The Iron Will of Shoeshine Cats by Hesh Kestin

you prepared to repent, to ask forgiveness of Jesus Christ our Lord?”
    Now the silence came from Shushan’s side of the confessional. “Let me think about it, father. To repent, do you have to be a Catholic?”
    From behind me Ira rose—in the way of really big men he moved gracefully, though the very bulk of him was a presence, as if the air around him were being pushed back, disturbed. He stepped in front of the priest’s side of the confessional, facing it as though to look through the grill. But the grillwork was meant for a seated man. It met Ira’s waist.
    “Yes?” the priest said.
    “I’m just waiting,” Ira said in his hoarse whisper.
    “Please take a seat in the rear of the church, my son. I shall be with you shortly.”
    Ira didn’t move.
    “Do I have to be a Catholic?” Shushan repeated.
    Pause. “Are you not a Catholic?”
    “No, father.”
    “Were you baptized, my son?”
    “Uh-uh, father. Though I do like to swim. Sometimes I go out to Jones Beach in the summer. Florida and Mexico every winter. I used to go to Cuba, but since Kennedy went after the guy with the beard...”
    “You have no place here, my son,” the priest said.
    “Well, yes and no, father. I figured you might want to know who’s going to do it to you. You know, that I’m not some amateur.”
    At this point the narrow door to the priest’s side of the confessional swung open and then was slammed back hard as it met Ira’s big shoe, which was then wedged tight against it.
    “Be patient, father,” Shushan said.
    “I have no money,” the priest said. “This is a poor church.”
    “Hey, there’s more money in the Roman Catholic Church than in all the Rockefellers’ bank accounts combined,” Shushan said. “But I’m not interested in money. I got money. You ever read Shakespeare, father?”
    “Shakespeare?”
    “
The Merchant of Venice
?”
    “What do you want?”
    “A pound of flesh, father. You probably have a pound to spare. I mean, if you want to atone for your sins, you might consider parting with a pound or so. Or maybe your two brothers would volunteer in your place. A pound is all I want—”
    “Shushan!”
    “Shut up, kid,” he said. “This is between me and Father Bill here. Father Bill, right? You know, father, I don’t like to cast asparagus, and unlike you I don’t get involved in calling people on their sins, but your sister is something of a hot babe. Did she bother to mention she was the one who—”
    “This is a church!” the priest shouted. “I’ll call the police!”
    “You can call the fucking pope for all the good it’ll do, father. Just stay calm and we’ll get through this. Are you going to stay calm or would you prefer that we take you out of this box and nail you to the fucking cross where your parishioners can find you in the morning and maybe venerate your bones? Are you listening to me, father?”
    “I’m listening,” the priest said quietly.
    “Like I say, I don’t want to get into who’s right and who’s wrong, because even if your sister wasn’t getting vengeance on my friend Russell for losing interest—which you probably wouldn’t know about, but believe me it seems to be God’s plan for men and women—even if your sister, what’s her name?”
    Silence.
    “What’s her name, father? You want to cooperate or not? If not just let me know because we got ten-inch spikes and a hammer in the car—”
    “Celeste.”
    “Nice name,” Shushan said. “Look, I have a sister too. Hey, she doesn’t do what I want all the time. You can’t control the whole world. But what you did, that wasn’t right.”
    “I did nothing.”
    “You and your mick brothers beat the shit out of a good friend of mine.”
    “I know nothing about it.”
    “Ira,” Shushan said in a bigger voice. “Go to the car and get the Jesus tools.”
    “I’m sorry,” the priest said quickly. “I was overcome with anger. Your... friend... dishonored our sister.”
    “My friend fucked