Tod Goldberg: The Reformed

“Compelling little tale,” my mother said.

“It’s a good one,” I said.

“Can I ask you a question, Michael?”

“Probably not, Ma,” I said.

“Don’t you ever get tired of all of this?”

I set the newspaper down. “No,” I said. The fact was, I had one more job to do with Father Eduardo planned for that evening. “This is what I do. This is what I was put here to do. Either I’m a spy or I’m not a spy. But I’m not sitting around waiting for bad things to happen, not if I can stop something from occurring.”

My mother came over and put a hand on my face. “Please, Michael,” she said, “be more careful. These people? They sound crazy.”

Aren’t they all?

That night, I went to Father Eduardo’s house to pick him up. It was close to midnight, and Father Eduardo was dressed in a sweat suit when I met him at his door. I hadn’t seen him since the day everything had gone down, though we’d spoken several times.

“You ready?” I said.

“I am,” he said.

We drove for a long while in silence, headed out past Homestead and toward the Everglades. I finally asked, “How is your brother?”

“Healing,” he said. “I sent him to Nevada. I have a friend in a church there who is understanding of these things.”

“You’re not worried he’ll go back to the life?”

“I’m worried I’ll go back,” he said. He laughed, but I think he meant it. “I can’t control him. I can only give him a choice. He loves his son. That is worth something.”

“Where is Leticia?”

“Somewhere safe,” he said.

“You’re not going to tell me?”

“The more people know, the more people know,” he said. “I trust you, Michael, but she wants no one to know her anymore. A fresh start.”

“Does she need money?”

“Your friend Fiona has been very generous,” he said. “So, no. She’s fine.” Every day, a new surprise. “Turn left here,” he said, and pointed at an unpaved road that led off toward farmland. We drove for another few minutes, until he motioned for me to stop.

“Here?” I said.

“I think so,” he said.

We got out of the car, and Father Eduardo looked up into the sky, took a deep breath and then walked farther on, toward an old barn in the distance. I followed behind him at a distance.

Father Eduardo began to speak, his voice barely audible at first, and then slowly it rose in tenor as he delivered the last rites to a field of dead men, long ago buried by Junior Gonzalez and the Latin Emperors-a final act of contrition. I couldn’t help but wonder who’d delivered the last rites to all the men I’d left behind over the years.

I walked back to the Charger and waited for Father Eduardo to return, so I could drive him back to Miami, so I could return to my loft and wait for my next assignment, be it from the people who’d burned me or someone who only needed my help.