Running on Empty (20 page)

It occurred to him just before he drifted into a half sleep, half unconsciousness, that this was the first time he’d been in a cave without Sally. He felt so sad, so alone, and so sorry for himself, he almost cried. He tossed and turned for what seemed like hours, unable to sleep properly with the throbbing of his head, and the cold of the night air. He began to hallucinate. He was back at his father’s funeral, except his father was there, looking as he did before the cancer. He walked up to Tom, took hold of his arms, and looked into his eyes.

‘You don’t need me now, son, you can stand on your own two feet’.

His mother approached, and lay her hand on his shoulder.

‘You never come to visit, but, I suppose you have your own life to live’.

Then Christine.

‘You don’t need commitment, do you Tom? Don’t want anyone dragging you down’.

Then they all stood in a semicircle linking arms, in front of Tom. Slowly they began laughing, a stuttering cackling laugh, almost like bird noises. He awoke, in a sweat, to the sound of seagulls calling as they flew along the shore.

Now what?

He gently placed his hand to the back of his skull. The bleeding appeared to have stopped. One good thing, he thought, because had he needed stitches, a visit to a hospital would have caused complications. Questions would have been asked, for one thing. He didn’t know if they’d expect payment, for another. His plan was still to make his way to Sligo, but how? He began to ponder what would happen, should he actually make it there. Suppose Pat Feeney didn’t want to know? Suppose he said, ‘sure that was only funeral talk, I didn’t think you’d ever actually show up. Sure, what am I supposed to do with ya’.

I’ll worry about that when and if it happens, thought Tom. In the meantime, get your shit together.

He slowly made his way down to the sea, and carefully down some steps to the waters edge. Once there, he began to dab at the back of his head, until, he hoped, he had cleaned most of the blood away. It began to rain, a little at first, gradually getting heavier. Great, he thought, just what I need. I could have saved myself the bother of washing too. He began the trudge into Galway city. He went to check the time, but his watch had been taken with everything else. It was early, he surmised, because none of the shops were open yet. As he passed a locked up garage, he noticed some milk cartons left outside. Sustenance, he thought and, making sure no one was around, took two cartons and headed on down the road, drinking one, then the other, in quick succession. Spotting a sign for Sligo, he began trudging through the rain in that direction. He knew he couldn’t walk there, but maybe he could hitch a lift? He held his thumb out each time he heard a car approach, but none were stopping. Finally, to his delight, a beat up van pulled up in front of him.

‘Jesus, exclaimed the driver, you look a sorry sight, and no mistake. Where you headed for?’

‘Hi, I’m hoping to get to a place called Easky, in County Sligo’ replied Tom.

‘Well, you’re in luck’ replied the diver. ‘I’m going to Sligo town. I can drop you as far as Ballisadare. Easky’s about twenty five miles west, from there. It’ll be a help anyway. Hop in’.

‘It sure will’, replied Tom, ‘thanks’.

Brad Johnson approached the secretary on reception, showing her his badge.

‘I’d like to see Mr. Fielding’

‘One moment. Please’.

She pressed a couple of buttons, and spoke for a few moments.

‘I’m afraid Mr. Fielding is in a meeting at present, Detective. It shouldn’t take any more than thirty minutes, I’ve been informed. Would you like to take a seat, or alternatively, I can make you an appointment for later today, if you like’.

‘No, that’s fine, I’ll wait’.

‘Can I get you a coffee?’

‘No, I’m good, thanks’

Brad turned and made his way out the door, returning a few moments later. In his hand he had an object wrapped in a piece of muslin cloth. He sat back down, unwrapped the cloth, and removed part number 2248, a small metal arm from the wing mirror of a John Deere ‘H’ series tractor. He began slowly polishing it, while the secretary looked on in surprise.

Fielding called Lowanski into his office.

