Free Bad Luck by Anthony Bruno Page B

million dollars.”
    She looked for a reaction, a sign of consent, but he was staring straight ahead at the altar, rumbling through his Hail Mary. She glanced back at Mr. Saperstein standing inthe doorway, then looked to the cross over the altar. Holy Mary, Mother of God, give me the strength to go on!
    She pressed her aching stomach against the pew in front of her and continued, just as she and Sal had rehearsed it. “Sal says there are many benefits to be gained from this venture. First of all, you will be in very good financial shape for any future projects you want to undertake. Also, if you let Sal do this, Mr. Nashe promises to pay the balance of the money he owes on the land in six-month installments over the next five years. In exchange for his contribution to this venture, all Mr. Nashe wants is that half of his debt be considered satisfied once the challenger is officially declared the winner.”
    She swallowed and waited for a reaction. Sal said he wasn’t going to like this part. Mistretta just kept praying. “So in effect,” she went on, “it would cost us a little less than fifteen million to make up to ten times as much.”
    Her scalp suddenly felt hot under her veil. She felt as if she were burning. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted another statue, St. Michael, the archangel, on a side altar, sword held aloft, feathered wings on his back, the flames of hell licking his sandaled feet as he stood on a serpent’s head. Mr. Mistretta was still grumbling his Hail Marys, not even looking at her, acting as if he hadn’t heard any of this. Blessed Mother, please!
    She drew a shallow breath. Sal had warned her not to mention the new facility for the center. He said it definitel, would not help their cause. Sal said Mr. Mistretta had this thing about his men having their money spent before they’d made it. It was the kind of thing that made him very angry.
    But Mr. Mistretta was a very religious man, she reasoned. Look how fervently he prays. Sal’s wrong about this. This will convince him. Once he understands that there are so many pregnant teenage girls with no place to turn that she actually has to turn some away because she just doesn’t have the room, he’ll agree that Mr. Nashe’s proposal is a worthwhile endeavor. If for no other reason thanto have a new, modern, spacious building for the Mary Magdalen Center. He couldn’t refuse that. Not a good Catholic like Mr. Mistretta.
    â€œAnd one more thing,” she started again. “Sal has promised to use his own profits to make that big donation to the archdiocese we’ve always talked about so that we can finally break ground on a new facility for the home for unwed mothers. The one that I administer? In Jersey City?” Her heart was glowing with hope. She was certain she had done the right thing. This would convince him.
    He finished his Hail Mary before he responded. He glanced up at her, looked her in the eye. “Tell your brother I said no.”
    She blinked behind her thick glasses, kept blinking, couldn’t stop. What?
    â€œNo new business until I’m released. You tell him that.”
    â€œBut Sal says this is a sure thing—”
    â€œThere’s no such thing as a sure thing. And you never bet the rent on a prizefight. Your brother oughta know better.”
    â€œBut—”
    â€œI said no and that’s it. You tell him.” He started an Our Father then.
    Sister Cil swallowed back the tears and forced herself to join him in the Our Father. She stared hard at the Christless cross over the altar, bitterly wondering why her poor girls always had to get short shrift, why Mr. Mistretta couldn’t listen to sound business advice and do the right thing. All that money, millions of dollars, and he won’t let Sal make it. It’s a shame. It isn’t fair to the girls. It’s terrible. Shameful. Unfair!
    She looked over her glasses at Mr.