Something Bad (38 page)

Gabe added, with a chuckle of his own, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m late for my meeting with Father Costello. If he’s zoned back out because I’m late, Doc Lawrence will be called for sure. Nice to meet you both.”

The doctors disappeared before Gabe was two crutch lengths toward the elevator. When he pulled even with the reception desk, he stopped and gave the receptionist a large grin. “Thanks for your help. The doc really have two pagers, like you said?”

She laughed her throaty laugh again. “No. Those two drive me nuts. They’re just a couple of arrogant residents. They were probably trying to take credit for bringing the father back. They’re incredible brown-nosers.”

Gabe looked down at her name badge, which said, “Catherine.” “Why’d they call you Connie?”

“I don’t know,” Catherine said with a laugh. “It was the first time they called me anything except, ‘Hey, you.’ I guess they figure they only have to get the first letter right and I should be happy.”

Gabe headed toward the elevator, but turned his head and gave Catherine another warm smile and a chuckle. “Thank you again, Connie.”

Catherine returned the smile and giggle. “You’re welcome. And if it’s worth anything, what you’ve done for Father Costello is fantastic. I sure hope he stays with us for a while.”

Gabe got in the elevator and braced himself for the jerky take-off. His conversation with the young doctors made his ribs feel much better and he didn’t want to bring back the pain.

G
ABE ENTERED THE
day room to find Father Costello sitting alone, facing the door instead of the window. The priest stood and gave Gabe a wide smile. “Gabe. Where have you been? I saw you leave your truck but then you didn’t show up. I had a bad thought that maybe Hughes found his way up here and gave you another beating.”

Gabe shrugged and one of his crutches fell to the floor. One of Wanna’s jokes came to mind. “Naw. I was just talking to a couple of proctologists.”

Father Costello bent down and retrieved the fallen crutch. “A couple of who?”

“Never mind.” He chuckled. The joke made his mind drift.

Father Costello walked back over to the table and sat down in front of his notes. They were arranged in four stacks, centered in front of him next to a pencil and pad of paper with a full page of scribbled sentences.

“I’ve been through the notes, and it’s all coming back to me, most parts better than I wanted. I’m ready to go over the material with you. I hope it helps. We don’t have to worry about being interrupted. I shook everyone up at lunch, and I made sure no one will be coming around until later.”

Gabe eased onto the chair opposite the priest and took a pencil and small spiral-bound notepad from his shirt pocket. “So what is it Thibideaux wants again?”

Father Costello looked down at his notes and then a Gabe. “When you came to me last time, you opened up some memories that were hidden deep inside my mind. I told you then that I wouldn’t be able to think about it all until you brought these notes, but from the first night after your visit, pieces began to come back to me. I ended up thinking a great deal about everything that happened, but it was only in general terms. I really needed these to put it into a form you’ll understand.” He tapped the notes with his right palm. “But what I have to say has to stay inside these walls. I don’t want you to write any of this down. And, I’ll keep these notes when you leave.”

“Why? How am I going to remember everything without writing some of it down?”

“It’s for your own protection.” Father Costello’s voice was calm, soothing. “Anyone who has this information is a threat to Hughes’ organization. They’ll do anything to make sure this information is destroyed. They won’t bother me, not here, anyway.”

“But Thibideaux had a chance to kill me twice, and he didn’t. You say he must need me for something. If he didn’t kill me then, why would he do it now?”

Father Costello shook his head. “I don’t know. I just have a feeling your usefulness to his organization is only temporary. I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist the notes say with me. Otherwise, I’ll stop now and let you go back home.”

Gabe nodded and put the pencil and notepad back in his pocket.

“Okay. Now that that’s settled, let’s get down to business.” The priest readjusted the stacks of papers in front of him. “What I have to say comes from a combination of two things. First, the notes you supplied, coupled with my memories, represent the fine detail that supports the general information. Second, the general information comes from a talk I had with Hughes back in Boyston. Parts of it are emblazoned in my mind. Other parts only came out when I read over the notes. You see, Hughes and I had a long night together twenty-five years ago. It was on the night of my horrific sin—a few nights after he caught me with his notebook and destroyed it. He was reveling in my failure, and he decided to rub it in. Do you know what I mean?”