‘We have a problem. Some cop is downstairs, looking to stick his nose into our affairs. Get Carter, and take that idiot Longston out for a little drive. Make up some excuse, he’s going on a field trip or something. I want Longston to disappear, and when I say disappear, that’s exactly what I mean. I don’t want his big toe to show up in Texas. I don’t want his teeth to be checked against dental records. I don’t care if he ends up in a double cheeseburger, just make sure there’s no trace of Charles Longston on planet earth again. When that’s done come straight back here. If you happen to come across this cop, Johnson, at any stage, just act stupid. That shouldn’t be too difficult. Now, off you trot, and don’t be long’.

Working on the tractor part, put brad, as it always did, in a relaxed frame of mind. His thoughts began to drift. He wondered how his wife, his ex wife, was getting on, seeing as how he hadn’t heard from her in a while. When Amy died, he and Susan seemed to just drift apart. They separated about a year later, and divorced a year after that. It was an amicable split, with no outside influences. It was just that, with Amy gone, the glue that held their relationship together evaporated. About six years ago, Susan remarried, but they still kept in touch. The shared grief of losing an only child kept them bound together, inextricably, whether they liked it or not. When they split, and their belongings were divided up, the only thing that Brad was sorry about losing was Babs, his golden Labrador. He loved that dog, but there was no way he could keep her, given the hours he worked. That was number one on his list when he retired, another dog. What with walking the dog, and restoring that old John Deere, he reckoned he’d be plenty occupied. He’d get another Labrador, or maybe a German Shepherd. Then again, he might just take a visit to the pound, and pick the ugliest mutt they had, a dog so ugly no one else would give it a thought of adapting. One up for the underdog, so to speak.

‘Detective, Mr. Fielding will see you now’.

Detective Johnson, I believe? Please Detective, take a seat. How may I be of help?

‘Well Mr. Fielding, I’m investigating the murder of two people, one of which, Christine Lawlor, happens to be the long term girlfriend of a work colleague of yours, a man by the name of Tom Feeney’.

‘Ah yes, an unfortunate situation, Detective. Mr. Feeney seems to have had some sort of a breakdown. He was to meet a Mr. Li, from Shanghai, last Monday. It was supposed to be a standard operation, an exchange of information, but Mr. Feeney seems to have lost control of the situation, and Mr. Li appears to have been murdered. Miss Lawlor appears to have come into contact with Tom Feeney later that day, and also suffered the same fate. We’ve been trying, without success, to trace the whereabouts of Mr. Feeney since then, but even with the considerable resources we have at our disposal, have had no success’.

‘Mr. fielding, firstly, why were the murders not reported to the police, and, secondly, why were both bodies dumped in Boston harbor?’

‘Detective, the operations we perform here are, by necessity, discreet, shall we say. That’s not to say we operate outside the law, far from it. I’ve had exchanges of information with your department quite frequently. I’ve spoken to your boss, Inspector Maybury, on a number of occasions. However, we deal here in global situations on a regular basis. With regard to this chap Feeney, while it is unfortunate and distressing that he appears to have suffered some sort of meltdown and murdered both Mr. Li and Miss. Lawlor, this situation would be dealt with someone lower down the organization than I. I took the liberty of checking records, and it appears a person called Charles Longston is who you should be talking to. I tried to get him here for this meeting, so he could answer directly, but he appears to have left the building, whereabouts unknown. As soon as he reports in, I’ll have Mr. Longston make contact with you immediately, so he can answer all your questions about this unfortunate event, you have my word on that, Detective. Incidentally, I’ve been reliably informed that he and Tom Feeney were actually friends, as well as associates, so he may possibly have more information on Feeney’s whereabouts’.

‘Ok, good’ said Brad. Would it be possible to get pictures of Tom Feeney and Charles Longston from your records, I’d like to know who I’m looking for’.

‘No problem, Detective, I’ll have my secretary print up copies for you now’.

‘That’s great. Incidentally, was Tom Feeney trained in covert operations? Would he have had any special skills in relation to…terminating?’

