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."I've been here fiveyears, Officer.Believe me, I'm not naive.I don't take convicted felons offthe street and expect them to turn into someone like Gilbert.But Gilbert'shad a good home, nurturance, education.He's starting from a different baseline.Someone like Joel has to earn mytrust-earn a higher trust.It did help that he brought references."From where, Father?""Other missions.""Here in town?""No.Arizona and New Mexico.He worked with the Indians, put six years of hislife into helping others.Paying his legal debt and enlarging himself as ahuman being.Those he worked with had only good things to say about him."Milo said nothing.The priest smiled."And yes, that did help him obtain parole.But he came here as a free man, Officer.In a legal sense.He works herebecause he chooses to, not because he has to.And in answer to your questionabout friends, he has none-sticks to himself, denies himself worldlypleasures.A very tough cycle of work and prayer constitutes his entire life.""Sounds pretty darn saintly," said Milo.Anger tightened the priest's face.He struggled to fight it and managed to puton a calm expression.But when he spoke, his voice was constricted."He hadnothing to do with that poor woman's disappearance.I really don't see whythere's a need to "That poor woman has a name," said Milo."Gina Marie Ramp.""I'm aware of that "She's been sticking to herself, too, Father.Cut off fromworldly pleasures.But in her case, it's not out of choice.For twenty years, since the day McCloskey's hired creep destroyed her face,she's been living up in a room, too scared to go out into the world.No parolefor her, Father.So I'm sure you can understand why lots of people are upsetat the fact that she's disappeared.And I hope you'll find it in your heart toforgive me if I try to get to the bottom of it.Even if it meansinconveniencing Mr.McCloskey."Page 200 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlAndrus bowed his head and clasped his hands in front of him.For a moment I thought he was praying.But he looked up and his lips werestill.All the color was gone from his face."Forgive me, Officer.It's been a hard week-two men died in their beds; twomore were sent over to County General with suspected tuberculosis." He cockedhis head toward the men in the chairs."We've got a hundred more heads than beds, no letup in sight, and thearchdiocese wants me to raise a larger share of my own funds."His shoulders dropped."One searches for small victories.I've been trying tothink of Joel as one.""Maybe he is," said Milo."But we'd still like to talk to him."The priest shrugged."Come, I'll take you to him."He'd never asked to see ID.Didn't even know our names.The first door in the hall led to an enormous dining hall where food smellsfinally overtook the stink of unwashed bodies.Wooden picnic tables covered bypeacock-blue oilcloth were arranged in tandem, creating five long rows.Mensat hunched over their food, cradling their plates protectively.Prisondining.Spooning and chewing nonstop with all the joy of wind-up toys.Along the back wall was a steam table fronted by a glass partition andaluminum counter.Men were lined up holding their plates out, OliverTwist-style.Three figures dressed in white shirts and aprons and hairnetsladled out food.Father Andrus said, "Wait here, please," and we stood by the door as he walkedbehind the steam table and said something to the middle server.Still working, the man nodded, handed his ladle to the priest, and steppedbackward.Father Andrus began distributing food.The man in white wiped hishands on his apron, stepped around the table, through the line, and cametoward us.He was about five five, with a stoop that robbed him of an inch he couldn'tspare.The apron reached below his knees and was stained with food.Heshuffled, barely raising his feet from the linoleum, and his arms remained athis sides as if glued there.Strands of white hair straggled from under thehairnet and adhered to a pasty, moist forehead.The face below was long andsallow, thin yet flabby.An aquiline nose had conceded defeat to gravity.White eyebrows.No fat under his chin, but a flap of loose flesh shook as hecame closer.His eyes were hooded, dark, deep-set, very tired.He walked up to us, expressionless, and said, "Hello," in a flat, phlegmyvoice."Mr.McCloskey?"Nod."I'm Joel." Listless.Open pores on nose and cheeks.Deep crevicesflanking a down-turned, dry-lipped mouth.Eyes nearly shut under the heavylids, yellowish scleras surrounding nearly black irises.I wondered when he'dlast had a liver-function test."We're here to talk about Gina Ramp, Joel."Page 201 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html"She hasn't been found." A statement."No, she hasn't.Any theories you'd like to share about what might havehappened to her?"McCloskey's eyes shifted to one of the tables.Some of the men had stoppedeating.Others cast covetous glances at the untouched food."Could we talk in my room?""Sure, Joel."He shuffled out the door and turned right into the corridor.We passeddormitories crammed with folding cots, some of them occupied, and a closeddoor marked INFIRMARY.Moans of pain filtered through plywood and echoed alongthe hall.McCloskey turned toward the sound, briefly, but didn't break step.Redirecting his gaze forward, he shuffled toward a brown-painted staircase atthe back of the hall.The treads were covered with hard rubber, and thebanister felt greasy.We followed his steady, slow climb up three flights.Now the disinfectantsmell triumphed.Just off the landing on floor three was another closed door taped with a pieceof shirt cardboard.JOEL was written on it in black marker [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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