“Yeah. Gabe was mesmerized. “Nowadays they call it talking trash. Like if someone really wants to humiliate another person, they take one of their mistakes and keep harping on it. That what happened?”

“That’s similar, but in this case, he did it to send me here.” Father Costello’s expression sagged. “You’ll understand it better when I finish, so let me give you the information. Remember, this will only be a short version of what’s contained in the notes. I’ll try to get all the general information in, though.”

Gabe was so ready he couldn’t keep his hands still. A jiggle of his left leg triggered an electric bolt of pain that shot through his knee. His sudden movement startled the father.

“Are you okay?”

Gabe’s face reddened. “Yeah. Just had a pain in my knee. Go ahead. I’m dying to hear what you have to say.”

“Okay. First, I’ll describe Hughes’ organization. I’ll be giving you some numbers, but don’t worry about remembering them. Just remember their approximate value. Hopefully the numbers will answer some of the questions that come up.

“Hughes position in the organization is what they call a Recruiter. His job is to bring babies into the organization for training. But not all babies. They carefully identify them—they call them targets. It’s the job of Recruiters to get them away from their parents. To kidnap them.”

“That what they want to do with Cory Dean?”

Father Costello looked confused. “Who’s Cory Dean?”

“He’s my son. He was the baby we talked about last time. He’s Deena Lee’s baby, and I married her, so now he’s my son.”

“Just let me go on, Gabe. The specifics of your situation will probably be clear as I explain more. Now, the Recruiters can’t just go after any baby. The selection of the babies is done by members of the next higher level in the organization—the Councillors. Do you mind if I use the term ‘targets’ instead of ‘babies?’ I find it too disturbing the other way.”

Gabe was having trouble with more than that one word. “Fine with me. And could you use some word other than ‘kidnap?’ It makes my stomach hurt.”

“Okay.” Father Costello blinked like he was trying to regain his train of thought. “Let’s see. The Councillors are also responsible for training the new recruits, which is what the targets become when they’re brought into the organization. The Councillors answer to the Provosts. Only a small number of them are rumored to exist. Even Hughes didn’t know how many. Anyway, the Provosts make all of the major decisions about the operation and future directions of the organization. They also have to approve all of the acquisitions. So, it’s like a pyramid, with only a few Provosts, more Councillors, and lots of Recruiters. Understand?”

Gabe nodded. So far, so good, he thought.

“Good. Once individuals are in the organization, they can’t move between the various levels. They’re stuck with where their training places them, no matter how good they are.”

“Or how bad they are?” Gabe broke in, thinking of the two doctors he met earlier in the day.

Father Costello shook his head. “No, that’s not a problem for this organization. If any member doesn’t do his or her job satisfactorily, he or she is terminated immediately—no questions asked.”

“Terminated? You mean fired?”

“No. I mean terminated, like killed.” The priest’s expression was serious. “The organization can’t afford to have unhappy former employees running around. Besides, they consider it a wonderful motivating tool.”

Gabe gasped, but his curiosity took over. “So, who’s the boss of this organization?”

“Hughes wasn’t clear on that, but his message came across. All he would say is there’s no recruiting for the top spot.”

Gabe’s eyes were as wide as his eyelids would allow.

“Anyway, let me get back to what I know for sure,” Father Costello said. “The targets are selected by the Councillors, and the Recruiters go out and ‘obtain’ them for training. Once in training, only a small percentage of them eventually become Recruiters. Let’s see …” Father Costello ran his finger across one of the pages of notes in front of him. “Right. Only 17.6% of primary recruits go on to be successfully trained as Recruiters.”

“What happens to the rest of them?”

“I’m getting to that,” Father Costello said with a hint of impatience. “The ones that don’t make it are returned to society, and they’re referred to by the organization as ‘One of Ours,’ although they’ve shortened it to ‘Triple O’s.’“

Gabe stroked his chin with his right hand and looked at the ceiling. “Seventeen percent? It’s not so good. What kind of organization is happy with only seventeen percent success? If my farm had that percentage, I’d be broke in a year.”

