Joe Victim: A Thriller

“Yeah. Early this afternoon.”


“You got a location?”

“Ha,” he says, and gives a small laugh. “Actually I do. She rang me back and left a message on my phone. She invited me along. Hang on a second and let me get it for you.”

Schroder hangs on and he looks out the back window as Hutton’s car get smaller, and then he thinks that Miracle Monday has come to an end for that car not being stolen, and he tells the ambulance driver to pull over.





Chapter Seventy-Nine


I’m not one for churches. They have their purpose, I guess, but their purpose could be to burn and keep the homeless warm and I’d be equally as fine with that reason as I would be for the real use they have. My parents were married in a church before I was born. My dad’s funeral was in a church and then he was taken away and cremated. That was the only day I’ve ever been in one.

Rain clouds are looming on the horizon out toward the sea, but I can’t tell which direction they’re moving. We get out of the car and the temperature has dropped a few degrees and the wind has picked up a little and I don’t like the look of where things are heading. Christchurch has a way of starting out sunny and ending very differently. The parking lot out front has five cars, ours becoming the sixth.

The church is made up of stone blocks and looks like it’s about a hundred years old, and looks like it’s going to be cold inside. The cemetery behind it rolls into the distance, fresh gravestones and old gravestones mixing up the view.

Melissa has the gun in her pocket. She’s taken the silencer off so it fits. We climb the stairs up to the church doors and push the right one open. At first sight it’s easy to think the church is empty, but it’s not, it’s just a very small crowd confined to the first two pews. My mom is standing at the front with Walt. Walt is wearing a brown suit with a wide brown tie that looks like something some insurance salesman would have been buried in forty years ago. My mom is wearing a flowing white dress that is made from satin or silk and hugs her body in all the places Walt has been hugging her body lately, but in this case these places only make her look fat. They are facing each other. Standing behind them is a priest, and he’s the only one to notice me and Melissa walking into the room. He doesn’t pause, but carries on with the ceremony and the audience of—I count them—eight people.

We sit down in the back. We have to, because if we go too close and my mom or Walt sees us, they’ll talk to me, then the priest will figure out who we are, and then Melissa will have to shoot him to stop him from calling the police, and though we haven’t talked about it I get the idea that Melissa is on the same wavelength when it comes to shooting priests—it just seems like an unlucky thing to do. Though, a year ago the priest who used to run this church had his skull beaten in with a hammer. That’s kind of an unlucky thing to do too—more so for him.

The priest carries on, and even though it hasn’t felt like a risk coming here, suddenly it does. Being stationary seems dangerous. Being on the move felt safe. I’m guessing Melissa feels that too because she keeps jiggling her legs.

“How long is this going to take?” she whispers to me, and we’re too far away for anybody to hear us.

“I don’t know,” I tell her. “I’ve never been to a wedding.”

“I don’t like this,” she says. “I think coming here was the wrong thing to do.”

“Let’s give it five more minutes,” I say.

“Three,” she says, and I don’t renegotiate.

My mother looks happy. Walt looks happy. I feel tense. The priest asks if anybody here has a reason why these two shouldn’t get married. I have a bunch of reasons. My mom and Walt look out into the church, but their eyes only go as far as the front two rows. Nobody says anything. Then the priest asks my mother a bunch of questions about taking Walt as her husband. The three minutes go by. We agree to stay three more. Then Walt gets the same kind of questions.

Then they kiss.

My stomach turns over and this morning’s storm is coming back. The priest and Walt shake hands. Then everybody gets up and people are hugging, and then my mother and Walt move over to a table and sign something. One of the crowd steps forward and starts snapping off photographs. Then the happy couple walk down the aisle toward the church doors, and they walk right past us without even noticing. The priest opens the doors for them, the people that came along for the wedding follow them out, and suddenly we’re alone with the priest.

I get up. Melissa gets up too.

“You’re her son, aren’t you,” the priest says.

“No,” I tell him.

“I don’t know what you’re thinking,” he says, “but there’s no sanctuary in a church. The police will arrest you in here just as they will arrest you anywhere.”

“I’m not here for sanctuary.”