‘Oh no, Detective. Tom Feeney mainly operated from his desk, that why we felt somehow responsible for sending him out in the field last Monday, even though it was supposed to be a routine meeting with Mr. Li. In hindsight, maybe we shouldn’t have sent him out so soon after his father’s death, but as you know Detective, it’s always easier in hindsight’.

‘Well, just so you know Mr. Fielding, Tom Feeney didn’t murder anyone’.

‘What? How can you be so sure of that?’

‘Well, Mr. Li was killed by a method only used by special ops people, and Miss Lawlor was killed by a sniper. Good day, sir’.

Brad Johnson left the room.

I’d better keep an eye on our friend, Detective Johnson, he’s not as dumb as he looks.

‘Paddy’s the name, Paddy Duncan’, the driver said, offering his hand.

‘Tom, Tom Feeney. Thanks for the ride’.

‘Not a bother, son. So, what brings you to these parts? You’re a long way from home, I take it, judging by your accent. American are ye?

‘Yes, I’m from Boston’

‘Ya look like ya had a good night, or maybe a bad night, judging by the state of ya. On the beer, were ya?’

‘No, actually I haven’t had a beer in …ages’.

Tom tried to remember the last time he did have a beer.

So much had happened in the meantime, having a few drinks seemed like something people did on another planet. He proceeded to fill Paddy the driver in on what had happened since his arrival in Ireland, skipping over some of the details that might appear odd, or criminal even, and concentrating mainly on the mugging in Galway.

‘Why the fuckers, the dirty little scumbags’ Paddy replied, on hearing about the robbery.

‘This used to be a good place, twenty years ago maybe, but it’s been ruined. Drugs is the problem, there’s drugs everywhere now. It started off in the big cities, Dublin and Galway and a few others. Then it spread to every little town and village. Country’s rife with ‘em’.

They journeyed on through the open countryside.

‘So, what do’ya do for a living, Tom, what are ya up to over in the States?’

Oh, em.., I work for the government, desk job’.

‘Ya should hold onto that, Tom. A desk job for the government’s a handy thing to have in these times, and no mistake’.

‘Not as handy as people think, Paddy, not handy at all’.

The journey passed quickly with Paddy, making small talk. In no time, they pulled into a lay-by on the outskirts of a town.

‘Well, here ya are’, said Paddy, ‘Ballisadare, this is as far as I can bring ya. See that road there, well Easky’s twenty five miles that way. You travel twenty one miles or so on that road, to Dromore West, then tee off to the right for another four miles. Ask anyone if ya get lost’.

He delved into his pocket, and produced a five euro note, handing it to Tom.

‘That’s all the money I have with me, lad. It’s not much, I know, but it’ll get you a bus ride to Easky, or it’ll get ya something to eat. Your choice’.

Tom thanked him profusely as they shook hands again, and stepped out of the van.

Now, what’ll it be,
thought Tom,
miles or munchies?

*****

Chad looked up from his desk to see Lowanski and Carter approach.

‘Well Longston, seems like it’s your lucky day. Grab your bits and bobs, you’re going to have the pleasure of our company for a few hours. We’re off to see the wizard. Quit fannying around and let’s get moving’.

‘What? Where are we going?’

‘Off to do some real work, Longston my boy. So, chop chop’

Longston sat in the car as it sped out through the Boston suburbs. He was not a happy man. Where were they taking him, and for what? He’d come clean about Tom, told them everything he knew, so it can’t be about that, can it? The car veered off the highway, onto a secondary road, then off that onto a single lane dirt track. They proceeded along the track for about three miles, until they arrived at a pair of high steel gates, surrounded by ten foot high chain link fencing. A padlock and chain held the gates together. ‘Government Property. Entry Denied’ a weather beaten sign read. Carter left the vehicle, unlocked and opened the gates, waved them through then relocked them. He got back in the car, and they carried on until they arrived at a single storey building standing beside a small copse. This didn’t look good to Chad. What could they possibly have to do here, in the middle of nowhere? The car swiftly ground to a halt. Carter produced a gun.