Part 19 (1/2)
”Another hour and a half, you're gonna have a load on. You want to meet her like that?”
Stefanos thought of the last night he'd been with Alicia. How he'd been too drunk to talk to her. How he'd been too drunk to get an erection, even with her next to him, naked in the bed.
”You got a better suggestion?”
”I've got my group; it's getting ready to start.” The group had always been hermetic by agreement, and for a moment he wondered how the others would take to the idea of a stranger's joining them. He said, ”Why don't you come with me?”
”You're not trying to get me into one of those ten-step things, are you? Because, listen, I like like to drink. I know who I am, and I'm not looking to make any changes.” to drink. I know who I am, and I'm not looking to make any changes.”
”No, it's not that. I just want you to meet my friends. Anyway, what're you, gonna sit on that stool and listen to Lobo for the next hour and a half?”
”I believe this is Bread.”
”Whatever. Come with me, man.”
”All right.” Stefanos reached for his wallet. ”Let's go.”
By the time Karras and Stefanos walked into the common room of the church at 23rd and P, the group had already convened in the center of the room. Tonight there were two additional men in the circle: an older man in a wheelchair and a young man with similar features seated in a folding chair beside him.
”Hey, everybody,” said Karras, his voice echoing in the hall.
”Dimitri,” said Stephanie Maroulis, her eyes flas.h.i.+ng on his. ”We've got company tonight.”
”I see,” said Karras, and as he approached the group and got a closer look at the man in the wheelchair, he knew.
”Bill Jonas.” Jonas extended his hand and Karras shook it. ”And this is my son Christopher.”
”Dimitri Karras.” He nodded at the young man.
”Nice to finally meet you,” said William Jonas.
”And you,” said Karras. ”Well, good, I'm glad you broke the ice by coming here, because I brought someone tonight, too. Meet my friend Nick Stefanos.”
Stefanos went around the group, shaking hands. Jonas, the homicide cop crippled by the May's shooters, told Stefanos his friend Dan Boyle had mentioned his name before, and Stefanos nodded politely.
”You're a private cop,” said Jonas, ”right?”
”That's right,” said Stefanos, who immediately went to the urn to draw himself a cup of coffee. He felt eyes on his back, or maybe it was his imagination.
”Hey, Ernst,” said Bernie Walters, the father of the slain waiter, as an old guy with gray hair-clumps growing from his face entered the room from a side door.
”Everything all right?” said Ernst.
”Yeah,” said Thomas Wilson, the pizza chef's friend, ”we're okay, Ernie. You can go ahead and stand guard next to the collection box upstairs, or whatever it is you do. Us straights gonna be all right tonight down here. Got us a couple of lawmen sitting in.”
Stefanos had a seat, studied Wilson as he spoke.
”We'll let ourselves out, Ernst,” said Walters.
”Unplug the coffee urn before you go,” said Ernst.
”Make a deal with you,” said Wilson. ”We'll unplug it if you clean it for a change.”
”Yeah, sure,” said Ernst, shaking his head. ”You guys.”
”Maybe I better get going,” said Stefanos to Karras.
”It's okay,” said Karras. ”Stay.”
They watched Ernst leave. Then there was a silence as they looked to Jonas, expecting him to start things off. But it was his son who spoke first.
”I came home late this afternoon,” said Christopher Jonas, ”and found my father sitting in the living room, thinking. He told me he'd like to drop in on this meeting tonight, but he wasn't sure if you'd want him here. I know from talking to my father these last couple of years how all of you have been in his thoughts. I hope you welcome him tonight.”
”We're all happy to see you,” said Stephanie Maroulis without hesitation. ”We all appreciate your sacrifice, and everything you did.”
”That's a fact,” said Bernie Walters.
Thomas Wilson nodded his head, looking at the floor.
”Thank you,” said William Jonas. ”I was thinkin', if you all don't have any objection... I was thinking we'd start off tonight with a prayer.”
”I'd sure like that,” said Walters, his eyes going to Karras. ”Any objections?”
Karras didn't mind, any more than he'd mind using a Ouija board for grins or having his palm read at a party. If it made the rest of them happy, it was okay by him.
Stephanie mouthed the words ”thank you,” and Karras smiled.
They joined hands, all of them, in the circle, and bowed their heads. William Jonas began to pray: ”Father in heaven, thank you for the gift of friends.h.i.+p we are receiving here tonight. And for our many blessings....”
Karras closed his eyes, gripping the hands of the ones to the right and left of him. It was crazy; for a moment, he thought he felt his son's touch.
SEVENTEEN.
NICK STEFANOS SCREWED a cigarette between his lips and dropped thirty-five cents into a pay phone. He turned up the collar of his leather. Outside the Mobil station at 22nd and P the wind blew cold across the open lot. He dialed Elaine Clay's home number, struck a match, cupped it until the flame touched tobacco, and took in a deep draw of smoke. a cigarette between his lips and dropped thirty-five cents into a pay phone. He turned up the collar of his leather. Outside the Mobil station at 22nd and P the wind blew cold across the open lot. He dialed Elaine Clay's home number, struck a match, cupped it until the flame touched tobacco, and took in a deep draw of smoke.
”Elaine, it's Nick. Bad time?”
”I'm sitting down to dinner. What's up?”
”Working the Randy Weston case. I met with Jerry Sun today, the Chinese guy who saw the red Torino. And I talked with Randy's brother Ronald.”
”And?”
”Ronald told me that Erika Mitch.e.l.l could alibi Randy for that night, but now she's got a sudden loss of memory.”
”What she said was, they did go to a picture together, but she can't remember for sure what night it was.”