The Assassini by Thomas Gifford Read Free Book Online

the firm that we have sufficient lead time when this sort of decision is being made. Or seriously contemplated.”
    I rolled about ten dollars worth of port on my tongue. I puffed a bit on the cigar while he waited with vast serenity. “I thought the College of Cardinals still elected the pope. Did they change the rules and not send me the letter?”
    “They haven’t changed anything. They pick the popes exactly as they always have. You know, Ben, you’ve got to keep a firm rein on your anticlericalism. Just a word of advice.”
    “It’s served me pretty well so far.”
    “Things change. Almost everything changes. But not, as it happens, the Church, not at its heart. You mustn’tthink I would ever ask you to compromise your principles.”
    “Thank God for that, Drew.”
    The irony was lost on him for the moment. “But the firm works closely with the Church,” he said. “There are things you should familiarize yourself with … things that are somewhat out of the ordinary run. Why not start with our friend Lockhardt?”
    “Because the Church is my enemy. I can’t make it any clearer than that.”
    “You’re losing your sense of humor, Ben. Your sense of proportion. I’m not suggesting that you aid the Church in any way. I merely want you to listen, to become more informed about our dealings. Forget your personal problems with the Church. Remember, business—”
    “Is business.”
    “That’s it in a nutshell, Ben.”
    It certainly was turning out to be my day for the Catholics.
    When I got back to the office Father Vinnie Halloran was waiting for me. I felt a groan welling up inside me. He was a Jesuit, about my age, and I’d known him a long time. The Society had put him in charge of handling the last will and testament of the late Lydia Harbaugh of Oyster Bay, Palm Beach, and Bar Harbor. It was a marginally nutty document that left the bulk of her vast estate to the Society of Jesus. There was a good deal of Jesuitical concern about its ability to withstand the challenge from three understandably truculent, shortchanged heirs presumptive.
    “Look, Ben, the dowager empress of Oyster Bay gave two sons to the Jesuits. Is it any wonder that she wanted the Society to benefit in a large way? As her will clearly indicates, let me hasten to add. Hell, it isn’t as if the other three offspring—have you seen them, Ben? God at His cruelest—they aren’t getting shut out. Coupla million apiece for them. Greedy little bastards.” I hadn’t seen Vinnie in his clerical collar more than five times in my life. Today he wore a Harris tweed jacket, a stripedshirt, a bow tie. He looked at me in hopes of encouragement.
    “They’re going to offer a lot of evidence that she was a batty old dipsomaniac for the last twenty years of her life. Very persuasive case, in my view. And under the influence she made a patently absurd will. Jesuits camped at her bedside. And so on.”
    “Is that any way for
our
mouthpiece to talk?” Vinnie came from money so, contrary to popular belief, money meant a great deal to him. Halloran money from Pittsburgh was nothing like Driskill money from Princeton and New York, but it was enough to get you into certain habits.
    “Is this really what the Church had in mind for you, Vincent? Hovering over the doubtful wills of rich old ladies?”
    “Don’t get moralistic on me, Ben,” he said blandly. “It’s a doggie-dog world out there.”
    “Dog eat dog,” I corrected him. We’d been doing that bit for years.
    “The Church is no different from any other big organization. You know that. The Church, and the Society, we have to look out for ourselves because sure as hell nobody else will. I do my part by rounding up odd bits of loose change here and there. The Church has got to own itself—”
    “Vinnie, Vinnie, this is me, Ben. The Church hasn’t owned itself since the days of Constantine. It’s always out whoring for someone. The pimps change but the Church is always back on the