Born & Bred (32 page)

But it would have to do; she was who she now was. She checked her watch and the mirror one last time, then rose, put on her coat, and twirled around in front of her mirror. If she had a hat she would have thrown it up in the air.

*

Deirdre’s father sat behind his paper while his wife watched TV.

She kept the volume down so he could have a bit of peace and quiet to read his paper. Both she and Deirdre had been tiptoeing around him since that night in the lane. That’s what convinced him to do it.

He had to. How else was he going to keep Danny out of his daughter’s life?

He felt bad for having to get Jerry involved but he had made it clear to the Garda: “the father doesn’t know what is happening. He’s just going along to watch the game. It‘s Danny you want and you can catch him red-handed.”

The two detectives had sat like stoics until he finished. Then they thanked him for the information and all of his work with the Watchers. They assured him that his contribution was vital and would allow them to crack down on the drug dealers, once and for all.

But something happened as they were leaving and it had stuck in his mind. The taciturn one stopped in the doorway and asked if his daughter was still seeing Danny Boyle.

That got him wondering. Were they questioning his motives?

It also made him wonder if there mightn’t be a connection there that led to the grave of Bart Boyle who he always thought of as a big old windbag. He never voted for him. He was more of a Fine Gael man. He had no truck with Fianna Fáil and all of their backroom deals and outright nepotism.

The Boyles had connections with the Bishop, too. Deirdre’s father stayed clear of that one. It was one thing to show a bit of disdain to the local TD, but the Bishop—he’d be excommunicated.

And he might yet if Deirdre and his mother found out what he did.

But he had to. It what was expected of him, him being the head of the neighborhood watch, and all.

He was beginning to regret the name “the Watchers.” It had even become a playground chant. “The Watchers will get ya. The Watchers will get ya,” the children teased each other, but he still believed in what they stood for. They stood for keeping things the way they should be. Safe and sound and not the fiefdom of young bowsies. It was time for a man to stand up—even if part of the reason was his daughter.

He was doing it for everyone else’s daughters, too. And their sons. He was going to war on their behalf and things might get tough for a while but he was the right man for the job. He’d show them all and they could quit their gossiping about Grainne running off with a painter.

There was something happening on that front, too, only no one was going to tell him—and him the girl’s only father in the world. He was losing his place as the head of the family and had to do something to reassert himself. He thought about telling Deirdre that she couldn’t go out on her own for a while but he knew what that would get him.

Besides, he didn’t have to. She was staying very close to home at the behest of her mother.

So he sat behind his paper pretending he wasn’t there and listened to them whispering on the settee. The two of them were always plotting against him so it was only fair that he did a bit of plotting of his own.

He’d take care of that Anto while he was at it. He had told the detectives about what happened and while he understood that they couldn’t react to hearsay, he urged them to keep it under consideration because Anto Flanagan was known to be an intimidator of witnesses.

That almost made the taciturn one smile, but instead he said that he hoped that, after they had interviewed Danny, they could find the link to implicate Flanagan—and that they would be more than happy to implicate him.

Deirdre’s father closed his paper and reached for his pipe. His wife let him smoke in the good room now. She said that pipe smoke gave the room a studied air.

Life wasn’t as bad as it often seemed. In fact it was better now because he had done the right thing for a man in his position—no matter what anybody might say.

*

“Are you the Driller? I heard about you and the people who were talking about you are not the type of people you even want knowing your name.” He was from Belfast so he exaggerated a bit in his wee singsong voice. He was very soft spoken for a big man.

“Locals or our own?”

The Driller had got his name from a friend from Derry. The one he sent the money to. He had told him he needed a bit of muscle for a job.

“We’re all the same.”

“Not in this particular bit of business, ya know?”

The big man checked over both shoulders and leaned closer. “Go on.”

“I need someone to go to a football game in London.”

“Do you have clearance for this?”

“It’s not what you’re thinking. It’s a bit of fundraising, ya know?”

“What do I have to do?”

“You have to follow someone and pick up what he’s bringing back.”

“Why doesn’t he bring it straight back to you?”

“Do you want the job or what?”

“I do want the job; I just don’t want to step into someone else’s shite.”

“There’s nothing to worry about. You just make contact on the way back and get the goods.”

“What are they?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“I suppose not.”

“Good. They’ll be in duffle bag, a West Ham duffle bag.”

“West Ham! Couldn’t ya at least make it Leeds, or better still, Glasgow Celtic?”

“Are you sure you’re the right man for this?”

“Sorry. I was just trying to lighten things. You’re very uptight about this. You’re not doing the dirty on someone?”

The Driller pulled on his cigarette and eyed the big man face-to-face. “I suppose you’ll be wanting to know what I had for breakfast next. Fuck it. I’ll do it myself.”

“Now hold on. I never said I wouldn’t do it. I was just having a wee fucking joke. What’s the matter with you? Has living in Dublin killed off your sense of humor?”

After he left, the Driller looked around but there was no one else there, except for the old guy in the corner.

Derry had given him the clearance and he even had a buyer lined up—someone who was more than happy to fuck Anto Flanagan right up the arse. And they were willing to pay extra for the gun. Someone really had it in for Flanagan.

*

Miriam was waiting in a booth at the back when Fr. Reilly got to Bewley’s. There was no one else in that section, except for someone hidden behind his copy of the
Independent.

She looked a little different. She had more make-up on and her hair was nicely styled. She even had bright nail polish that matched her lipstick.

“Ah, Miriam. How have you been? You’re looking well.”

She smiled but looked a little flustered, like she wasn’t used to compliments. But he meant it, and he meant it as something to boost her confidence. It must be so hard to do what she was doing. He had wondered if he could take off the collar and go out into the world as a man.

“I’m fine, Patrick. And how are you?”

