“Hello, Father Mike? It's Nick Johnson, around 1:15, Wednesday afternoon. I was
wondering if we could talk some time tonight after work. Please call me at my office when you
have a chance. 555-0709 is the number. Thanks.”
Hanging up the phone, I leaned back in my chair since I had a 15 minute break between
patients. I had left Marjorie's office pretty quickly and hoped I didn't seem too despairing, but I
needed to get out of there. Why couldn't these thugs target a single doctor? Someone who didn't
have any other family members to consider? This network was too smart for that, I supposed.
They probably were looking for the guy on the committee with a lot of family in the area and
along came me.
It felt like I was losing control of this situation, partly because who to turn to was still a
mystery. Not being able to bring in Susan had already started to eat away at me, though the
danger level was way too high for that. She would probably have run to the police and we would
both have been dead in a few days given that the police weren't going to assign an officer to
follow me 24-7 indefinitely. The police could have grabbed these guys if they were lurking
around my house, but it would have been my word against there's. It didn't help that I didn't
know when or where these guys would try to talk with me again.
I didn't think anyone was following me, having been on the lookout since leaving
Marjorie's office. Clearly, these guys wanted me to believe that, if I helped them, they would
leave me and my family alone. It took all the reasoning that I had in me not to get in my car in the university visitor lot, ready to hop on I-80 across the country. When you realize that someone is
going to kill you, you want to run as fast as you can away from that threat. But I knew I couldn't
go away and leave my family in danger.
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I took a sip of my diet cola that I kept stocked in my office refrigerator. Usually limiting
myself to two sodas a day, I was on my fourth today and wondered what other poor health habits
I would pick up given the haunting problem facing me.
My tongue moved over a canker sore that I was developing on the inside of my cheek.
Stress always brought these bad boys out in my mouth - the diet coke stung a bit. But I really
didn't care at this point.
Logging into my AOL account, I searched for anonymous chat rooms. This was a totally
new experience for me but it occurred to me that morning that I should find out just how
anonymous these chat rooms were. Tom and his buddies used to spend time on these chat rooms a
few years ago, though we didn't see him on them anymore. Maybe I could lay out my problem in
cyberspace to see if anyone out there had ideas for me. But the AOL chat rooms weren't truly
secure and someone could report my problem to the AOL people; they would know my identity
so I couldn't take that risk.
I was able to do a little bit of gun research online that morning even with my busy
schedule. Maybe someone in the chat rooms would have ideas about that. Outside of Peter and
Father Mike, I couldn't think of anybody in person to talk to about it because they couldn't be
expected to stay quiet. And Peter wasn't completely trustworthy at that point.
While online that morning I found some helpful websites. It sounded like I could get a NJ
state gun permit within 30 days but would require fingerprinting. Of course, I had to be careful
about any mailings to the house as an official envelope from the Morristown police department
would surely get Susan firing some questions in my direction.
The Linders were in fact murdered on September 1st, according to a story that I found.
Last night, Oleg didn't tell me they were dead, yet the story's online version sure confirmed it.
There were no witnesses and it didn't sound like any progress on suspects was going to be made.
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My phone rang.
“Hello Nick, Father Mike here.”
“Oh, hello Father…that was quick. I just left you the message a few minutes ago.”
“Right, I just got back from a run. I try to fit in 3 miles every other day around lunch
time.”
I did know this actually as I had told him in the past how „in shape' he always seemed to
be on the squash court.
“Good for you, my man. Keep that ticker of yours healthy. Anyway, do you have time for
me tonight?”
“Yes, I believe I do. How does 5:30 sound? I will be in the parish office and we can talk
there.”
I was not quite sure where the parish office was, but I was pretty good about those kinds
of things.
“That will work just fine, Father. Thank you. I will see you at 5:30.”
“Take care, Nick.”
Looking up at the clock, I realized that I needed to get ready for the afternoon
appointments. I clicked open the first few patients history on our brand new computer network
that I was still trying to figure out.
Bob Regan was back again for the third time in two months for allergies that I couldn't
seem to solve, while Christine Wilson was getting a lump on her arm removed today.
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Wednesday, November 6th
5:30 pm
I found Father Michael in the St. Anthony's parish office like he had asked. I'd only been
inside this church a few times before and it looked like it held 300 or so people, maybe filling up
only for weddings and funerals. Nobody was around, some kind of toxic incense was burning and
two communion cups rested on a table beside the office door.
Father Michael stood up from the computer screen.
“Hey, Father, thanks for meeting me.” I walked up to him and shook his hand.
He looked so much more formal in his priest outfit than he did on the squash court.
Maybe he changed into his priest outfit after showering at the Morristown Racquet Club. I never
showered there, so I wouldn't know, though most of the men at the club did shower there after
playing. I just preferred my own shower at home.
