Blood on a Saint (27 page)

“Not your mess, Phyl,” Maura couldn’t help but say. But the woman could be heard opening drawers and cupboards.

Monty thought Podgis was going to blow a blood vessel, so great was his outrage and embarrassment.

“Look what you made me do! I gotta go out and replace this now. Pay a cab to the fucking liquor store and back. I knew I should have rented a car!”

“You wouldn’t be able to drive it, Podgis.”

“Well, you’re here, Collins. Why don’t you make yourself useful for once and give me a drive instead of sitting here and prying into my personal life?”

“I don’t think you need any more to drink right now, Podgis. Why don’t you go into your room and sleep it off?”

“Oh, you’re an alcohol counsellor now, are you? Gonna bill me for that too? My AA partner. Yeah, I suppose you’re used to that role. Since your best buddy is a boozehound.”

“He is not a boozehound. He is not a lush. He does not need any assistance from me. He can hold his liquor. Not everybody can.”

“Get the fuck out.”

“I think we’ve worn out our welcome, my dear,” Monty said to Maura. “Perhaps it’s time to make a graceful exit.” He made a show of looking at his watch. “Oh, will you look at the time? We really should hit the road.”

Maura got up, and they headed for the door, but not before catching a beseeching look on the face of Phyllis Podgis.

“Phyllis, would you like to come with us?” Maura suggested. “Maybe there are things you need at the grocery store?”

Phyllis made a grab for the lifeline offered to her. “Yes! I should pick up a few things!”

But Podgis was having none of it. “You’re not going anywhere! Sit down and let them get the hell out of here, so they can get on with telling all their lawyer friends at the Thirsty Duck this oh-so-amusing tale about his latest client.”

“I don’t want to stay when you’re like this, Perry,” his ex-wife said. “You didn’t even want me here. Now you won’t let me go.”

“Yeah, well, you’re here now, so stay put.”

“She’s coming with us, Podgis,” Monty said. “We’ll check in later to see how you’re doing, and play it by ear after that.”

Phyllis put some things into her handbag and walked to the door, studiously avoiding the eyes of her former husband. But he had drawn a bead on her back and moved towards her. He grabbed her arm, and she tensed. As did Monty and Maura. But all he did was lean towards his ex and whisper in her ear. Something about “blabbing to
them
.” Monty pried Podgis’s fingers off Phyllis and ushered her out the door. Maura followed, no doubt after directing another killer look behind her.

On the way down the corridor, Maura turned to Phyllis and asked gently, “What’s the story, Phyllis? How long have you been divorced?”

“Ten years. And we were separated for quite a while before that.”

“So why put yourself through this now?”

“You don’t understand Perry. And how could you? You just met him in the middle of this bad business, so you’re not seeing him at his best.”

Monty stifled a reply. If, for instance, Podgis’s television show was him at his best, what was there that any sensible person would want to see?

“Don’t pay him any mind when he’s like that.”

In Monty’s experience, Podgis was always like that.

But the pugnacious broadcaster had a defender in his ex-wife. “He doesn’t mean it when he talks to me that ornery way. He knows I’m here to support him. He always thinks he’s a tough guy who doesn’t need anybody. So when he acts like this, I just let it all run off my back.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t, Phyllis,” Maura advised her in a voice tight with unexpressed anger.

“If you still feel so attached to him, Phyllis,” Monty asked when they were downstairs in the lobby, “why did you get a divorce?”

“Oh, that was his idea, not mine. He thought he needed a wife who was more . . .” Everyone present knew what he thought he needed. But his long-suffering ex spelled it out anyway. “I guess I didn’t look the part of a television wife! I don’t hold with all this makeup and fancy clothes and a new hairdo every week. Well, he got what he wanted. A TV-type wife, someone who ran for Miss Mississauga. And guess what?”

Her companions preferred not to guess.

“She flew the coop as soon as she got her TV career launched. Bye-bye, Pike Podgis; I don’t need you anymore.”

Podgis had not specified that there were two divorces in his past. But then again, Monty had not asked for numbers.

“You don’t have any children, do you, Phyllis? Pike never mentioned any.”

“He wouldn’t. Outright refused. He sneaked off and got his tubes tied, or whatever they do to men.”

They left the building and went out to the parking lot.

