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Dalton File #9

After the beat down and the meeting with Flip, I waited about two weeks before heading to the convent. Those were the longest two weeks of my life, but I wanted all the bruises to be gone before I headed over there. Unlike the movies, where a person can have a black eye in one scene and look like nothing happened in the next , bruises take time to heal.

I finally felt like my bruises healed enough to face the nuns, so I went to the barber shop and got a shave and haircut. I’m a rough looking guy, but I think I cleaned up okay. Anyway, this was as good as I was going to look. I made the drive to the convent.

I was not intimidated by gangsters. I had been dealing with them my whole life, and I could predict what they would say and do. I could read them like the Sunday newspaper. They didn’t intimidate me in the least.

The funny thing is, I was intimidated to death about having to go speak with a nun. How do I act? What do I say? I’m really heading out of my element, but I was so close now.

As I sat in the car outside the convent, I realized that I had the same concerns I had before entering the police station. Will they even tell me if she were there? And if they did, would they actually let me talk to her?

I tried to go over every possible scenario in my mind. I thought I had them all covered, but then I walked inside and I saw the name on the desk, Mother Superior’s name was Sister Bertha. My body shivered in fear at the name alone. Bertha.

I said a quick prayer, “God, please guide me through this, you know I tend to say things I shouldn’t say at times. I pray this won’t be one of those times. Please, God, don’t let me get off on the wrong side with Sister Bertha.”

A sudden image came into my head of a large, old, angry nun who taught fourth grade and would shake the living daylights out of a student if he looked at her wrong. God, what’s wrong with me? I’m sorry, please help me.

I had a moment to regain my composure. The doorknob began to turn.

I began to sweat.

And then she walked through the door.

She was a tiny soft-spoken lady who said, “You look like such a nice young man, how can I help you?” Immediately I was reminded of Mimi, who said almost the same thing to me in the church, and I knew it would be okay. I looked up to heaven and silently thanked God–I see what you did there, God.

My name is Jeremiah Dalton and I’m a private investigator. I have been hir–”

I stopped myself, no little white lie this time.

“Sorry, I am looking for a woman named Mary Dolen. I heard she was here.”

Sister Bertha said, “Do you have any identification?” My heart sank, she isn’t going to tell me if she’s here, let alone let me see her if she is. I showed her my credentials. She took my hand and pulled it in to get a closer look.”

“I’m not saying she’s here, but the people who come here for sanctuary are here for a reason. They don’t want people to find them. Who are you working for?” Staying away from that little white lie seems to have paid off. I told her I was “working” for myself, that I was the one who needed to find her.

“I’ll tell you what I can do, Mr. Dalton. If you wait in the room to your left, I will check the register out back to see if we have a, what did you say her name was, Mary Dolen? I’ll see if she’s here.” I got the impression she was telling me a little white lie. Interesting. Understandable.

I started to admire her. She was protecting somebody.

She disappeared behind the door and was gone for quite awhile. I started to get that sinking feeling again. That feeling like Flip Callahan just punched me in the gut again.

I said another prayer while I waited.

Sister Bertha came back in the room and said, “We would like to know why you want to see her.” This gave me hope. It sounded like she unwittingly just told me she was here, without telling me she was here.

Now it was time for me to give her my testimony. I’m still not good at sharing it. Somehow sharing it with a nun was even harder for me. I was afraid that, as a “professional,” she would critique it.

I told her the whole story, starting with Mary walking into my office that Saturday night and ending when I walked into the church the next morning. I told her how I believe Mary saved my life that night, and how I wanted to thank her. I also told her I had a lot of questions I needed closure on.

She looked genuinely touched. Why do I have all of these wrong prejudices? She took a tissue that she was hiding in her sleeve and wiped a small tear from her eye. “God bless you Mr. Dalton. Let me talk to Mary and see if she’ll talk to you.

She is here!

“If she is still worried, please tell her that I have the goods to put the man she is running from up the river for a long time.” Sister Bertha looked puzzled.

“Goods? Up the river?”

“I’m sorry, Sister Bertha, tell her I have the evidence to put him in jail for a long time.”

Sister Bertha disappeared behind the door for a second time. The moment I had been waiting for was almost here. I hoped. And yet it felt so far away. It seemed like I waited forever, and then I heard movement behind the door.

I looked up and I saw a silhouette in the frosted glass window and I knew who it was. I couldn’t mistake the silhouette that came into my office that night. I have been around gangsters and other shady characters my whole life and was not nervous, but I could feel my heart rate rising and I began to get anxious.

The silhouette remained frozen for a moment as if she was making one final decision.

The doorknob began to turn…

Coming August 22nd: The Dalton Files: Mary Dolen