City of Strangers (Luis Chavez Book 2) Read Free Page B

zealot is countering your arguments with information he’s saying Jesus is giving him from heaven.”
    Sure enough, a few students shifted in their chairs, while others cleared their throats as their parents might’ve done in church having heard the same thing.
    “The study of the Gospels is a study in comparative literature,” Luis said. “Why in the Gospel of Mark, which was written first, is he the Son of God but in Matthew he’s described more like Moses, a teacher? Why in the Gospel of John are Christ’s last words ‘I am thirsty’ and ‘It is finished,’ whereas in Luke he says ‘Father, forgive them’ and ‘Father, into your hands I commend my spirit’? If the Gospels had been written by the apostles, they might be a very different thing. But as they were written by men who’d never met Jesus and had to set down their history by parsing stories passed down from the original disciples, and often through Paul’s interpretation, context is key. Did you know that Luke was converted by Paul? That Mark was one of Paul’s translators? There’s a reason so much of the New Testament is made up of Paul’s letters to groups of Christians. So again, is Christianity about Jesus? Or is it about Paul’s interpretation of Jesus?”
    In the back row he saw the first head bobbing downwards, sneaking a look at an iPhone.
    Ah well.
    Luis pressed on as best he could and even received a few interesting questions by the end. Just when he thought he would send them out on a high note for the rest of the day, someone raised their hand tentatively and asked if he’d known the slain priest in East LA. When he looked around the rest of the faces in the classroom, he realized it was all any of them had been thinking of.
    “I didn’t,” he said. “But I’m sure he was a good man. I’m just glad the man who did it has come forward and admitted it, as there’s now some hope for his immortal soul.”
    The answer was met with a few seconds of silence, before the bell, mercifully in Luis’s opinion, rang to signal the end of the period. Once the students had evacuated the classroom, Luis gathered his books to head back to the rectory for his break period.
    Instead, he found Michael Story leaning against the hallway wall, checking his cell phone. A small sticker identifying him as a visitor was stuck to his suit jacket’s left breast pocket.
    For a terrifying moment Luis imagined the deputy DA was here to tell him something about Miguel Higuera. But then Michael extended his hand and nodded, suggesting to Luis that he was here about something else entirely.
    “Father Chavez, I thought priests were meant to lead with ‘What the church believes is this,’ or ‘What we’re taught is that.’ You’re more like ‘Some people believe this,’ or ‘There are those in the church who believe that.’ You don’t think that confuses the issue?”
    Luis shrugged, not taking the bait. “I believe the way we strengthen our beliefs is by allowing them to be rigorously challenged from all sides at all times. What do you believe?”
    Michael grinned and extended his hand. “I believe it’s been too long.”
    However dubious he was that Michael Story cared how long it had been, Luis shook the proffered hand. He peered into the deputy DA’s eyes for any signs of remorse for past transgressions. He saw not a one.
    “What can I do for you?” Luis asked.
    “Can we go somewhere quiet?”
    Luis led Michael out of St. John’s and over to St. Augustine’s next door. They were an unlikely pair: one a former teenage hood who’d traded that life for a path to the priesthood after his brother’s murder; the other a onetime starry-eyed crusader for justice who had discovered, after joining the LA district attorney’s office, that his ethical resolve was more pliable than he might’ve thought.
    They reached a small courtyard, where there was a statue of Saint Francis alongside two benches. Luis sat on one and indicated for Michael