Papal Justice by CG Cooper Page B

by under the wary gaze of the rest of mankind. What would mankind be like if they learned from the lessons of a humble beggar? Father Pietro held onto that thought as the taxi struggled up the steep hill, finally coming to a stop in front of a dilapidated metal gate.
    The driver didn’t say a word, just turned in his seat and held out his hand.
    Father Pietro glanced at the meter and thumbed out the appropriate number of bills, a parting gift from the beggar. “Thank you,” he said, after getting a curt nod from the driver.
    No sooner had the priest stepped from the vehicle than the taxi sputtered a choking cough of smoke and ambled on its way.
    Father Pietro looked up at the high fencing, and into the crumbling courtyard. There wasn’t a soul in sight. However, he could feel eyes watching him. Gulping down his fear, Father Pietro pulled open the creaking gate, and stepped inside.
     
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    “He’s here,” Daniel said, stepping into the room where Cal sat talking with Brother Hendrik.
    Cal looked up. “You mind bringing him upstairs?”
    “Brother Aaron, please go with Mr. Briggs,” Brother Hendrik said.
    Daniel was finding it hard to admit to himself that he was in awe of the monks. When he and Cal had first come into the house, finding the four men chanting in the living room, Daniel felt a familiar pull coming from the makeshift altar. Like so many other men and women, Daniel Briggs hadn’t come home from war unscathed. He’d escaped bodily harm, but his mind and his conscience bore the pressing weight of his guilt.
    It wasn’t the killing that bothered him, or even the daily race against death. It was something deeper, like the devil was laughing at him, taunting him with his forked tongue. He’d felt cursed, like anyone who got within arm’s reach would contract the worst malady possible: death.
    And so he’d traveled the backroads of America, drowning his fears with a bottle of Jack here or a handle of Dewars there. As long as he moved and spurned all relationships, he thought he could outrun his demons.
    In the end, he found the only ally who would always be there for him, who would keep the devil at bay. It was God who had finally come into Daniel’s life and brought him the peace he never thought possible. That same peace was what he felt when he’d walked into that living room. It was like encountering your twin, someone who had experienced the same life, the same feelings, the same hopes and fears. He saw that plainly in the eyes of the four monks. They’d also battled their demons, and had come together as brothers under God. The only word that came to Daniel’s mind was miraculous .
    When he and Brother Aaron got downstairs, a man stood waiting. He had the look of a wounded animal, like a dog who cowered after being whipped one too many times by its master. He was covered in sweat and his ill-fitting shirt stuck to his chest.
    “Father Pietro?” asked Brother Aaron.
    The man nodded, taking a shaky step forward.
    “I am Brother—” Brother Aaron began.
    Daniel sensed it before it happened. Father Pietro’s eyes rolled back and his legs crumpled. The Marine rushed forward and caught the fainting man just before he hit the tiled floor. Daniel could smell the lingering scent of alcohol seeping from the priest’s pores.
    He checked for a pulse and made sure the man was breathing. Both good.
    “Get some water and a towel,” Daniel said, lying the priest down on the floor.
    Brother Aaron nodded and ran to the kitchen. He was back a moment later.
    Daniel grabbed the moist towel and wiped Pietro’s face. It was regaining some of its color. Daniel stopped. His eyes narrowed and he looked toward the front door. At the same moment, there was a commotion upstairs. Not yelling, just the hustled footsteps of men moving.
    “What is it?” Brother Aaron asked.
    Reaching for the pistol in his waistband, Daniel said, “We’re about to have company.”
    Brother Aaron reached under his thick robe