older woman came out of a small room that Father Jorge guessed must be an office. She introduced herself as Naomi. Unlike the other women, who were dressed in nightgowns or tank tops, Naomi wore a dark suit. “Have you made a selection?” she asked. “Or are you waiting for someone in particular?”
    â€œActually, I am here on personal business. I’m a priest,” he added, feeling an odd sense of embarrassment. But the whores did not even look up from the cartoons.
    â€œWe service all kinds, Father,” Naomi said.
    â€œI’ve come to talk to one of your employees. Her name is Gloria Sánchez.”
    â€œIf this is Church business, you should meet somewhere else.”
    Father Jorge explained that he had only been given the addresson a form. “Believe me, it’s a very important matter or I wouldn’t be troubling her at work.”
    Naomi considered for a moment. “She’s with a client. You can wait for her. But please conduct your business in private.”
    Presently, a man buttoning up his bus driver’s uniform came out of the dark hallway that led to the other rooms. Behind him was a woman whose hair was fluffed into an airy bouffant, and her almond-shaped eyes were highlighted with purple mascara and gold glitter. Father Jorge would not have recognized her except for the lime green fingernails and crucifix ear studs.
    â€œThis gentleman has been waiting to see you,” said Naomi when the bus driver had departed.
    Gloria looked at Father Jorge and smiled in recognition. The priest silently wished that someone would be shocked by his presence.
    â€œIt’s about Teo,” he said in a low voice.
    Her expression immediately changed. She led him down the hallway to a small room lit with a black light. There was a water bed and a massage table and a cabinet full of oils.
    â€œHe left the dormitory last night,” Father Jorge said in answer to the urgent questions in her eyes. “Frankly, we’ve been having some trouble with him. He was suspected of taking money from the collection. It happens all the time,” he hastened to assure her. “Boys in the mission don’t have an income. We try to get them odd jobs, but