Children in the Morning (21 page)

And you shift with your left foot. Take it for a spin.”

There were a couple of false starts but it didn’t take long before Brennan got the hang of it, and he was off like a bat out of hell.

“Let’s hope nothing goes wrong,” I remarked.

Axe laughed. “No sweat off my ass if he dumps it.”

“You’re not worried about your bike getting wrecked?”

“Do I look like a fuckin’ retard? Nobody touches my machine.

Nobody.”

“Whose bike is it?”

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“Belongs to a young up-and-coming guy named Pratt, whose only role in life right now is to make me happy. Good test for his attitude if your buddy fucks up.”

We followed Burke’s progress by the sound of the engine, as he made his way around the neighbourhood. He was gone for ten minutes and he was a happy man when he returned. He brought the bike to a halt and dismounted, a little smile on his face.

“Had a good time out there, did you?”

“Fellow could get used to that.”

“Nothing like it.”

“Thanks.”

“Any time.”

We said our goodbyes, and got into my sedate little vehicle for the drive home.

“So, Brennan, branching out in your ministry? Chaplain to the Hells Angels? You’d have your work cut out for you there.”

“It would be worth it, to ride the bike and wear the jacket, pulling up to Saint Bernadette’s for Sunday Mass. But even if I never get to do that, there is independent evidence of my biker days.”

“Oh yeah? What kind of evidence?”

“I didn’t know young Lexie lived so close to the clubhouse.”

“You saw her?”

“Her and Tom.”

“Yeah, I knew he was spending the day there.”

“I pulled up beside them and said: ‘Hey babe, hop on.’ The face on her was priceless. She was rooted to the earth. And Tom, well, he was gobsmacked. I just blasted off and left them in my dust.”

“Well done! So, Brennan, what do you make of Axe’s plea of innocence?”

His head whipped around to face me. “About the girls, you mean?”

“No, no. Nothing happened there. I mean that killing. The guy in Truro.”

“Seemed to me he was telling the truth. I could be wrong.”

“Could be, but that was my impression too.”

“Now what?”

“Now, I don’t know. Our defence is that Peggy simply fell. Beau 125

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hasn’t made an effort to claim that somebody else came in and killed her. But if at some point she had been concerned about the Hells Angels, well, how can we overlook it? It’s a loose end I want to tie off, so we can move on. I’d like to see whether Axe’s claim of no Angels involvement in the murder of Beau’s old client stands up when presented to someone who’s intimately familiar with the bikers and all their works. I know just the guy. I’ll let you know what I find out.”

(Normie)

I was scared to death about the trouble I’d be in after going to the Hells Angels’ house. I wanted to solve the mystery and prove to my mum and dad I was smart and not crazy. Plus, if they thought I was dead or I ran away, they would feel guilty. And it would serve them right!

But afterwards, I found out they were really upset when they learned that Jenny and I ran away from the school, and then didn’t come back for the choir concert. It turns out Mummy was crying the whole time, and had to leave the concert. Daddy was worried too and he was ready to kill Father Burke because the school shouldn’t have let me and Jenny get away without the teachers seeing us. Except Jenny wasn’t even supposed to be there on Friday, but she came early to see the concert. When I saw Father Burke singing on the tv, I knew there was something wrong with him.

Then they all must have got together after Axe brought me back and I was put to bed, and talked about the biker visit and about my dreams and the fact that I said I wouldn’t go to any more doctors about them. I know they talked about it because of what they said when Father Burke had dinner with us all the next day. Normally Mum doesn’t discuss private family stuff with other people but this was just Father Burke, so it was okay. He knew everything about us anyway.

Daddy said: “I know you’re really worried about those dreams and the Delaney kids, Normie, and this is working on your mind. The doctors can help you, sweetheart.”

“No, they can’t! And I’m not going to that doctor you guys picked 126

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out! There were scary people in there. That guy was going to go after the nurse, and you had to push him down on the floor. He said he’d been going to that doctor for two years, and look how he turned out!

