Read Online The Thieves of Faith by Richard Doetsch - Free Book Online Page B

specifications, replicating an image that had resided in his mind since he was sixteen. The room was long and narrow, the angled ceiling rose up twenty feet, mirroring the roofline, its thick, exposed beams dark and polished. The pool table, card table, and pinball machine were set off in the back section, while a thick couch and two Barcaloungers filled up the front, circling an enormous plasma TV screen. A small bar in the corner was stocked by the liquor and beer distributors as a courtesy for Busch’s continued business from his downstairs establishment. This was his sanctuary, frequented only by friends. Jeannie had allowed him his indulgence on the proviso that the bar and restaurant’s operations were not affected.
    Busch followed Michael into the room, ducking his head under the low doorway, slamming the door behind them. He poured them each a drink and finally let loose.
    “No sign of a body yet. Whoever it was got out alive. The car was rented in Boston,” Busch said. “Under an alias. Do you know anyone in Boston?”
    Michael said nothing as he thought of the Boston address that Mary had given him, that happened to be on the business card in his pocket.
    “I think Genevieve Zivera was driving that car.”
    “What?” Busch’s eyes scrunched up as he broke out in a laugh. “What, she flew down out of Heaven to drive around and get some R&R?”
    Michael said nothing as he stared back, making his silent point.
    “She’s dead, Michael,” Busch said seriously.
    “I know. I still think she was driving that car,” Michael said as he walked to the large circular window and stared down at the town of Byram Hills.
    “What’s going on, Michael?” Busch shot back. “You stand there and say a woman has risen from the grave, found a way to come back to life, and then fall silent? There’s a reason you’ve drawn this conclusion. I’m your friend, for Christ’s sake, tell me what’s going on.”
    “All right,” Michael said as he walked back and leaned against the bar.
    Busch picked up a pool cue and walked around, trying to contain his percolating anger.
    “Before Genevieve disappeared four months ago, before she died, she came to see me.”
    Busch stopped his pacing and turned to Michael, his eyes growing stern.
    “She asked me to do her a favor,” Michael continued.
    “Michael.” Busch was getting pissed. “Most people ask their friends for a ride home, or to loan them a couple dollars. People don’t ask those kind of favors of you. What the hell did you do?”
    As Busch listened to Michael’s tale of his winter exploits in Switzerland, he did everything in his power to stop from lashing out at his best friend. Busch would never lose his moral code, his creed that he lived by. The law was the law and it was made for a reason, but as he listened to the details of what Michael did, as he learned that Michael acted upon a friend’s dying request, he found it hard to judge him. Michael hadn’t benefited in any way, shape, or form. His actions had, in fact, put his own life and liberty in danger. Busch said nothing as Michael finished his story. He put the cue down and leaned heavily against the wall, his body collapsing as he put his head back.
    “There’s something else,” Michael added, reluctance in his voice.
    Busch inhaled and held it. He took a seat on a bar stool. He accepted Michael’s European story but did not like where this was going.
    “There was a purse in the car. It’s the same purse Genevieve had with her four months ago when she came to see me.”
    Busch closed his eyes. “Here we go.”
    “It only had one thing in it.” Michael laid the card on the pool table.
    “You stole evidence?” Busch asked with closed eyes. “That’s bad karma, Michael.”
    “Evidence? Genevieve was in that car, I’m sure of it. And there’s no question that this card was meant for me.”
    “What the hell is going on, Michael? Are you hiding something?”
    “Don’t be ridiculous. I