Almost out of gas, he huffed up the steps and walked through the big doorway. The cathedral was a long, soaring tunnel of rose light framed by two rows of identical pillars climbing to the ceiling--or maybe the sky. The light brightened to the white of daylight at the far end, where the high altar looked to be about a mile away. The sightlines were spectacular--which meant they were terrible for Taylor. He doubted heroin dealers respected the idea of sanctuary. Did anyone anymore? Inhaling through his nose and exhaling through his mouth to make as little noise as possible, he walked along the left aisle and slid down behind a pillar near the altar. He grimaced. His whole right side ached.
Stone against his back, Taylor tried to get his bearings. He felt small. And alien. The cathedral was another world from the Greek Orthodox churches his mother had taken him and his brother to as kids. Even the large ones were dark, foreboding, their walls crowded with icons of flat-faced saints. Those churches always had the mystical wall separating the worshippers from the altar and the priest in his beard and long robes. Here there were no dividers. You could see everything. What would his mother have thought of this place? He couldn't remember if she'd ever been. All these years and he still missed her, saddened by all she'd missed of his life.
He waited and listened.
St. John's was the biggest cathedral in the world. Or so he'd been told. New York specialized in the biggest, and as with all its citizens, the memory of all those giant things might as well have been planted at birth. He wouldn't change his mind about the cathedral until he got real proof. He was stubborn that way.
Was it stubbornness put him in this situation? Or plain stupidity? When the Chinese guys had showed up, it'd looked like confirmation of what he'd heard had appeared right in front of his nose. He couldn't believe it. He'd needed to get close enough to make sure something big really was happening in the heroin trade--something no one was talking about. So what had he done? Stared like a tourist at the foot of the Empire State Building.
Amateur hour. The result: a colossal mess.
Had the driver of the garbage truck been shot? Why else would the truck have veered? Then there was Mary. She was in serious shit now. If only she'd left when he told her. Reggie knew she'd fingered him. The tong members knew. Junkies, the most disposable human beings in the city, disappeared when they snitched. No one went looking for them.
Feeling stupid was too much like feeling sorry for himself. He didn't have time for that. Better to focus on his next move before some other bad thing happened. He had to find Mary before they did. As much as he hated the thought, he'd also have to go in to the local precinct and report what he'd seen. This added more urgency. He needed to get to Mary before he dealt with the local cops, who could tie him up for hours.