She can’t be a very good doctor if she couldn’t cure him. So I’m not going.”

“But some people have very serious problems, Normie, and they can’t be cured right away. That’s not the case with you. You could just talk to her, tell her what’s been happening —”

“I’m not going! I’d rather run away and join the Hells Angels, and I just might do that if you guys don’t stop bugging me!” I didn’t mean to scream, but it ended up that way. Then I started crying.

“Aw, sweetheart,” Daddy said, “we didn’t mean to upset you.” He got up and put his arms around me and gave me a kiss.

“Normie,” Father Burke said, “do you remember my brother Patrick in New York? I know you met so many of my family that you might not be able to keep them all straight!”

“I remember him.” I tried not to sniffle too much. “He’s Deirdre’s dad.”

“Right. You know he’s a doctor.”

“Yeah. He’s really nice.”

“He’s a psychiatrist. Did you know that?”

“I think so.”

“Would you like to talk to him?”

“But he’s not here.”

“I could make him appear.”

“You can do that?”

“I’m his big brother, and a man of God. My wish is his command.”

I could tell he was just kidding. He was always joking about the good old days, saying that in those days priests used to run everybody’s life and things were grand. Mum always told him he was “full of it.” She didn’t say full of what, but I know and I’m not going to say it here. But it was all just a joke, like now.

“We can’t very well expect Patrick —” Mum started to say, but Dad interrupted.

“What are the chances he could get away?”

“Only one way to find out. I’ll give him a ring tonight.”

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I thought he would be too busy. Everyone is, in New York. And he was, but only till the next Friday, then he was free. More bad luck for me. A psychiatrist! Coming all the way from New York! He’s really friendly, I remembered that. But I kept thinking: what is he going to do to me? Maybe they thought I was more crazy after the Hells Angels visit than I was before, even though I wanted them to think the other way around. What were they going to do? Maybe lock me away in the mental hospital, and leave me there! I saw this movie where a guy was put in a hospital and tied down to his bed, and they give him electric shocks in his head. Then all these really dangerous people kept coming around him. Now it might be me! Or they might yell at me and make me answer questions! I worried all that Friday in school and kept getting answers wrong in every class.

So now the teachers thought there was something wrong with me too! I worried all through supper and hardly ate any of my chowder even though it was my favourite with bits of lobster in it.

That night after I went to bed, there was a knock on my door. I could hardly talk out loud, I was so scared, but I said to come in. It was Dr. Burke! He doesn’t look all that much like Father Burke. He has light-coloured hair and bright blue eyes.

“Hi, Normie. May I come in for a minute?”

“Okay.” I was shaking.

He kind of squatted down a little ways from my bed. “You remember me, don’t you, Normie? From the wedding in New York?”

He had a softer voice than Father Burke, but it still sounded a little bit Irish too.

“Yes, you’re Dr. Burke. Deirdre’s dad. I remember how you and Father Burke and your brothers sang for the bride at the wedding party.”

“That’s right. Did you like our singing at the reception?”

“Yeah! You guys all kneeled down and did those old-fashioned songs, and sang from your hearts! I told Daddy I wanted somebody to sing for me like that at my wedding. When I grow up.”

“Why wait? We could give you a song now! Sing you to sleep.”

“Really?”

“Sure. Hold on for two minutes.”

He went out, and down the stairs. Maybe they weren’t going to 128

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punish me or lock me up in the mental hospital. He wouldn’t trick me, I didn’t think. A few minutes later, I heard footsteps on the stairs, a knock on the door, and there were four men in my room. If you include my brother Tom, who’s a teenager. So it was Tom, Daddy, and the two Burkes.

“Ready, Normie?” Dr. Burke asked.

“Ready!” I said.

