Read Online Chameleon by William X. Kienzle - Free Book Online Page B

for a while to make certain there were no unforeseen complications. He now sat on the gurney, feet dangling over the side, as his companions offered moral support.
    Carson moved gingerly, stretching his legs to touch the floor.
    “Maybe you shouldn’t be getting off the bed so soon, Arnie,” Morgan said.
    “Yeah, there’s no hurry; why don’t you wait a while?” Luca agreed.
    Carson slid back onto the gurney. “Maybe I will wait just a couple more minutes or so. You know, if I get a concussion or something like that, I will sue. Did you get the badge number of that cop that hit me with his nightstick?”
    “Geez, no, Arnie,” Morgan said. “I couldn’t get close to him. The other cops were holding me down.”
    Actually, Morgan and Luca had obeyed promptly each and every police order and thus had been nowhere near Carson, who had conducted a doomed offensive against a superior force.
    “It’s okay,” Carson said. “I remember the creep. I could identify him if I have to. And if I end up with any kind of serious injury, you can bet I will.”
    “You were great, Arnie,” Luca said.
    “We did okay. The big thing is you can’t let these people get away with stuff like this.”
    “Yeah,” Luca agreed. “They say—and of course it wasn’t in the obituary—that this hooker hadn’t been to church in ages. No way she should get a Church burial. She’s just an unrepentant whore who is roasting in hell now. But her sister’s a nun. And a big shot in the diocese. So all the rules be damned; the whore gets a Church burial.”
    “By a bishop, on top of everything else,” Morgan added.
    Carson started to shake his head. Then he thought better of further scrambling his facial wounds, and gently massaged his temples instead. “Yeah, a bishop!” He almost spat the word. “A retired old geezer who should be dead already. Instead, he finds a comfortable home in Detroit.”
    “It’s Cardinal Boyle’s fault,” Morgan said.
    “Uh-huh. The Red Cardinal,” Carson said. It was a pun popular with Detroit conservatives, particularly the Tridentines. The color peculiar to a Cardinal is the most brilliant red imaginable. But when traditionalists called Boyle, “the Red Cardinal,” they meant “red” as a synonym for Communist. That Boyle was nowhere near in the neighborhood of being a Communist would not deter Carson, who could think of no more entrenched enemy than the godless Communist.
    “He should go back to Russia,” Luca said.
    “Do you think it was Boyle who gave permission for the whore’s funeral?” Morgan asked.
    “Good question,” Carson observed. “I wouldn’t be surprised if it went right to the top with all that publicity. That’s a very good question. Dwight,” he turned to Morgan, “why don’t you draft a letter to the Holy Father and tell him that a known prostitute who hasn’t seen the inside of a church since she was a kid gets a Christian burial in Detroit with a bishop presiding.”
    “Oh, boy!” Morgan brightened. “That’s a great idea.”
    “We’ve done it before and nothing happened,” Luca groused. “I don’t think even the Holy Father is gonna get tough with a Cardinal.”
    “Don’t sell the Holy Father short—not this Holy Father,” Carson said. “If we keep him advised about what’s going on in Detroit, eventually he’ll act. I’m positive he will.”
    “What’s he gonna do,” Luca asked, “excommunicate a Cardinal?”
    “Maybe not,” Carson admitted, “but how about if he kicks him upstairs?”
    “Huh?”
    “Calls him to Rome,” Carson explained, “Puts him in charge of something not so important—ceremonies or something. Especially after that goddam council, there’s gotta be a lot of Curia offices that don’t do much anymore. It would serve Boyle right. After all, he had a lot to do with the council. Let him stew in his own juice.”
    “I still don’t think it’ll work,” Luca repeated.
    Carson stretched out a hand and let it drop on