William Kienzle - Sudden Death

Finished with his salad, McNiff cracked a bread stick. “Oh, you do, do you? Well, it’s not going to go away. So who’s going to do it? Who’s going to be around running the plant? Who’s on duty at the door? Who’s available in case of emergency? Who’s there when the parishioners need somebody?”

“The ultimate answer to most of those questions is, our business manager.”

“Business manager! You got a business manager? When did you get a business manager? Where did you get a business manager?”

“About, let’s see, maybe six months ago.” Koesler sensed McNiff s pique over not having been told. “It just never came up in any of our discussions.”

Koesler waited while this new information was assimilated. McNiff did not adjust easily to surprises. “It’s one of the men from the parish,” Koesler explained. “Ed Dorsey. I don’t think you’ve met him. A little while back, he retired from Ford. He was an executive there. It was his idea; he didn’t know what to do with all that time. He suggested he take over the office. So now, between him and our secretary, Mary O’Connor, the parish is doing better than ever. We give him a little stipend. It isn’t much. . but then, he doesn’t need much. We just wanted to show him our gratitude.”

McNiff was not at all sure he liked the idea. But then, he seldom liked any new idea at first blush. “But who takes care of the parishioners, their spiritual needs? Neither what’s-his-name-Mr. Dorsey-nor Mary can confer sacraments. Neither of them is trained to give spiritual advice.”

Koesler chuckled. “I didn’t abdicate, Pat; I just hired a business manager. I’m around much of the time, catching up on odds and ends, preparing homilies. . like that. And if I’m not at the rectory, I call in periodically to get any messages. And if someone wants to see me, he or she makes an appointment. Just as they do with their doctors, dentists, and lawyers.

“You ought to try it, Pat. In a parish like yours, you’ve got to have a number of retirees who could step in and help. They’d probably be grateful to be asked. It would free you up. All those Masses and meetings make demands on us that we can’t escape. But there’s no reason we have to add to the burnout the rest of the time.”

The waitress cleared away the salad dishes-my, that was a decolletage! — and served the pieces de resistance. McNiff was still digesting the business manager concept. “Okay, so the business manager relieves you from hours of answering phones, taking care of the books, managing the janitor, ordering supplies, making sure equipment is kept in good repair”-McNiff was unaware that he was enumerating tasks he would be relieved of if he had a business manager-“but what do you do with the time you’ve saved? What do you do, Father, all day … I mean, after you’ve said Mass?”

Koesler smiled. “There’s lots of things, Pat. I go back to the seminary, audit some classes. Bone up on some of the new theological trends. Spend a bit more time visiting ill parishioners. There’s a nursing home in our parish. I go there every once in a while. Those folks really need company. We’ve started a few prayer groups in the parish. And,” he paused and chuckled, “then there’s the Bible discussion group. . how’s the fish?”

In response, McNiff freed a segment of scrod, dabbed his fork in tartar sauce, speared the morsel, introduced it to his mouth, and chewed, a smile indicating approval. “How’s the hamburger?”

“Fine.”

“How does it stack up against the hamburger in every other eatery in town?”

Koesler grinned. Of course, being together as much as they were, McNiff would be well aware of Koesler’s penchant for ordering ground beef.

“I would say”-hamburger was one of the very few secular subjects about which Koesler felt qualified to expertly pontificate-“this is only slightly lower in quality than that of the London Chop House. And considerably lower in quantity than that of Carl’s Chop House, but then, Carl’s is especially appropriate just before or after famine.”

McNiff sipped his wine. “Nice.” He knew as little about wine as did Koesler. “So,” McNiff returned to the previous topic, “you joined a Bible discussion group. As the leader, I suppose.”

“Nope; just a member. Not even first among equals.”

“Not the leader! Then why in God’s green world would a priest join a Bible discussion group? The other members can’t all be priests!”

Koesler smiled as he swallowed a morsel of potato. “No, they are by no means priests. As a matter of fact, they all belong, in one way or another, to that team we saw get beat this afternoon. As for the reason I joined, it probably has a great deal to do with my inability to say no.

“All Cougars!” Three surprises in one mealtime were not good for McNiff s digestion. “Come on! Come on!” he gestured, fingers curling into his palm, “let it all out. You’ll feel better for it.”

Koesler touched a napkin to his lips. “As I said, my parishioner, Kit Hoffer, asked me to join this discussion group. I’m not sure why. But I’ve got a hunch he feels a little insecure in that group for one reason or another. So he wants his friendly parish priest along.”

“Well, one incredibility after another. Who’da thought that a pro football team would have a Bible group?”

“Not that surprising when you get into it. It’s kind of an offshoot of the Fellowship of Christian Athletes. . you’ve heard of them?”

McNiff nodded.

“They sponsor prayer meetings, especially on the mornings of game days. It’s a very active, nondenominational organization. Actually, there are three discussion groups among the Cougar personnel. But ours-we call ourselves the God Squad-is the only one of the three that has allowed in an outsider.” He paused. “I guess that’s not so odd when you look at the disparity of our members.”

McNiff s expression invited amplification.

“There’s Kit-and me, of course-Jay Galloway, Dave Whitman, Jack Brown, Bobby Cobb, Niall Murray, and Hank Hunsinger.”

McNiff whistled softly. “What a conglomeration! The owner, the general manager, the trainer, a priest, and four players. How did-”

“I’m not sure. I think it was organized by Brown, the trainer. As for his motive, I can only guess at it. For one thing, I think he wanted to bring management and player personnel together. Management is certainly represented by Galloway and Whitman. But why he singled out the players he did is beyond me. Come to think of it, he may have invited other players to join. In any event, I assume he picked Cobb because he’s the hub of the team. And Hunsinger is the most notorious-or should I say he seems to be most in demand as far as publicity is concerned. Murray, as an immigrant and rookie, and Hoffer, as a rookie and backup to Hunsinger, would have to be about the least secure members of the team.” He stopped, then added, “I’m not claiming that these were Brownie’s reasons. But it’s the best scenario I can come up with.”

McNiff finished his entree and was sipping coffee while being very thoughtful. “The one who seems most to stick out like a sore thumb in that group is Hunsinger. If you can believe what you read in the papers, the guy’s an out-and-out hedonist. And, on top of it all, I think I read that he’s a Catholic!”

“Right on both counts. He is a Catholic, though certainly not a practicing one. He alone of the group always seems rather cynical. I’m only guessing, but I think the reason he’s in this bunch is that he wants as few things as possible going on behind his back. I think he knows he’s nearing the end of his career. So any meeting that Kit Hoffer attends, Hunsinger is probably sure to be found there.