They stood together, put one hand on their hearts and the other hand out to the side, and Father Burke went “one, two, three,” and they started to sing a song called “Goodnight, My Love.” It was a really sweet song. There was something about having no fear. And there was lots of love in it. Tommy had a cheat sheet with the words; the older guys all knew it. Halfway through, they all got down on their knees and continued to sing. It was so great, I asked them to do it again. I got really sleepy and never heard the end of it. But I woke up safe in my own bed.

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Chapter 9

(Monty)

The lawyer who most frequently appeared on behalf of the Hells Angels Motorcycle Club was Barry Sheehan. I knew Barry quite well as a fellow member of the criminal defence bar. I called him in the middle of the week and asked if we could get together for a chat. He couldn’t get free of work, so we talked about the weekend. When I mentioned that my blues band, Functus, had a gig that Saturday afternoon at Gus’s Pub, Barry said he’d come by and listen and have a beer, then we could talk.

Gus’s Pub is located at the corner of North and Agricola streets.

There are no frills at Gus’s, and that’s why people like it. It has square tables, tavern chairs, beer ads, and a large, loyal crowd of regulars. My band and I wailed our way through some blues standards by Muddy Waters and T-Bone Walker, and I wound up with a harp solo on

“Trouble No More.” We took a break after that, and I joined Barry Sheehan at his table just inside the door.

Barry was big and muscular, and had the striking colouring that graced many people of Irish descent: round blue eyes and black wavy 130

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hair. We asked about each other’s families and exchanged a bit of lawyerly chitchat, then I got to the point.

“Have to pick your brain about your best-known clients, Barry.

Guys who tend to travel in packs, wearing very distinctive clothing.”

“The Knights of Columbus?”

“Um, no.”

“What do you want to know? You’re not representing a co-accused in something I haven’t heard about yet, I hope.”

“No, nothing like that. And nothing that wouldn’t be on the record. It’s just that I’m not familiar with the record. But it’s got to stay between you and me.”

“Okay.”

I had to be careful here. In other words, I had to be dishonest.

“My client’s not opening up to me and I’m worried about him.”

“Your client being . . .”

“Beau Delaney.”

“I see.”

“There’s been some suggestion that he may have got himself in trouble with them, or made himself unpopular somehow.”

“Oh?”

“Did he ever represent them, do you know?”

“Why don’t you ask him?”

“I told you. He’s not telling me everything.”

“To my recollection he never did much work for them. I think he handled a couple of isolated cases in years past. But nothing regular, or recent. As for pissing them off, I have no idea. I never heard of any animosity, but then I wouldn’t necessarily be in the loop. What’s going on? Does he think someone’s after him?”

“Possibly.”

“Or someone’s out to smear him? Accuse him of things he didn’t do, perhaps?”

“Could be,” I equivocated. I tried another approach. “What’s been happening with the club lately?”

“Well, we had that extortion trial in the fall. I got the charges thrown out.”

“Oh, I remember. Nicely done!”

“Yeah, the case collapsed once I got the wiretap evidence excluded.

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And there was that murder last year in Truro. The guy was shot with a handgun. The police have their eye on one of the Hells Angels for that, apparently, but they haven’t laid charges yet. No hurry, I guess. The guy got arrested a couple of weeks after that for another incident; he’s doing time in Dorchester for aggravated assault. They gave him six years for it. He went to another lawyer, so he has only himself to blame!”

“Oh yeah, I remember hearing something about the killing in Truro. The vic was known to police, as they say.”

“That’s right. He was no choirboy.”

“How come the biker got other counsel for the assault trial?”

“He got it into his head that hiring a local boy to represent him might make him look better in front of a hometown jury. Rather than bringing the big bad bikers’ lawyer in from Halifax. Turns out it wasn’t such a good idea. Should have called Uncle Barry.”

“Do you think you could have got him off?”

“Couldn’t have done any worse! At the very least, I could have pleaded it down. Anyway, he’s the guy the Mounties think did that shooting in Truro.”