“DT put Bren up to it, Father, I’m positive. DT says he's from a real poor family and the Lingenbergs are rich, so they won't miss the money.”
“As Jesus said, the poor will always be with us, but I am here now,” said Father Ralph.
“Father, if I don’t leave the door unlocked, Bren and DT’ll beat me up. What should I do?”
“They won't lay a hand on you, Martin, don’t worry.”
“How can you be sure, Father?”
“Like Jesus, I am here now. I'll have a talk with your brother, and perhaps I'll have an opportunity to discuss the situation with this Polish boy. What did you say his name is? His real name.”
“Korzienowski”
“Korzienowski, okay.” Father Ralph stood up. “You go on now.”
Martin Kenna stood up, said, “Thank you, Father,” and turned to leave.
“Oh, Martin.”
Kenna stopped and looked back at Father Ralph.
“You won’t forget to lock the back door of the bakery, will you?”
“No, Father, I won’t.”
Later that afternoon, Martin Kenna saw his brother and DT standing on the corner of Cristiana and Nottingham, smoking cigarettes. The drizzle had turned icy but neither Brendan nor DT had coats on. Both of them were wearing red and black checked flannel shirts, blue jeans with the cuffs rolled up twice, and scuffed black Chippewa motorcycle boots. Martin was across the street, they didn’t see him, so he kept going.
Years later, when Martin heard the news that Brendan had been killed in a knife fight in prison, he remembered seeing his brother and Double Trouble Korzienowski standing coatless in the icy rain. Martin didn’t know what happened to DT or what Father Ralph had said to him and Brendan about their plan to rob the Swedish bakery so that neither of them mentioned it to Martin again. It had always bothered Martin Kenna, however, that he had told Father Ralph about it, that by doing so he had betrayed Brendan. Martin knew it was foolish, even absurd to feel guilty about this, but still he often wished he had not asked the priest to intervene. It might have served him better to have just taken the beating. Now his
