Chapter Four
WES
We were halfway across Cassil when something drew my attention to the wrought iron fencing at the front corner of the school property.
A man leaned back against the iron bars, while two other men stood in his personal space.
It wasn’t the fact that the man against the fence was wearing a priest’s collar that made me stop in my tracks.
It was when one of the guys balled a meaty fist and punched the priest right in the stomach. He promptly doubled over.
“Hey!” I shouted at the top of my lungs, instantly in motion as I ran toward the trio.
“Wes?” Patsy yelled.
I tore off down the sidewalk and the two assailants looked up. Seeing me, they bolted around the corner as I charged up to the priest. He’d crumpled to the ground, gasping for breath.
“Father Gilmartin?” Patsy ran up, stopping beside me. “What happened?” Patsy stooped to help the elderly priest as I darted around the corner, looking into the dark.
Throngs of people streamed toward the church, crowding the sidewalk in front of the school. Families crossed at the light on busy Sunset Boulevard, laughing and talking, oblivious to the pair of men who’d assaulted their priest as they headed to the church a hundred feet away.
“Wes!” Patsy yelled. The panic in his voice was evident as I ignored his cry, searching for the two men in the crowd.
Several people stopped and turned in my direction as I pounded toward the church entrance.
I couldn’t see the men anywhere and I stopped when a huge, black man charged out of the church and down the wide stairs, turning in my direction.
He held a cell phone pressed to his ear and when he saw me looking around, he came toward me.
“Are you Wes?”
I stopped and looked at him. He was my height, about thirty, and very handsome, but it was the expression of alarm as well as the use of my name, that made me come to a screeching halt in front of him.
“Yeah?”
“I’m Napoleon. Patsy’s on the phone.”
“I was chasing two guys,” I panted.
I looked around, feeling angry as hell when I realized they’d vanished. I was surprised when Patsy’s friend held his phone out to me. I blinked at him and took it. “Patsy?”
“Where the hell’d ya go?”
I spun back to the corner and began heading back to him and the priest with his friend right beside me. “Sorry, I just…I couldn’t let them get away.” I saw Patsy, and Father Gilmartin who’d gotten to his feet. “We’re right here.”
I vaguely registered the line go dead as Patsy spotted me.
He was wearing a deep frown as he held onto the priest’s forearm.
I watched him pocket his phone before turning back to the father who swayed a little as he held onto Patsy’s shoulder to steady himself.
Father Gilmartin wasn’t a small man, standing a couple of inches taller than Patsy and carrying a lot of bulk under his vestments.
“Wes?” the father asked, the moment we got close enough to be heard.
Patsy turned to look at me in surprise. “Ya know each other?”
I nodded. “As you said, the church regularly feeds the homeless and Father Gilmartin always takes the time to meet everyone he can.” I glanced at the priest. “What happened, Father? Who were those men?”
“I was just saying to Patsy, I didnae see them before.” He glanced at Napoleon for the first time and smiled. “Hello, Napoleon.”
“Hi, Father.” Napoleon glanced at Patsy. “You should call an ambulance for Father Gilmartin.”
The priest put a hand to his belly. “Och, no, no. It’s completely unnecessary. They hit me in the solar plexus, but it only knocked the wind out of me for a wee bittie.” His Scottish brogue was soft but more pronounced under stress.
“Father, why would two men you’ve never met accost ya like that?” Patsy asked.
He turned to look at Patsy. “They said they had a message for one of my congregation, Marigold Bishop.”
The father wobbled and I stepped forward, taking hold of his other side, wincing as I realized it was my bad arm.
“Here, let Napoleon do that, Wes. You’ve been shot,” Patsy said.
“You’ve been shot, Wes? Good God, man.” Father Gilmartin’s eyes widened in dismay.
I stepped aside as Napoleon moved in and slung an arm around the priest’s back to support him. “It was nothing, Father. You’d know if I needed you,” I replied.
“Do ya think ya can make it back to the church? Yer not steady on yer feet,” Patsy said.
“If you’d just take me back to my residence, that’d be fine. I could do with a cup of tea.”
“I think we should get ya to hospital,” Patsy said, biting his lip.
“No, no, my boy.” Father Gilmartin’s voice was slightly shaky as we walked him back toward the church.
Before we got there, he stopped at the gate to the school.
“Let’s go into my sitting room.” He dug inside his robe and produced a set of keys holding them out to me and pointing to the one which opened the gate.