“Where are his brother and sister now?” Maura asked. “Is his mother still alive?”

“His mother’s dead, and his sister’s out west somewheres. Nobody ever hears from her. And his brother, half-brother, well, Perry won’t have anything to do with him.”

“Why not?”

“It’s because Perry always felt that his mother liked Arnie better. And you know what? He’s right. His mother had some bad relationships with men after Perry’s father left the family. And then she met Arnie’s dad, and they had Arnie, and — ”

“Arnie came after Perry?” Monty asked. “I thought Arnie was older.”

“No, no, Arnie is Perry’s little brother. Well, not little. He was bigger than Perry, and more . . . well, their mother sure had her favourite. She didn’t have much money but whenever she did, she spent it on Arnie and his hockey. Perry’s right about that. Perry wanted her to get braces for his teeth but she never had the thousand dollars they would have cost. But when Arnie needed hockey gear, well, I don’t know, she found the money for that. But to hear Perry tell it, Arnie was a, pardon my French, but, an A-hole. Except he wasn’t! He was so good to Perry when he got out working. He even said he would pay to fix Perry’s teeth. But Perry was so weird about it. Didn’t even thank Arnie. Told him to take his money and shove it you-know-where.”

“But Perry started making money himself. Why didn’t he ever fix his teeth?”

Phyllis shook her head. “He was working in TV before he had enough to pay for it. I don’t know; he’s weird about things like that. When Arnie offered, Perry said something like, ‘What do you think I am, a girl?’ As if only girls get braces on their teeth, or care what they look like!”

Something struck Monty then about the teeth. Podgis had brazened it out all his life with the mouthful of spiky, crooked teeth. Then he had an offer from his brother — younger brother, at that — who must have been making more money, to fix the unsightly problem. Not hard to imagine Podgis bristling at that. Then, by the time he himself had a decent income, by the time he was on television, he no doubt had a reputation as a scary-looking, tough-talking guy who didn’t give a shit what people thought of his appearance. Even if he, Podgis, really did. The mouth was part of his aggressive persona. It may have been too late to make the admission that his teeth looked like hell and he cared enough to pretty himself up.

Monty remembered an old saying: “Sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind.” Here, in a way, was a reverse situation: being kind could be cruel. Particularly if the “kindness” was coming from a favoured, much more fortunate, younger brother. Not for the first time, Monty was taken aback at what a simple creature the human being could be. The same old forces — envy, humiliation, the favoured and the ill-favoured, bullying and bravado — produced the same old effects, formed the same personalities, generation after generation. Monty remembered Jamie McVicar’s take on Podgis: “It all goes back to the schoolyard, Monty.”

Monty and the two women arrived at the car and were about to get in when they were hailed by the aggressive, scary-looking guy himself. Podgis was galumphing towards them in the parking lot, with something on his mind.

“What kind of stuff are you blabbing to these two? Get back in the apartment!”

“Men!” Phyllis said with mock exasperation. “They’re all the same!”

“How would you know? I’m the only one you ever had.”

“You think so, eh Perry? Well, you’re wrong. I had another boyfriend after you left.”

“Yeah, I can imagine what — ” He stopped, and his face flamed red.

It was a drunken slip. He had revealed himself, and it was an excruciating moment. What he meant was clear to everyone there: the only man Phyllis could get would be second rate. Like him. It wasn’t hard to read the flip side of the page, that
she
was all
he
could get. At least in his pre-TV days. And he held her in contempt as a result, a variation on “I would never join a club that would have someone like me as a member.”

In the end, Phyllis decided to stay with him, for reasons Monty could not fathom. He and Maura got in the car and drove to Halifax. Maura sat fuming all the way home.

Chapter 14

Brennan

Tuesday was choir night, the weekly rehearsal of the St. Bernadette’s Choir of Men and Boys, and Brennan was looking forward to it as always, particularly as they were going to do the Vivaldi
Gloria
, a piece that had the power to fill him with
gaudium quod est immensum
, immense joy.
If
properly performed, which it would be with his choir. This week they were preparing for a special morning Mass Brennan had initiated for the choir school students and their families. The Mass was held twice during every school year, at the beginning of the September term and again in late January. It was the traditional Latin Mass that Brennan preferred, for its dignity, reverence, and splendid liturgy. Confessions first though, till seven o’clock.

