Nothing to Report (41 page)

We started on the street level. We inspected every hedge and searched every yard between the mugging location and the church. Not surprisingly, we had to fen
d
off dogs and identify ourselves in almost every yard we searched. We often forgot that we were in plainclothes and just entered yards without getting permission first. It wasn’t long before we were soaking wet and really beginning to feel chilly and miserable. We finally reached the wooded area where we split up and worked opposite ends. Soon it was also getting dark which made our task even tougher.

At the beginning of our independent searches, Frank came up with
a
purse in the woods that contained keys and some miscellaneous papers which probably had been stolen in a purse snatching. We both agreed that we would voucher i
t
at the end of our shift. We crisscrossed the woods then switche
d
sides with still no luck. Before we knew it, it was almost 9:00 P.M. and we had been searching fo
r
about three hours.

“What do you say, partner?
”
asked Frank.

“I’m not quitting. You want to quit, go ahead. I’ll meet you back at th
e
precinct,” I said, my voice filled with determination.

“Don’t be so fucking stubborn!”

“Look, I’m staying until I find it,” I said adamantly.

“And what if it’s not there? God damn it, John, you know better than anyone that sometimes these things wind up in the chutes of the projects!”

“It’s here. I’m telling you, Frank, it’s here. I know it. I feel it!”

“Well, then I’m staying with you, partner.”

I was glad he decided to stay. I knew this wasn’t a choking baby or a building on fire, but my partner decided to stick it out with
me, which is just what partners were supposed to do. As we stood there in the chilly air, a sudden surge of pride came over me because of this bond that onl
y
true police partners could forge between them. We often entrusted each other with our very lives, but it was so much more than that. It was th
e
small things, too, like this act of faith on my part and my partner’s acquiescence of it.

We were both wet and chilled to the bone but began our search agai
n
with renewed vigor. I truly believed that Father Josef’s attaché cas
e
was somewhere in this wooded area. We combed the woody hill in grids from left to right and up and down, but still we found no case. Before long we realized it wa
s
nearing 11:00 P.M. and we had to have the RMP back at th
e
station house within the hour.

I had decided to canvass the lower part of the hill one last time when all o
f
a sudden I saw the huge shape of a man approaching me from the York Avenue side of the hill. At first I couldn’t make out who it was but as the figure loomed closer, I recognized Father Josef, sporting
a
bandaged head.

“Father, what the heck are you doing out in this weather and at this tim
e
of night?
”
I scolded.

“I am very lucky, my friend,” said the bandaged priest. “This bandage only covers a mild contusion and not a concussion. The doctor said I will be able to trave
l
tomorrow as planned.” Then, as his gaze shifted from me to Frank, he added, “Have you had any luck?”

“Sorry to say so, Father, but no luck yet. It’s okay though, because we haven’t given up hope. I jus
t
feel that it’s here somewhere,” I said quietly.

“Please, I brought you both some coffee. I even put some of my special ‘sugar
’
in it, okay?
”
he asked.

I could smell the special ‘sugar
’
even before we removed the lids fro
m
the styrofoamcontainers. The unmistaken odor of Anisette was emanating out of the steaming cup. I carefully took one from Father Josef’s han
d
but, because it was so hot, I dropped it immediately. The cup fell to the rain soaked ground and burst open, splashing coffee every which way. With a cry of frustration, I trained my flashlight on the fallen cup. As I did
,
my eyes fell upon a brown attaché case that could have been no more than two feet away from where I was standing.

“Oh, my God! Is that it, Father?
”
I exclaimed.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph. That’s it!” shouted the priest with jubilation.

The bandaged and burly priest leaned down and, in one scoop, had the attach
é
case in both hands. He stared at it for several long seconds with tears streaming down his rain soaked face.

“Maybe we had better open it first, Father. We don’t know if anything i
s
missing just yet,” I suggested.

Frank had heard the shouting and joined us from the other side of th
e
woods. Father Josef was beaming as if nothing had happened ye
t
somehow, magically, we all knew that everything would be as he last saw it.

“Father, let’s just open it and check the contents. Sometimes the bad guy
s
steal things like this and just toss aside whatever they don’t want or are not sure of th
e
value of what they have,” I said.

“My son, my son, where is your faith? Do you not see with your heart
s
as surely as you see with your eyes? As I sat inside I thought of you both and how wet and cold you must be afte
r
all these hours so I came out here to comfort you. My thoughts and prayers were with you to give you strength and perseverance. I hand you your coffee and you drop it. Whe
n
was the last time you dropped a cup of coffee, my friend?
”
Father Josef asked, his eyes lit up by a small smile.

“I don’t remember, Father, but I’m sure I must have dropped one along the lin
e
at some point,” I answered.

“Okay, and you drop it at your feet. You drop it right in front of you and we look down and there is my attaché case. Why did we not see it befor
e
this? Why then, when the coffee spilled? It is called faith, plain an
d
simple. I knew you would find it. More importantly, you knew and felt you would find it.