I unlocked it and followed everyone down the path and around the school to the back.
It opened out onto a yard which we crossed to the priest’s residence.
I handed his keys to Patsy who unlocked the door and let us into the older building.
Not unlike the school, this building seemed to have been added after the original church, built right on Sunset Boulevard itself.
I’d been drawn to the church years ago during Pride, when this priest and several others had come out for gay rights during the fight against hate and Proposition 8 in California.
The parish and many other churches in Hollywood and throughout the southland had opened their doors to the LGBTQ community before the U.S.
Supreme Court made gay marriage legal in 2015 with the Obergefell v. Hodges decision.
The priest ushered us into his sitting room, furnished with antiques, and sat on a small, red tartan settee. I glanced around for a housekeeper or someone else and seeing no one around, walked over and squatted in front of Father Gilmartin.
“Can I fix you some tea, or a small whisky, Father?”
He smiled up at me, the rheumy eyes creasing at the corners. He put a hand on my shoulder. “Tea, please. That would be lovely, Wes. My housekeeper went away home early since she knew I’d be hosting the families at the church this evening.” He pointed. “The kitchen is right through there.”
I stood and met Patsy’s eyes. “Be right back.”
“I’ll help ya.” He glanced at Napoleon. “Stay with Father Gilmartin.”
“Of course.”
Patsy’s big friend sat on the couch beside the priest, leaning close and saying something I couldn’t hear as Patsy started after me. As soon as we were out of earshot, he stopped me. “Are ya crazy?”
I frowned at him. “What?”
“Followin’ those men. What did ya think ya were goin’ to do if ya caught up to them?”
“I didn’t think that far ahead…maybe I just wanted to get a better look at them so I could give an accurate description to the police.”
Patsy lifted his shirt, showing me the sidearm he wore at his belt. “And I’m the one armed. If it escaped yer notice, yer not.”
I frowned. “And I suppose you would have shot them.” I waved my hand at the window. “With all those families out there.”
He thinned his lips. “No! I—”
“No, you wouldn’t. I know we just met and we don’t know each other very well, but I know one thing.
You would have done anything to avoid putting a child in the crosshairs of assholes who beat up priests.
” I shook my head when his mouth dropped open.
Deciding it was better to get the father some tea, than to stand there looking at how sexy his mouth looked, I turned away from him, walking over to turn on the kettle.
When I glanced back, his phone was in his hand and he was calling someone.
“Who’re you calling?”
He held up a finger. “Cassidy? This is Agent Patsy Good.” He paused.
“Hi there…grand…yes…hey listen…I don’t s’pose you and Detective Williams are workin’ tonight—” There was another short pause.
“Oh, aye…that’s good because somethin’ happened and I could use ya help.
” He paused again. “No, Cassidy, not the team, just me and Napoleon.” Another pause.
“Yes, everyone’s good as gold, but I’m at Father Gilmartin’s house, an elderly priest at the Blessed Sacrament in Hollywood.
He was assaulted tonight and rather than call it in, I was wonderin’ if you and Mike wouldn’t mind stoppin’ by and speakin’ to him about the incident. ”
He paused again as I began looking for the teabags in the cabinets. “He’s okay. They landed a punch to his solar plexus, and he’s not wantin’ to make a big fuss about it, but I think—” He paused again and seemed to absently reach for a tin before handing it to me.
“Yes, that would be grand. The church—ya know it?”
I opened the tin and found loose leaf black tea.
Patsy pointed to what looked like an ugly orange and brown knitted hat with a pompom sitting on the counter.
He pulled it off and revealed a sturdy, brown teapot.
Running the hot water, he filled the pot, and held up a finger while he gave the other party directions.
When he finally thanked the man on the phone, I held up the tin.
Without asking, he tipped out the hot water, and said, “One spoon for each person and one for the pot. That was a friend of mine. He’s a detective out of LAPD’s Brentwood division, but he works better with us than some of those feckers here in Hollywood.
” He stepped closer. “I’m sorry I took ya head off, Wes.
Seein’ Father Gilmartin hurt, shook me up. ”
He poured the boiling water over the tea and refitted the tea hat.
I smiled. “It’s okay, Patsy.” I moved past him, headed for the sitting room.
“Did ya get a look at them…other than from a distance?” he asked from behind me.
I slowed, letting him catch up. “Vaguely…enough to know they’re shorter than me by several inches. I can tell you their general builds and ages, but as far as doing a police sketch, no…I don’t think so.” He nodded at me.