“It’s worse than that.” The priest raised his eyebrows. “They call it the ‘Training Success Rate’ and shorten it to ‘TSR.’ Anyway, the seventeen percent TSR is not representative of the total population. It’s the TSR for the most carefully selected targets only.”

“Who’re the best targets?”

“Most targets are children for whom one parent is a Triple O and the other is a regular citizen. You mentioned your son. Do you know his father?” The priest opened his palms to accentuate the question.

“He was a no good chicken. He ran out as soon as he found out Deena Lee was pregnant. He ain’t been seen since.”

Father Costello bobbed his head. “I’d say he was most definitely a Triple O. Anyway, to move on, if you think the TSR for these targets is bad, for children from a pair of citizens, which is what they call normal members of society, the TSR is …” He scanned his notes. “… only 0.78%. Less than one percent. During our previous meeting, I believe you asked why Hughes wasn’t after another child born in Boyston. Do you remember?”

“Yes. That was Teddy’s baby, Teddy Jr.”

“Right. The organization won’t even bother with most children from a pair of citizens. The TSR is way too low. There are some cases where both parents are citizens, but the father is either not known for sure, or the father leaves before the birth of the child. In these cases, the TSR is still only 2.6%, and that’s still not worth the effort. In a few special cases, however, the organization will not only go after the child of a pair of citizens, but do so with significant enthusiasm. These are what they call ‘Children of Special Circumstance,’ or ‘CSCs.’ In these cases, the child must be conceived under extremely unusual circumstances, usually something that goes against legal or societal mores. The more immoral, the better for the organization. Although the TSR for these CSCs is only 6.4%, the potential of these individuals being trained into one of the higher echelons of the organizations, like Councillors or Provosts, is extremely high. The organization goes after these children, but usually only as secondary targets. They will almost always require that a primary target be in place so the effort is not totally wasted if the CSC doesn’t work out. Do you know anyone who may be a secondary target in Boyston?”

Gabe felt the drip of perspiration on his collar and his face radiated heat like it was on fire. The full impact of his moral slippage with Wanna hit him like an unblocked linebacker. He wanted to tell the priest about it but his mouth wouldn’t form the words. He wanted to ask if that was why Thibideaux hadn’t killed him before, and to ask for forgiveness, but he couldn’t muster the courage. Shame weighed on him like a wall of bricks and all he could do was keep silent. The father’s retreat from reality began to make some sense. After a long pause, he answered, “No.”

Father Costello fingered the corner of one of the pages in front of him. “The chance of a cross between a citizen and a Triple O reaching either the Councillor or Provost levels of training is virtually nil—let’s see … it’s 0.02 percent—so the organization considers the

CSCs to be worth the effort. If they didn’t have the potential of being trained into the higher levels, the organization wouldn’t bother with them either.” Father Costello stared at Gabe. “Are you okay? Do you want to take a break?”

“I think I need to go to the bathroom for a minute. I’ll be right back.”

Gabe struggled to his feet. He felt dizzy and nauseous, so he ambled out of the day room and into the adjacent bathroom and splashed water on his face. It seemed the whole Thibideaux situation was centered on him and his family. Replacing his emotional devastation with resolve was proving to be a tough battle. A few laps around the bathroom helped him garner enough control to re-enter the day room.

“Okay, Father. I’m ready to keep going. I just can’t get off the seventeen percent success thing. How does the organization keep going with that low success rate?”

“That’s the evil beauty of the organization,” Father Costello said, a sad smile on his face. “It’s not the successful recruits that are important. It’s the failures. The Triple O’s. They go back into society as liars and cheats and the like. The worst ones are murderers and rapists and thieves, but the majority of them just blend in with all of us. The organization’s new emphasis, at least as of twenty-five years ago, was to return Triple O’s into what they called ‘professional jobs.’ These are the bankers, the lawyers, the doctors, the businessmen, things like that. Hughes said they were going to be the invisible crime force of the upcoming century, lying and cheating in subtle ways from inside corporations and businesses.”