Page 194 of Ruptured
Whatever room Easton stepped into after he jimmied the lock on the window and slipped into the rectory, had vague outlines of furniture. Sobs floated toward him, but he stood still, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He picked out a sofa, table, and lamp. He was in the living room.
The scent of lemon and lavender swirled in the air. Notthe normal smells Easton associated with a priest’s house, but whatever.
Taking his gun in hand, he crept to the other side of the room, drawn toward the light down the hall, the only place in the house not in total darkness.
The cries didn’t bode well. Tipping forward, Easton made his way to the room.
His back to the door and his shoulders shaking, the priest sat on the edge of his bed.
“Bad news, Marion?” Easton asked casually.
Father Wilkins froze and sucked in a breath.
Admiring the expensive furniture, Easton walked to the dresser, laid his gun on it, and leaned against it. He lit a cigarette. In that entire time, the priest didn’t move.
“I’m Pounder, by the way.” He wore his colors and was there on club business.Tweakedclub business. “One of Cee Cee’s grandsons.”
Smoking in silence, he watched as the priest’s chin wobbled, tears sliding down his jowls.
“I know nothing.”
“Try again. You know more than most around here.”
“Everyone who knows the truth is dead.”
Easton smiled, allowing smoke to pour out of his mouth and nostrils. “Not everyone.”
Father Wilkins sidled a sour glance toward Easton. “Obviously.”
“If you keep my secrets, I’ll keep yours.”
“A dead man can’t talk.”
“If I wanted to kill you, I would have when I came in here. I don’t make a habit of conversing with dead men walking.”
The priest faced forward again. “How do you know my real name?”
“My aunt.”
“Celia.”
He shouldn’t have been surprised the priest knew about her. “You’re thorough.”
“I’m loyal,” he said briskly. “Joe spoke of her—his niece—several times.”
“Joe Foy. The man with a thousand wills.”
Father Wilkins stiffened and he looked at Easton, narrowing his red-rimmed eyes. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Taking his cigarette between his two fingers, Easton pointed at the priest. “You’re a fucking liar.”
“If Idohave one of them, and that’s a big if, I’m not telling you the location.”
“Are you willing to die to keep that secret, Marion?”
He jumped to his feet, his black silk pajamas doing a credible job of hiding his girth. “My name isMichael.”
Smiling without humor, Easton met the priest’s angry wet gaze, threw his cigarette on the hardwood floor, and stomped it out. “I have a problem, Marion.”
