Free Barrington Street Blues by Anne Emery Page B

arrive until the day of her wedding, and was not read until afterwards, at the reception, with the other congratulatory messages. The telegram said: ‘Dear Evelyn Stop Marry me Stop Yours Marshall.’ And she did. She flew over to England to tie the knot. But not before a big fuss with the church, annulment proceedings, whatever. Her family was scandalized. Dad’s family all had Cheshire Cat grins on their faces over the whole affair.”
    â€œWhat a sweet guy, your father. You wouldn’t hear boo from him, then he’d come out with a sly little remark that would crack you up.”
    Brennan turned to Ed. “I take it from our previous conversationsthat your own father was something of a —”
    â€œApart from the odd sneering comment, we don’t hear anything about your dad at all, Johnson,” I interrupted. “Nobody’s ever met him. Bit of a shadowy figure, it seems.”
    â€œAnd the more fleeting the shadow, the happier we were. The best times at our house were when he was off on a binge somewhere. Let’s just say the old man had some bad habits.”
    â€œHow bad?”
    â€œTrash. We were trash.”
    On that note, we all turned our attention to our beer and drank in silence for a few minutes.
    Then I brought up a new topic of conversation. “Ever hear of a cop named Tulk?” I didn’t want Ed to know why I was interested, but I wondered if I could track down one of the cops who had raided Dice Campbell’s party, see if he knew anything about the gun.
    â€œWarren Tulk,” Ed replied. “He’s nuts.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œThey drummed him out of the force after he got religion.”
    Brennan rolled his eyes heavenward and picked up his draft.
    â€œGot religion how?” I asked. “What was the problem?”
    â€œâ€˜Why aren’t Baptists allowed to fuck standing up? Because it might lead to dancing.’ That kind of religion. He joined some wacky sect that outlaws everything, and so everybody he saw when he was on the job was a sinner. Arrests went way up, but convictions went down. The Crowns wouldn’t prosecute half the stuff he brought in. Really petty drug offences — one joint — or liquor offences, or questionable solicitation charges. He busted a card game and it turned out the police chief’s brother was sitting there with a big pile of chips in front of him. They eased Tulk out. He became a preacher or a Bible salesman or something. I think he’s the one who runs that Christian bookstore a few blocks over. Why are there so many nut-bars among the religious, Brennan?”
    â€œI have no idea.” He smiled across the table. “I can’t speak for those who are not adherents of the one true faith.”
    â€œWell, at least old Tulk has the courage of his convictions,” Ed retorted.
    â€œAs so many nutbars do,” Brennan replied.
    â€œCome to think of it, you’re kinda slack, aren’t you, Brennan?”
    â€œWhat do you mean, slack?”
    â€œIsn’t it your job to spread the word?”
    â€œYes, that’s part of my job.”
    â€œWell then. You’ve got an unrepentant atheist singing the best parts of the repertoire in your church choir, and you don’t lift a finger to try to convert him.”
    â€œThey say a stiff prick has no conscience, Ed. Well, neither does the prick who runs the St. Bernadette’s men’s choir. You’ve got the best bass voice, you get the bass solos.”
    â€ 
    It was my first time inside the door of the His Word Bookshop on Blowers Street. The shelves bore titles like
Free Your Inner Evangelical!
and
Deviants in Power: Liberals on the Court
. But the man behind the counter on Saturday morning was not the sour-faced pilgrim I had been expecting. True, he had his blonde hair in a style bordering on the blow-dried confection of a TV evangelist. But he was casually dressed in tan