On Broken Wings Read Free

cannot be both true and false. The law that says that each thing is what it is, and nothing else. Man is free, because God made him so. It is Man's nature to be free. The Almighty Himself could not impose faith upon you, not with all His force. Not without making you something less than a man."
    The priest went to the window and surveyed the street beyond. The rectory was in a poor part of Onteora, where land was cheap but few cared to own it. One walked the streets carefully here, and only in daylight. Yet, in the afternoon sun, with spring slowly returning vitality to the land, even that seedy semi-commercial street had an air of promise.
    "You've been dealt a serious blow, no doubt of it. But you still have a great deal: wealth, intelligence, ability, integrity. Use them. Do what you can. Do what you've always done: act with love toward those whom God puts in your path. But don't expect the return of your faith by way of recompense. It simply doesn't work that way."
    Louis bowed his head. "Knowing what you know, having heard what you've heard, are you still willing to see me?"
    The corners of Schliemann's mouth lifted in an involuntary grin.
    "Louis, I wouldn't turn you away if the Devil himself rode on your shoulders."
    ***
    Tiny was still sprawled on his couch, fuming, when Hans returned that evening. As Hans slipped through Tiny's door, Tiny looked up, glowered briefly, and looked away.
    Hans, a big curly blond of Swedish descent, was one of Tiny's seconds-in-command. He also fancied himself to be Tiny's friend. He wasn't far wrong, though friendship of the conventional sort wasn't part of Tiny's range of emotions.
    Hans felt the responsibilities of his position more keenly than one might suppose. He felt an obligation to his mates, to guide and protect them as best he could. He felt a greater obligation toward his leader, to see his wishes carried out while protecting him from the excesses of his temper, when that was possible. Hans owed a great debt to Tiny. Riding with the Butchers was Hans's preferred mode of life, as it was Tiny's, and Hans credited Tiny with its continued existence.
    Like Tiny's, Hans's intellect was untrained but considerable. He tried to use it, when circumstances warranted. This seemed to be one of them. "Boss, I've been thinking."
    Tiny's gaze flickered back toward his underling. His expression was still one of impatient rage, as if to say this had better be good.
    "The way Tex got himself smeared, she mighta been hurt, too. She probably was, right? Maybe even bad. What if some local fuzz picked her up and took her to a hospital or something?"
    Tiny's eyes widened and his attention became unconditional. A wolfish grin spread over the coarse features of the head Butcher. He hoisted himself upright and rubbed the stubble on his face.
    "Now I remember why I keep you around. Where are the others?"
    Hans shrugged. "Maybe half a dozen at the Crazy Clown. The rest are scattered all over hell and gone."
    Tiny scowled, then shrugged. "Well, it's my doing. They'll be back by dawn, most of 'em. Tomorrow should be time enough. Go over to the Clown and bring me back a Yellow Pages."
    As Hans turned and made to comply, Tiny spoke again. "Hans?"
    The lieutenant turned back toward his leader. "Yeah, Boss?"
    "Ever stormed a hospital?"
     
    ====
     

Chapter 3
     
    Christine slept away the next three days. Her body had its own imperatives, and her anxieties were reduced to spectators until it said otherwise. But there came a morning when she was ready to try the world beyond the door of her room. The day nurse agreed, although she advised Christine not to tire herself out. They disputed over a wheelchair, but Christine cut the nurse off after two salvoes and strode out. Her legs weren't that sore.
    The third-floor patients' lounge was moderately populated. Her powers of locomotion were high for that crowd. Until she arrived, everyone not on crutches was in a wheelchair. A surprising number of patients had