A young girl came in and confessed to shoplifting makeup, an older woman admitted to anger with her in-laws, and a man told him a long and complicated tale of stock fraud. Brennan did not even try to follow the story of securities, short-selling, derivatives, and a whole lot of other words Brennan could not have defined to save his life. He had no idea what the fellow was on about, except that he had defrauded some people out of large sums of money. He was in the process of making restitution, or so he claimed, and Brennan grilled him to try to determine whether he was truly repentant. It seemed he was. Brennan handed out a heavier-than-usual penance, requiring a period of service to the poor in addition to regular prayers. There were a few more people with negligible sins after that, and then a lull. He thought he might be finished for the night, but he heard someone else come in.

“Ignatius Boyle hangs around here, right? The churchyard here?”

It was the voice of a fairly young woman, not a voice he recognized.

“Yes, he does,” Brennan answered.

“And you went to visit him in the hospital. I heard that.”

“That’s right.”

“Are you a friend of his?”

He was not about to deny the man. “Yes, I am.”

“So you should know this.”

“Tell me.”

“Ignatius Boyle bought me for a pack of smokes.”

O God of mercy and compassion, what now?

“Are you there? Father?”

“Yes. Yes, I’m here.”

“I’m in here because you know him. And you can’t repeat whatever I say, so it’s not going to end up on the news.”

“True.” His confessional had become a witness box for those who wanted to testify in the shadows.

“I have a better life now. I have a little girl, and I don’t want her to know the things I used to do.”

“Anything you tell me stays in here.”

“My mother’s life was nothing but a series of men. They came and went. Most of them were in and out of prison. The only reason the others weren’t inside is because they never got caught.” She spoke in a flat voice as if reciting what time the buses came and went. “Maybe you can imagine what kind of a life that was for me. Or maybe you can’t. But one thing you can guess is that I was desperate to get out. All I wanted to do was get away from there. So you’d think I wouldn’t quit school in grade ten. Or even if I did, I would try to get a good job and make something of my life. You wouldn’t think I’d get into drugs and start hooking. But that’s what I did, became a hooker when I was fifteen. I figured I could use that kind of life, not really fall into it, just use it to earn money to lift myself up. I bet a lot of people start out thinking that, and they never rise above it. The same kind of life I was trying to escape from; how did I end up following the same stupid pattern for my own life? I don’t know.

“But, about Ignatius Boyle. There was him and some other guys like him standing around on Brunswick Street when I was walking by. A bunch of drunks and bums. And they started hollering at me, being gross. One of them knew my name. I don’t think I ever did him or anything like that, but he knew who I was. He came over and grabbed a hold of me and I was trying to fight him off me. He was really drunk. That’s when Ignatius Boyle moved in on me, and said he wanted me for himself.”

First it was Pike Podgis unmasking his evil persona in Brennan’s confessional. Now somebody was going to strip away any illusions Brennan still maintained about Ignatius Boyle. He stayed silent, and the girl continued.

“Ignatius came up and started telling the other guy off, saying I should go with him, Ignatius, and the other guy should buzz off. Then Ignatius pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket and said the other guy could have them, in exchange for me. So the guy grabbed the pack of smokes and took off. So that’s how Ignatius got me.”

She was quiet so long Brennan finally prompted her. “What happened then?” He didn’t want to know, but there was nothing to be gained by putting off the inevitable.

“He kind of grasped me by the arm and started walking me away from the other guys. Stopped when we got to St. Patrick’s church, and he took me in there. There was nobody else inside. That was the first time I had ever gone in there. It looks like pictures of churches they have in Europe, with all the colourful paintings and stained glass and all that. I thought, does he expect me to do him in here?”

Brennan fervently hoped not.

“But he started working on me to give up hooking, to stop taking drugs before I got myself addicted. He gave me the name of a social worker who could help me. He said I was — ” she stopped and cleared her throat “ — I was too precious and my life was too important to throw away. I was a lovely girl, and it wasn’t too late for me at all. If I didn’t want to end up on the streets like him, I should go see the worker first thing the next morning. I could think about training for a job. Someday I could have kids. And all that. Normal stuff, but to me it might never have happened. It was Ignatius Boyle who started me on the right track. Because it wasn’t just talk. He seemed to pass over to me some kind of power. Strength or something, to change my life.