Read Online 5 - Choker: Ike Schwartz Mystery 5 by Frederick Ramsay - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Frederick Ramsay
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The previous fall Blake had volunteered to help with the football program as an informal quarterback’s coach—if time allowed. He watched the boys jog around the track on their way to the locker room and walked with Lanny toward the school’s main building.
“What’s up, Lanny?”
“I talked to Principal DiComo about the business with the cross last Sunday, and he said he needed to talk to you. I guess it’s about that. I don’t know. He didn’t sound too happy.”
Roger DiComo had an office next to the main entrance. His predecessor had his at the rear of the building but DiComo, who prided himself on his ability to communicate with students, “the guys” he called them, said he needed to be “near the action.” One week after the move his secretary promptly retired and the new one seemed perpetually frazzled. The outer office door’s base was chipped and badly scuffed, evidence of multiple kicks and abuse. Blake and Lanny were ushered in to the inner office. DiComo waved them into chairs without taking his eyes off a sheaf of papers in his hand.
The room reeked with musk aftershave. Blake rarely used the stuff himself but had several bottles of cologne on his dresser, annual Christmas presents from his nieces. He didn’t consider himself an expert, but he guessed DiComo wore the good stuff. The walls had pictures of football teams and a slightly deflated football sat tiredly on his desk.
“So, Reverend, you think I’ve got ourselves a coven of witches or something in my school?”
DiComo peered at Blake over a pair of half-lens reading glasses. He had one of those voices that was grating and condescending at the same time. He still held the papers he’d been reading in his hand as if they were, on whole, more important than his visitors. Blake fought the temptation to return rudeness with rudeness.
“I don’t know what you may or may not have, Mr. DiComo. What I do know is that one of your students turned up wearing a satanic cross in my church last Sunday, and I told him he had to leave. He could come back, but he had to ditch the cross first.”
DiComo closed his eyes and shook his head. “And on that basis you believe the school may have a problem?”
“I have no idea. Do you? Have a problem, I mean?”
DiComo laid the papers on his desk. He took several seconds to align them carefully, their edges precisely even. He did the same with three pencils, so that his desk appeared neat and perfectly symmetrical—feng shui for the obsessive compulsive. He shook his head again and smiled like an adult indulging a small child.
Blake felt his blood pressure start to tick up. “You asked to see me, I believe. If a coven is not your problem, may I ask what is?”
DiComo’s expression shifted from annoyed to supercilious.
“Your treatment of Chad Franklin Sunday implies he is into this satanic thing. Now let me set you straight on that.” He paused and corrected a flaw in his paper pile. Blake bit the inside of his cheek. “We believe in, no…correction…we, that is the school board and I, are governed by Supreme Court rulings on the separation of church and state. That’s in the Constitution, you know. And I can’t have you harassing my students about their rights to the free practice of religion.”
“First of all, Mr. DiComo, let me say that I, too, affirm the separation of church and state and, therefore, will not let the Supreme Court, or the local school board, or you tell me what I can and cannot do in my church. Secondly, if you read your Constitution with care, as I am sure you will, you will discover that the phrase ‘separation of church and state’ is not in it. The phrase ‘separation of church and state’ is traceable to a letter written by Thomas Jefferson in 1802 to the Danbury Baptists , and refers to a ‘wall of separation.’ The constitution, on the other hand, reads, ‘Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free
“What’s up, Lanny?”
“I talked to Principal DiComo about the business with the cross last Sunday, and he said he needed to talk to you. I guess it’s about that. I don’t know. He didn’t sound too happy.”
Roger DiComo had an office next to the main entrance. His predecessor had his at the rear of the building but DiComo, who prided himself on his ability to communicate with students, “the guys” he called them, said he needed to be “near the action.” One week after the move his secretary promptly retired and the new one seemed perpetually frazzled. The outer office door’s base was chipped and badly scuffed, evidence of multiple kicks and abuse. Blake and Lanny were ushered in to the inner office. DiComo waved them into chairs without taking his eyes off a sheaf of papers in his hand.
The room reeked with musk aftershave. Blake rarely used the stuff himself but had several bottles of cologne on his dresser, annual Christmas presents from his nieces. He didn’t consider himself an expert, but he guessed DiComo wore the good stuff. The walls had pictures of football teams and a slightly deflated football sat tiredly on his desk.
“So, Reverend, you think I’ve got ourselves a coven of witches or something in my school?”
DiComo peered at Blake over a pair of half-lens reading glasses. He had one of those voices that was grating and condescending at the same time. He still held the papers he’d been reading in his hand as if they were, on whole, more important than his visitors. Blake fought the temptation to return rudeness with rudeness.
“I don’t know what you may or may not have, Mr. DiComo. What I do know is that one of your students turned up wearing a satanic cross in my church last Sunday, and I told him he had to leave. He could come back, but he had to ditch the cross first.”
DiComo closed his eyes and shook his head. “And on that basis you believe the school may have a problem?”
“I have no idea. Do you? Have a problem, I mean?”
DiComo laid the papers on his desk. He took several seconds to align them carefully, their edges precisely even. He did the same with three pencils, so that his desk appeared neat and perfectly symmetrical—feng shui for the obsessive compulsive. He shook his head again and smiled like an adult indulging a small child.
Blake felt his blood pressure start to tick up. “You asked to see me, I believe. If a coven is not your problem, may I ask what is?”
DiComo’s expression shifted from annoyed to supercilious.
“Your treatment of Chad Franklin Sunday implies he is into this satanic thing. Now let me set you straight on that.” He paused and corrected a flaw in his paper pile. Blake bit the inside of his cheek. “We believe in, no…correction…we, that is the school board and I, are governed by Supreme Court rulings on the separation of church and state. That’s in the Constitution, you know. And I can’t have you harassing my students about their rights to the free practice of religion.”
“First of all, Mr. DiComo, let me say that I, too, affirm the separation of church and state and, therefore, will not let the Supreme Court, or the local school board, or you tell me what I can and cannot do in my church. Secondly, if you read your Constitution with care, as I am sure you will, you will discover that the phrase ‘separation of church and state’ is not in it. The phrase ‘separation of church and state’ is traceable to a letter written by Thomas Jefferson in 1802 to the Danbury Baptists , and refers to a ‘wall of separation.’ The constitution, on the other hand, reads, ‘Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free
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