Day of Confession - Allan Folsom [56]
“They will report that to the police. They will come and search the tunnels. If they find my place, they will know you were there. And I will have nowhere to live.”
“I’m sorry…”
“At least we know two things. You are well enough to walk, even run. And you are no longer blind.”
Harry could see. He hadn’t had time to even think about it. He’d been in darkness. Then had come the light of the train and seeing the passengers inside. Not with one eye but two.
“So,” Hercules said. “You are free.” With that he slung a small bound package from his shoulder and pushed it at Harry.
“Open it.”
Harry stared, then did as the dwarf said. Undoing the package, he unrolled its contents. Black trousers, black shirt, black jacket, and the white clerical collar of a priest, all worn but serviceable.
“You will become your brother, eh?”
Harry stared, incredulous.
“All right, maybe not your brother, but a priest. Why not? Already you are growing a beard, changing your appearance…. In a city filled with priests, how better to hide than in the open…? In the pants’ pocket are a few hundred thousand lire. Not much, but enough for you to gather your wits and see what you would do next.”
“Why?” Harry said. “You could have turned me over to the police and collected the reward.”
“Is your brother alive?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did he kill the cardinal vicar?”
“I don’t know.”
“There, you see. If I had given you to the authorities, you could never have answered the questions: If your brother lives. If he is a murderer. How do you know unless you find out?—Not forgetting that you yourself are wanted for the murder of a policeman. It makes it twice as interesting, eh?”
“You could have had enough money to last you a long time.”
“But the police would have to give it to me. And I cannot go to the police, Mr. Harry. Because I myself am a murderer…. And if I had someone else do it and offered some sort of arrangement, they might take the money and never come back…. You would be in prison, and I would be no better off than I am now…. What good is that?”
“Then why?”
“Do I help you?”
“Yes.”
“To let you out, Mr. Harry, and see what you can do. How far your wits and courage will take you. If you are good enough to survive. To find answers to your questions. To prove your innocence.”
Harry studied him carefully. “That’s not the only reason, is it?”
Hercules moved back on his crutches and for the first time Harry saw sadness in him. “The man I killed was wealthy and drunk. He tried to smash my head with a brick because of what I look like. I had to do something and did.
“You are a handsome, intelligent man. If you use what you have, you have a chance…. I have none. I am an ugly dwarf and murderer, condemned to a life beneath the streets…. If you win your game, Mr. Harry, maybe you will remember me and come back. Use your money and what you know to help me…. If I am still alive, any Gypsy will know how to find me.”
A feeling of warmth and true affection crept over Harry, making him feel as if he stood in the presence of an extraordinary human being. And he cocked his head, smiling at the sheer curiosity of it. A week ago he’d been in New York on business, one of the youngest, most successful entertainment lawyers in Hollywood. His life had seemed charmed. He was on top of the world, with only higher to go. Seven days later, in a turn of circumstance beyond imagination, he stood bandaged and dirty in a cramped air shaft above the Rome Metro—wanted for the murder of an Italian policeman.
It was a nightmare that defied belief but all too real just the same. And in the middle of it, a man brutalized by life, who had little or no hope of ever being free again—a crippled dwarf who had rescued him and helped nurse him back to health—hung on his crutches inches away in a deep chiaroscuro of light, asking for his help. One day in the future, if he could remember.
By his simple request, Hercules had effected a grace Harry barely knew existed. Saying gently that he truly believed one person, if he wished, could use what