Free F Paul Wilson - Novel 10 by Midnight Mass (v2.1) Page B

here at the moment."
                 "When
will he be back?"
                 "I—I'm
not sure. You see—"
                 "Father
Cahill is on another bender," said a stentorian voice behind Zev.
                 He
turned to see an elderly priest facing him from the far end of the foyer.
White-haired, heavyset, also wearing a black cassock.
                 "I'm
Rabbi Wolpin."
                 "Father
Adams," the priest said, stepping forward and extending his hand.
                 As
they shook Zev said, "Did you say he was on 'another' bender? I never knew
Father Cahill to be much of a drinker."
                 The
priest's face turned stony. "Apparently there was a lot we never knew
about Father Cahill."
                 "If
you're referring to that nastiness last year," Zev said, feeling the old
anger rise in him, "I for one never believed it for a minute. I'm
surprised anyone gave it the slightest credence."
                 "The
veracity of the accusation was irrelevant in the final analysis. The damage to
Father Cahill's reputation was a fait accompli. The bishops' rules are clear.
Father Palmeri was forced to request his removal for the good of St. Anthony's
parish."
                 Zev
was sure that sort of attitude had something to do with Father Joe being on
"another bender."
                 "Where
can I find Father Cahill?"
                 "He's
in town somewhere, I suppose, making a spectacle of himself. If there's any way
you can talk some sense into him, please do. Not only is he killing himself
with drink but he's become a public embarrassment to the priesthood and to the
Church."
                 Zev
wondered which bothered Father Adams more. And as for embarrassing the
priesthood, he was tempted to point out that too many others had done a bang-up
job of that already. But he held his tongue.
                 I'll
try."
                 He
waited for Brother Christopher to undo all the locks, then stepped toward the
sunlight.
                 "Try
Morton's down on Seventy-one," the younger man whispered as Zev passed.
                  
                 *
* *
                  
                 Zev
rode his bicycle south on route 71. So strange to see people on the streets.
Not many, but more than he'd ever see in Lakewood again. Yet he knew that as the undead
consolidated their grip on the rest of the coast, they'd start arriving with
their living minions in the Catholic communities like Spring Lake , and then these streets would be as empty
as Lakewood 's.
                 He
thought he remembered passing a place named Morton's on his way in. And then up
ahead he saw it, by the railroad track crossing, a white stucco one-story box
of a building with "Morton's Liquors" painted in big black letters
along the side.
                 Father
Adams' words echoed back to him ...on another bender ...
                 Zev
pushed his bicycle to the front door and tried the knob. Locked up tight. A
look inside showed a litter of trash, broken bottles, and empty shelves. The
windows were barred; the back door was steel and locked as securely as the
front. So where was Father Joe?
                 Then,
by the overflowing trash Dumpster, he spotted the basement window at ground
level. It wasn't latched. Zev went down on his knees and pushed it open.
                 Cool,
damp, musty air wafted against his face as he peered into the Stygian darkness.
It occurred to him that he might be asking for trouble by sticking his head
inside, but he had to give it a try. If Father Cahill wasn't here, Zev would
begin the return trek to Lakewood and write off this whole trip as wasted effort.
                 "Father
Joe?" he called. "Father Cahill?"
                 "That
you again, Chris?" said a