“You're welcome, Nick. Have a seat. So, am I going to see you on the squash court this
Friday?”
Father Michael pointed to the two chairs in front of his desk where a large dark stain
blotted the grey carpet underneath the seat that I selected. One of the fluorescent light bulbs
above hummed loudly.
“Um, not sure at this moment. I'd sure like to play, though.”
Father Michael leaned back in his chair and locked his hands behind his head.
“Well, we could use you, of course.”
“Alright then…Father, I have a big problem and I don't know where else to turn.”
“Oh?”
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I continued. “I have been sitting on a pharmaceutical drug trial committee for a few
months now. A few days ago, these two thugs with foreign accents confronted me in my car.”
Father Michael shot forward against the desk. “Really…”
“These guys tell me to give them advance notice of the trial results, or they will harm my
family.”
Father Michael's eyes bugged out. “You're kidding! Have you talked to the police?”
“See, that's the thing. They told me not to talk to the police or I'd regret it. One of them
had a knife against my throat…”
“Oh, brother! And they want you to give them inside information about this drug?”
Standing up, I started pacing, realizing that, even though Father Michael must have heard
everything over the years, maybe even confessed murder, this seemed to be a new one for my
priest friend. I thought they still did confession in the privacy booths, but I was talking to Father Michael as a friend in trouble. How many of these did he get each year?
“Uh, huh.”
“What then? Will they leave you alone?”
I shouldn't have told him the next part but I just needed to get it out, in an odd way, it felt
more liberating than I imagined.
“No, I don't think they will. I overheard them saying how they plan on killing me
regardless.”
Father Michael walked around the worn desk and sat on the front end of it.
“Nick, you have a real problem. I think you need to find a way to talk to the police
without these guys finding out.”
I sat down on the desk next to Father Michael.
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“Father, these guys knew so much about my family, it was too creepy…like they are
watching me all of the time.”
I pointed out to Father Michael that I had been shown a video of the last doctor who tried
to „play' the two Czechs and how he and his wife were brutally murdered.
“Let me just say that it wasn't pretty,” I told my priest friend. “I've never seen anybody
murdered before.”
Though I didn't actually see the Linders murdered on the video, I had no problem
imagining it in my garbled mind of mine.
“You saw them killed?” Father Michael's hands slapped the desk. I was suddenly not
sure I should be telling him these details.
“Look Father, I really don't expect you to find any master solution to this problem of
mine. It just feels really good to finally tell somebody.”
Father Michael let out a loud cough, it sounded like a chest cold.
“I can understand that,” Father Michael stated. “When do you think they will contact you
again?”
Putting my hands in my pockets, I thought for a second. Dr. Linder hired somebody to
protect his family and that didn't stop the Oleg gang from getting to him and Mrs. Linder. I began
to have doubts about the whole gun idea. Never even fired one before, not even a bb gun during
childhood because Dad would never have allowed it.
If I could connect Oleg to the Linder murders, the police would likely talk with me.
Looking at the video, the Czechs could have left some of their DNA at the scene in the form of
blood or hair follicles since I had seen enough crime shows to know that. If I had known when
Oleg would meet with me again, I could have alerted the police. Yet, I would need to be 100%
certain that they would be locked up for good and I didn't have that assurance, nor did I have a
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clue when our next meeting would be. For all I knew, Oleg and his thug partner could have
followed me to the police station and taken me out right there - going to the police could have
backfired in a huge way.
I looked up at Father Michael. He had his finger on his lip and was looking up at the
ceiling.
“I don't know for sure. I told them that the trial was scheduled to last another three or so
months.”
“Well, I was just thinking that if you knew when and where they were going to contact
you next, the police could pick them up.”
I stood up to face Father Michael.
“I don't think the police would be able to hold them, though. It would be just hearsay on
my part and I don't even know when I would see these guys again, but I have thought about all of
this, trust me Father.”
A door down the hallway opened and we heard footsteps coming toward the office.
“Are you expecting anybody?” I asked Father Michael.
He shook his head no.
My face tightened up. I thought I was careful so I really didn't think the Czechs followed
me here. It felt like it took this person five minutes to walk down the hallway.
A woman in her fifties entered the office who was wearing a very old fashioned flower
dress like she was off to a picnic in the park.
“Oh hi, Father. I forgot to tell you before I left that Ron Walters is meeting with you at
9:30 tomorrow.
“Deb, this is Nick Johnson,” Father Michael said. “Nick, Deb runs the office here.”
I shook her hand.
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“Nice to meet you, Deb.”
Thank God it wasn't Oleg and his thug partner.
“Father, that cough of yours sounds like you should take some Robitussin to clear up
those lungs.”
Father Michael laughed. “Thanks Doc.”