“God works His wonders in mysterious ways, my friends. Sometime
s
we seek answers to life’s puzzles and the answers are right in front o
f
us. It is called faith. Let us go back to the rectory and we will open the cas
e
there,” the priest suggested.

Without another word, the three of us, rain soaked to the bone, worked our way up the worn path back to York Avenue. When
we reached the church we entered the rectory and were welcomed into Father Josef’s parlor. Th
e
housekeeper, Mrs. Powerski, was a nervous wreck.

“Father, where have you been?
”
she asked, her tone a combination of worry and scorn.

“Do not worry, my dear lady. I am well, and as you can plainly see, my tw
o
friends have found my attaché case,” said Father Josef.

“No, Father, we found it together,” I gently corrected.

“I disagree. It was you and your faith, my friend. If you had not stayed in the woods fo
r
as long as you did, I would not have brought you your coffee,” said th
e
thankful priest.

“Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s open it up!” Frank suggested, anxious to see what was, or wasn’t, inside.

The priest placed the case on top of the dining room table and pushe
d
the two release tabs on either side. The top popped open and, after raising the lid all the way, Father Josef began to fumble through the contents. The first object he fel
t
below some folded handkerchiefs was the Holy Grail, the gift for his friend. The priest continued his inspection of the case and soon located the tickets in an upper slot where he had placed them the day before. Although Father Josef didn’t seem very surprised, Frank and I were both amazed to learn everything was there.

“My friends, there is absolutely nothing missing,” said Father Josef.

“Sometimes that happens, Father. It’s possible that when you were mugged
,
your assailant didn’t realize you were a priest. When he opened th
e
case and saw the Grail, he was probably overcome with guilt and decided to leave it alone. Or maybe he realized he wouldn’t b
e
able to sell it to anyone. He couldn’t return it out of fear that he might get arrested, so he just dropped it and ran,” I suggested.

“My friends, please allow me to hold your hands,” said Father Josef.

I gave him one of my hands and so did Frank. With a nod, the priest then asked Frank to take my other hand into his other hand. Once the three of us formed a close
d
circle and with a contented smile, Father Josef bowed his head and began to pray aloud.

“My Heavenly Father, thank you for this day. Thank you for my life and for the love that you have brought into my life. Thank you for John an
d
for Frank. It was you who brought these two men, these two policemen
,
into my life only a few short weeks ago so that they might be with me here tonight. Thank you for their faith. May you always be with them an
d
watch over them in their lives. May you bless them and their loved one
s
and all good and decent people everywhere. Amen.
”


Both Frank and I repeated the priest’s final word then released each other’s hands while I silently said a
n
additional prayer for having Father Josef in my life.

Father Josef’s was scheduled to fly to Rome out of Kennedy Airport in Queens. I knew it would be an evening flight, as were most European flights out of JFK. The next day I stopped by the rectory before going in for my 4X12 to sa
y
goodbye to him. I knocked on the rectory door and was welcome
d
in by Mrs. Powerski.

“Come in, John!” As the door closed behind me, she added, “You want to know something funny? Father Josef was expectin
g
you. Go on upstairs to his room. It’s the second door on the right.”

I made my way up the stairs and approached his door, prepared to knock once I got there. Just before I reached the room, however, the door swung open and there stood Father Josef, dressed in his Sunday best, literally.

“Father, how are you? I don’t want to interrupt but I just stopped b
y
to wish you a pleasant flight. Say hello to the new Pope for me,” I said as I shook his hand.

“My friend, there is nothing you could ever do that would be an interruption for me. If it were not for you, I would not be going with th
e
full and happy heart as I am now,” said the jubilant priest.

We walked down the stairs together but as I headed toward the door, Father Josef called for me to come back. When I reached him, he wrapped me up in a tight embrace.

“I love you, John,” Father Josef said as tears streamed down his cheeks.

“I love you, too, Father,” I replied, trying not to choke on my own tears.

“So you see, Charlie, Father Josef WAS the most famous man I have ever met,” Lt. A. said. “H
e
wasn’t a movie star or a sports figure. He wasn’t even a president.

“What he was, however, was an ordinary man with extraordinary faith and love, which left you no choice but to love him right back.”

“Is he still down at the same church, Lou?”

“Believe it or not, Charlie, he is. He is older but still has such zeal! He also continues to go out and about in the community visiting the sick and infirm.”

The time spent with the lieutenant on the campus was relaxing for Charlie, especiall
y
hearing such a positive tale. Before long, dawn began to break on the horizon and the vie
w
of the morning sun rising over the Atlantic Ocean was breathtaking.

“Charlie, what do you say we get out of here before the morning shif
t
comes in? Those daytime security forces are sticklers when it comes to th
e
rule book. Before we know it, they’ll want us to sign their lo
g
books attesting to the fact that we were here,” suggested Lt. A.