Parishioner by Walter Mosley Read Free Book Online Page A

fell, landing on his shoulder, then rolling up into the air. Before he came down again, the burden of consciousness had lifted with something akin to sleep taking its place.

    He woke up choking from a noxious gas that filled his sinuses.
    The burning odor shot up his nose like a venomous snake writhing in and biting the inside of his head.
    “What the fuck?” He rose up on a hospital bed flanked by two men and a woman.
    She was a nurse, probably Korean, young, her hard black eyes disapproving. The Hispanic police captain in full uniform loomed from behind her, searching Xavier’s eyes for awareness and subterfuge. Next to the cop stood a short white man with very long fingers, dressed in a too blue suit.
    Shaking his head in an attempt to dislodge the nasal viper, Xavier still had the wherewithal to wonder where his clothes were. He shopped for suits sometimes for months before he found just the right one. He was hoping that the accident hadn’t ripped the cloth too badly.
    “I want to say again, Dr. Mendel, that this is not proper procedure,” the Korean nurse saidin perfect California English.
    “This is a special circumstance,” the policeman murmured. Ecks knew that this man rarely raised his voice.
    Across the room a thin man with a manicured mustache and a thick mat of brown hair was sitting up in his hospital bed to watch the altercation.
    A television set was on, tuned to a nostalgia channel playing a repeat episode of
I Dream of Jeannie
.
    Xavier grunted. His head felt like a balloon filled with opposing gases.
    “It’s quite all right, Nurse Kwan,” the white man in the blue suit said. “There’s no permanent damage and the police need information.”
    “The use of smelling salts went out with leeches, Doctor,” the nurse insisted.
    “If you believe that we’ve acted inappropriately, make a report,” the policeman said as he put a hand on her shoulder, pushing her gently from the vicinity of the bed.
    “What are you doing?” Nurse Kwan protested.
    “This is a witness to a crime,” the captain said patiently. “We have to ask him a few questions.”
    “I have to check his blood pressure and vitals before—”
    “This is an urgent matter, Nurse. I will not hesitate to restrain and even arrest you.”
    These words cut through the professionalism of the young woman’s mind-set. She understood being restrained and arrested and knew that the protection of her white uniform did not extend nearly that far.
    As she exited the room, little Dr. Mendel began pulling the yellowy nylon curtains around the hospital bed. Once they were blocked from view of the three other patients in the room, both men pulled up chairs to Xavier’s bedside.
    For his part the newspaper delivery man had made it to a sitting position.
    “What were you doing out there, Ecks?” the captain asked softly.
    “How you doin’, Guilly?” Xavier replied. “Lance.”
    Guillermo Soto and Lawrence Mendel were parishioners like Xavier. The policeman had smuggled Mexican and Guatemalan laborers across any border they paid for, and Mendel performed illegal medical procedures on political prisoners around the world.
    Both men had left scores of dead bodies in their wake, but they had been grantedsanctuary under the protection of Father Frank. The one rule of their church was to refrain from passing judgment on one another. So Xavier didn’t judge the men—but he didn’t like them either.
    “Pewtersworth called,” Mendel said. “When the police got to you after that car ran you down they found the church card and called in. Clyde P. contacted us and we came. What’s going on?”
    Xavier focused on Soto, the lesser evil, in his eyes.
    “There’s a house on the corner of Kasidis and Lancaster. Anything from that?”
    “A witness said he might have seen you running from there. When the police rang the bell nobody answered. It didn’t look like a break-in, so they left it alone.”
    “Nobody came to the door?”
    “No. Did