“Can’t complain. Anything new with you?”

“Well there is, actually?” She seemed to hesitate before she continued. “I have started to go out with someone.”

Patrick struggled for composure and sipped his tea. “That’s great news. Is he from around here?”

“God no! He’s from America. He’s a graduate student. He’s working on his thesis.”

“Oh is he, now? Well that’s grand. He must be great company for you.” He really wanted to mean it. She deserved to have someone in her life that she could be in love with. “I’m very happy for you.”

But he wasn’t. He didn’t want to share what he had with her and that was very selfish of him. He had nothing to offer and she had every right to find what she needed somewhere else. Still.

“He knows all about me and he’s okay with it.” She made it sound like he had saved her from her fate and that made Patrick a little jealous, though he’d never admit it, not even to himself. He wanted to be the one that helped her make her peace with God and the world, as a priest, and as a friend.

“Well that’s great news. I suppose you’ll be off to America, again, one of these days.”

“Oh, Patrick. We just started seeing each other. Don’t be trying to marry us off just yet.”

“I was just throwing my hat in the ring, you know. I’ve never done a wedding in America.”

In fact he had never been out of Ireland. All of his friends had gone but he was still there and, at times like this, that bothered him. “So how long is he here for?”

“For a year or two.”

“You’ll be finished with your thesis by then.”

“I will.”

“And what plans do have for after that?”

“We’re thinking of going to Rome. An old friend from the States is there and has suggested that I teach there for a while.”

“Rome, you say. Now that will be grand. And is your fella going to teach there, too.”

“Karl and I have talked about it but it’s far too early to be making plans like that.”

“Well, you’ll be missed around here.”

“That’s very Christian of you to say but I think there are many who will be glad to see the back of me. They are right when they say: ‘you can’t go home again.’”

“You shouldn’t pay those people any mind. This is your home. This is where you belong. But, I suppose you have to do what’s right for you.” He hadn’t meant to say that but he couldn’t help himself. He’d miss her. “So, Rome, you say? That’ll be so nice for you.”

“I think so. Father Melchor is getting older now and it will be nice to spend some time with him again. He was the one that led me astray, when I was young and impressionable.”

“Really?”

“No! I’m kidding you. Father Melchor was the man who encouraged me to get involved in social issues. They banished him to Rome so they could keep an eye on him.”

Patrick tried to look interested but he didn’t like the idea of her mixing with her past again. He had hoped that she might find peace and contentment in Ireland. And that he and she could be friends forever.

“Am I shocking you, Patrick?”

“No, Miriam, not at all. That all sounds very exciting and it will be nice for you to see old friends again.”

“I must admit that I am a bit nervous about making plans like that. I’m just not used to it. Before, things were usually decided for me and it was just for me to say yes or no. But this is totally different. This is my life and . . .”

“I’m sure you will make the right decision, when the time comes.”

“Why, Patrick? I don’t have a great track record on that score.” She reached across and took his hands in hers. “I’m scared but I’m excited, too.”

Patrick didn’t withdraw his hands like he should have. He just sat there, staring into her eyes where he could see all that might have been. He was afraid for her, going out into the world that had treated her so harshly. He was afraid for himself, too, left behind without a real friend in the world, growing old under the burden he had chosen until one day it would break him like it did Fr. Brennan.

But what could he expect? He couldn’t ask her to share the scraps of his life; the bits and pieces that the job didn’t suck out of him. No, he had no right to expect anything from her but he wished he could tell her that the times he spent with her where the happiest he could remember.

“Patrick?” She was still holding his hands and looking into his eyes for an answer.

“Well, Miriam, I’m certainly not an expert on these matters. But from what I know of you, I can only say that you have as good a chance as anybody for finding happiness.”

He let go of her hands and raised his teacup between them. How could he talk about happiness? He avoided the subject, preferring instead to dole out assurances to others. But that was the role he had chosen when he put on the collar and there was no point in regrets.

“Thanks, Patrick. I must admit that I was a bit shy about telling you.”

“And why was that?”

“Well, you have been such a good friend to me, but I decided—I need something more. I need someone in my life. I never thought that I would, but I’m not used to spending so much time on my own. I just want to have someone that I could go to the movies with and someone I could meet for breakfast on Saturday mornings.”

“Sure of course you do. It’s the least that you deserve.”

“Do you really mean that, Patrick?”

“Of course I do,” he lied. Another little white lie to add to his collection but what else could he do? It was for a good cause; something a friend would do.

They sat in silence for a while as the café grew a little busier, mostly shoppers amidst their bags and a few students deep in their notes, and the man in the corner, still behind his newspaper.

“Well,” Fr. Reilly announced to settle the matter. “I should be getting back.”

“But we haven’t even talked about you. How are things with your PP working out?”

Patrick thought about complaining but what was the point? A priest’s troubles were his alone and there was no point in burdening anyone else. Besides, she was happy and that was what he wanted for her, more than anything else. “Ah sure, you know, yourself. It’s a bit rough at the moment but I’m sure it will all work out for the best.”

“Well, Patrick. It was lovely to see you again but I know you have to run. Call me and we will get together again, soon. Perhaps you’d like to meet Karl, one of these days. I have told him so much about you and he is dying to meet you.”

“That would be lovely.”

He rose when she did and took her hands in his. Without thinking he leaned forward and kissed her cheek, flustering them both.

After he paid the bill and gathered his books, the ruddy-faced man quickly glanced over from behind his newspaper. He had something to bargain with the Bishop—if push ever came to shove.

CHAPTER 17

No matter how often he went back to check, the gun wasn’t there. Anto was starting to panic, even though he tried to stay calm and just think.

It had to have been the Driller; he was the only one who knew about it. But what the fuck would he want with it? Except . . .