THE MCJ

REUNION

A new "Chris Johnson, Anglican Investigator" adventure

Chapter One - The Visitor

It’s true.  I’m out of the Anglican private investigation game.  Why?  Lots of reasons.

My marriage to Nicole was the social event of the 21st century and I can back up that smack.  If you make the cover of People magazine ten straight weeks, get your wedding televised internationally and have actors, athletes, politicians, world leaders, kings and queens pleading with you, groveling before you, screaming at you, sobbing in your ears or threatening to sue you to get an invitation, you’ve got serious celebrity game.

Westminster Abbey was the perfect place for Nicky and me to get married and Rowan Williams’ sermon wasn’t too long and hit just the right notes.  Dr. Williams got us the Abbey and performed the service because I once helped him out with a little communication problem he had ("The Case of the Lifted Loquacity").  Our honeymoon was as glorious as everyone expected it to be (still haven’t figure out where it was, have you? Told you I was good).

And what with writing my best-selling autobiography, negotiating the movie rights to it, consulting for AI: New York, the top-rated prime-time television show in history, investing the millions I made from all that, the tens of millions I made from those investments and the hundreds of millions I made from those, I figured it was the perfect time to walk away, relax, enjoy my staggeringly hot wife and spend my money.

So I got out.

Or so I thought.

One delightfully cool afternoon, Nicole and I were sitting in the den of our West St. Louis County mansion after several hours of something that really isn’t any of your business.  Suddenly a man wearing a fedora strode purposefully into the room, a thick file under one arm. He made a beeline for the liquor cabinet, poured himself a really stiff Jim Beam, took off his hat and sat down on the couch opposite my chair.

I smiled broadly.  "Honey?” said Nicky.  “Two things.  Is this a friend of yours?  And should we get a new security system?"

"Dude’s an old associate.  And the security’s fine.  My man Dale Price here spent four years in Opus Dei and can beat just about any security system there is.  Those guys turn down Navy SEALs, babe."

“Dale Price, huh?  It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Nicky said with her most beautiful smile.  But Dale was preoccupied and didn’t spend the customary minute or so staring at and drooling over my wife.

I don’t know why I didn’t catch it.  “What’s up, D?” I brightly asked.  I hadn’t seen Dale since the last time we worked together ("The Case of the Ecumenical Evidence") and I was delighted to see him again.  As private Christian investigators went, Price was second only to me.  But Dale stared at nothing in particular, absentmindedly stroked his Beretta, sipped some bourbon and didn’t reply.

As I looked at him, something suddenly troubled me.  For the first time, I saw something in my old friend’s eyes that I had never seen before.  Fear.  "What’s going on, man?" I asked quietly, my eyes narrowing.

Dale finally spoke. "A case.  A really...weird...case."

"Catholic?"

"Maybe."

"So what are you doing here?  You’ve been the top private Catholic dick for years and years and you’ve cracked really bizarre stuff before ("The Case of the Saginaw Supralapsarian").  And how many times has Shea had to call you in for consultations?”

"More red-eye flights to Seattle than I can count.  But this one is different."

“Why?”

Price put his glass on the end table and stared at me.  “A week ago, I’m on the way home.  The kids are here and there with this aunt and that uncle so I’m thinking the wife and I are about to have a little quality time, if you know what I mean.”

I winked at Nicky who smiled back.  “Read you loud and clear.”

“Figured you did since you’re not blind and your wife’s out of this freaking world.  Anyway, I walk inside my front door and there’s the wife standing there staring at me with a very worried look in her eye.  ‘Dale,’ she said.  'There’s someone here to see you.’

“Oh Lord, I think.  Who died?  So I walk in the living room and there’s Amy Welborn sitting on my couch looking very, very scared.”

“Amy Welborn scared?!” exclaimed Nicky.  “That’s unbelievable.”

“I know.”

“What was she scared of?” I asked.

“This.” Dale opened his file.  "I’m leaving out the names.  A couple of months ago a very prominent Catholic archbishop performed confirmations in some new vestments.  Black metal-studded leather and KISS make up."

"Peter Criss?"

"Yeah.”

“My God.”

“They managed to hush it up.  Called it stress until he wore it three more times.  He’s on sabbatical now.  Then there’s the bishop wanted to play more, uh, up-to-date music during Communion."

"St. Louis Jesuits?"

"’Baby Got Back.’  Another bishop also wanted to update his service music only he went with Toto, Quiet Riot and Night Ranger.”

“Good Lord!” exclaimed Nicky.

“Then there was the bishop who just introduced the concept of liturgial breakdancing.  And an American cardinal recently wore a new miter during some first Communions.  A baseball cap on backwards.  That’s just a small tip of this iceberg."

“So what?  Catholic litugical goofballism.  It’s happened before and it’s nothing you can’t handle.  Why does this concern me?"

"Because it’s happening all over the world, not just the United States.  Because it began happening all at once.  Because most of the people going nuts are some of most orthodox Christians and the greatest servants of Christ you will ever meet.  The Vatican’s scared to death.  That’s why they called Welborn and that’s why Welborn called me."

"Once again, what does this have to do with me?  You’ve got the big guns involved and you guys know what you’re doing.  Besides, I’m out of it, man."

"You haven’t heard the commonality.”

“Commonality?”

“There’s an Episcopal angle and a damned scary one.  This was found at every single one of these cases from Maine to Mongolia.”  Dale handed me a photocopy.  "A piece of plastic about the size of a business card."

I stared at the image as Nicky looked over my shoulder. "A picture of Matthew Fox?" she asked.   "Why would Matthew Fox be scary?"

I looked up sharply at Dale.  "Do you know about these things?!"

"Uh huh," he grimly replied.

“Did you touch any of them?!”

“Hell no!”

"Who else is working this case?!"

"Shea and Welborn."

"Do they know about them?!"

"I don’t know."

"Find out!  And make sure that they know!"

"Know about what?!" Nicky demanded.

"Babe," I said.  "If you ever run across one of these, don’t touch it with your hands no matter how much you want to and you’re going to want to.  Use tongs or rubber gloves and if you don’t have any of those, run away.  I’ll explain later."

"So you’ll help us?” asked Price.

I stared out the window for a very long time.  “Just when I thought I was out..." I said to myself.  I shut my eyes briefly, opened them again and sighed.  "Yeah," I said with absolutely no enthusiasm.

"Thanks,” said Dale.  “Where do we start?"

“How much time have you got?”

“As much as I need.”

"Tail the old man.  I don’t think anything will come of it but I want to be sure.  Get back here by Friday at the latest.”

“Late.”

Dale gulped down the last of his bourbon, put on his hat and left.  I leaned back and stared at the ceiling for a long time.  Then I went over to the bar, made two tequila-and-sodas, handed one to Nicky and began slowly pacing around the room.  “So what do you think?”

“About you getting back in?  I think it was stupid to get out in the first place.  This is what you do, this is what you’re the best in the world at and it makes you happy.  Leaving was a big mistake.  And to be selfish about it, these cases are all kinds of exciting.”

“What about this case?”

“Open and shut.  Matt Fox is doing something to get back at the Catholics for breaking him off.  He’s got the motive.  Now all we have to find is the means.”

I stopped pacing and looked directly into Nicky’s eyes.  ”Sweetie? I don’t think this is about Matt Fox,” I said, sipping my drink.  Then my voice dropped to a whisper. “I don’t think this is about Matt Fox at all.”

Next week: The Old Gang

Posted on 9/18/2005 10:42:44 PM , 12 comments