Page 25 of Priestly Sins

“You know this Tremaine?”

“Yes, Sergeant Cox. He’s one of my parishioners. I can be there in the next thirty minutes, if you tell me where and how much his bail is.”

“501 North Rampart. You’ll need ID and cashier’s check or money order.”

“For how much?”

“Five thousand six hundred fifty dollars.”

“Right. Thank you.”

I’ve never heard of a staffer making the call on behalf of a detainee. But I don’t get called to make bail on the regular, so who knows.

I throw my blacks and collar back on. Henry has never seen me otherwise, and it buys me some leverage in a city like New Orleans.

I hit the twenty-four-hour grocery and pay for the money order and make my way to Rampart. Parking is shit—as is this neighborhood—and I hope for the best when I park the car at a closed-down gas station nearby.

When I enter the station, a hush falls over the crowd before the bustle resumes. The looks and the sideways glances are unnerving, but I can’t say I’ve spent time in police stations so it could come with the territory.

“I’m not here to give last rites.” The joke falls flat so I ask the lady at the counter for Sergeant Cox and explain I’m here to post bail. She’s a black woman with a growing afro and a take-no-shit attitude. I smile because I like that.

“You’re not a bail bondsman.”

“True.”

“You know if you post on someone’s behalf and they don’t show, you’re responsible?”

“I do now.”

“Who are you here for?”

“Henry Tremaine.”

“I’ll be right back.” She shoves back in her chair and, with only one backward glance, heads out of the cubicle farm and toward the back, out of sight.

I grab my phone to have something to do and check the weather. Long after searching the ten-day forecast—hot, muggy, afternoon thunderstorms every day for the next week and a half—she returns.

“Sergeant Cox will be right with you.”

I nod. I’m missing something, but I don’t know if it’s better to look a fool than to open my mouth and have it confirmed.

I walk to the plastic chairs, sit, and wait.

Thirty minutes later, I’ve become impatient.

It’s after one in the morning.

Five more minutes pass before I return to the same lady and smile. “Is there any paperwork I need to begin filling out for Henry’s release?”

“Can’t do anything until you speak with Sergeant Cox.”

“Any idea how long that should take?”

“Nah-uh.”

“Okay. Thank you, Miss…” I leave it hanging, hoping she’ll fill in the blank.

“Welcome.”