Deb began to laugh, while looking at Father Michael.
“Finally, somebody else is telling you do something about that cough of yours. Nick,
Father hates it when I nag him.”
Father Michael looked annoyed and he crossed his arms, he was a grown man, after all.
“Alright you two, I have some paperwork to handle before it gets too late tonight, so if
you'll excuse me…”
When Deb grabbed my arm as she walked me to the door, I picked up on her odd
perfume scent, a bit orange like.
“Remember, Father, I am not looking for a solution here. It just was great to talk about
it,” I told him.
“Nick, you're more than welcome. I hope to see you on Friday,” Father Michael stated.
Our squash games would never be the same again. I didn't think I would make it on
Friday, but I didn't tell Father Michael this because I thought I had dumped way too much crap
on his plate already.
I walked Deb to her car, and headed home for dinner. Starving out of my mind, I began to
focus on what Susan had told me earlier that day: she was making her famous Chicken Alfredo.
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Wednesday, November 6th
6:40 pm
Father Michael picked up the St. Anthony membership directory to look up the Milers.
William Miler was a retired Morristown detective, married to Betsy, and lived on Eagle
Boulevard. Father Michael had known the Milers for over 22 years during which he confirmed
both of their boys, Will and Andy into the Catholic Church. Father Michael was a rookie priest
when he arrived at St. Anthony's, just 27 years old. He met William and his family a few weeks
later. The years were getting harder and harder to count, though Father Michael believed that
Will, the youngest boy, was now out of college.
“Betsy?” the priest asked the woman who picked up the phone.
“Yes?”
“Hello, there - It's Father Michael…how are you, Dear?
“Oh, Father Michael, we are doing great. We need to have you over for dinner – it's been
too long since we last had you over.”
Not quite nine months, he believed. “That would be wonderful. Hey, is William around?”
Father Michael normally tried to stretch out the conversation but he felt pressed at the
moment. He hoped he was not being rude.
“He sure is, Father; he's downstairs in his workshop. William's building our
granddaughter, Claire, a doll house.”
“Oh, that's really neat, Betsy.”
Father Michael thought little Claire was two or three, though he'd only met her a few
times, as her family lived in Westchester. William was often bemoaning how far away his oldest
son, Andy, lived.
“Her three year birthday is next month,” Betsy revealed.
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The priest heard Betsy talking to William, telling him that the white paint she had bought
for the doll house was still in her car. She said something about the house, but Father Michael
couldn't make it out. William took the handset. “Father Mike, to what do I owe this pleasure?”
“William, I think I could use your help. Can we talk alone?”
“Yeah, sure…Betsy has gone upstairs. What's up? You sound upset, you alright?”
“A fellow that I know, who doesn't go to St. Anthony's, came in tonight to talk about a
problem that he's having - it's a doozy, William.”
Father Mike kept telling himself to be careful not to give William too many details given
that he was going behind Nick's back to help him. He needed to wet William's interest with as
little information as possible.
“Okay.”
“Through his job, he has information about a very sensitive subject and has attracted
some thugs who are now threatening his family if he doesn't give them the information.”
William paused for a few seconds. “Right, has he gone to the police about this?”
“No, apparently, they showed him a video of them killing the last guy and his family who
had gone to the police.”
“Where did this happen?”
“He didn't say, William, he's being careful with the details because he doesn't want to
put me at risk.”
William put down what sounded like a heavy tool. “Well, did he come for confession or
something?”
“No, he just came in for a talk, but he said it really felt good to tell somebody else about
his problem.”
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William chuckled slightly.
“I can imagine – that's quite a load to keep inside. Does this guy have access to customer
databases or something? Is that what these thugs want?”
Father Michael stood up from his chair. This wasn't right. He should have just asked
Nick to contact William. Father Michael couldn't force Nick to talk with William, and the retired
detective was asking too many questions, of course he was.
“William, this guy is in some real trouble. Those thugs showed him that video for a
reason.”
“Well, if he won't talk with the police, do you think he would talk with me?”
“I don't know if he will talk with you, but I was thinking…no, forget it.”
“What?”
“How hard is it for someone to disappear?” Father Michael asked.
William coughed lightly. “Disappear? What's his family status?”
“He has a wife and teenage boy.”
“That complicates things.”
“But you will talk with him if he wants to see you?”
“Sure, I'll talk with him, and maybe I can help.”
Father Michael heard Betsy ask William if he was still talking with him and the priest
really hoped she hadn't heard any of this.
“Uh, William? I need to trust you to keep quiet about this, Okay?”
“Of course, Father. Hey, I should probably run, Okay?”
“William, I really appreciate this.”
“My pleasure, Father.”
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Father Michael hung up the phone and sat back down in his chair. Boy, some days, you
just don't know what's going to come your way.
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