Running on Empty (34 page)

‘You weren’t wrong there, Pat, oddball is an understatement’.

‘You want to clean up and I’ll get you both something to eat’?

‘No, it’s ok Pat, we’re actually thinking of moving over to Grainne’s old house for a few days. I just came back to pack a few things’.

‘Oh, right’ said Pat, giving Tom a knowing look, ‘right so’.

He headed up to the loft, returning with two sleeping bags.

‘You might have a need for these, considering the house hasn’t been occupied in a while’ he said, as he handed them over to Tom.

‘You can undo the side zips and join the two bags join together if needs must’ he added dryly.

They stopped for provisions on the way to Grainne’s old house.

As they drove up the gravel path and Tom saw the house, his breath was taken away. He instantly felt the same emotion he felt when he first spotted Grainne, love at first sight. The house had a bit of a neglected look, understandable considering it had been vacant for three years or so, but if he looked past that to the cut stone walls and slated roof, he could see it had great potential if returned to its former state. But it was its setting that really impressed. It sat on a cliff about twenty feet above the Atlantic breakers as they rolled in to shore. To one side a rocky path led down to a small sandy inlet, while on the other side sat a garden walled with stone. It was one of the most spectacular views he’d ever seen.

‘It’s beautiful’ was all Tom could say.

‘Yes, I have to admit, I’ve missed the old place’ she answered, ‘although you mightn’t be still thinking that when you’re freezing your balls off at three in the morning’ she added, smiling.

Grainne busied herself in coaxing the old range back to life, leaving Tom to rustle up some food. When they had finished eating, and the warm glow of the range was radiating throughout the room, they pulled up a couch and opened a bottle of chardonnay.

‘Tom, I have a fair idea of how you came to be in the position you’re in now. Like, I know certain aspects of what happened, but I need you to fill in the blanks’.

‘What do you need to know’?

‘Everything. Maybe start at the beginning, and run through the whole story for me’.

‘That might take a bit of time’.

‘Well, we’ve no tv, and it’s a bit early for fornication, so we have some time to kill’.

It’s never too early for fornication’ he answered.

‘It is when the bedroom’s still on a par with the Arctic Circle. Come on Tom, let’s have it, and before you ask, I mean let’s have the story’.

‘Ok, you asked for it’.

Tom began to tell his story, stumbling slightly when he reached the parts concerning Sally, but carrying on nonetheless, until two glasses of wine later, he was finished.

Grainne remained quiet for a time, sipping her wine.

‘Y’know Tom, I can see how everything happened, and why, except I’m a bit puzzled about one thing’.

‘Only one thing? That’s a hell of a lot less than me. What’s this one thing that has you confused’?

‘Well, it’s the elephant in the room actually. I get why they were after you, but why were you there in the first place? Why you, there, then’?

‘I already told you, it was just coincidence. Will Harmon asked me if I wanted a bit of field experience, and I ended up with Lowanski and the others, and it all went pear shaped from there’.

‘Coincidence eh, now there’s a word’.

‘What are you saying, that I was there for a reason’?

‘Lowanski was your boss, Fielding was his, and Harmon was the top dog. I find it hard to believe that Fielding and Lowanski were running around like drug lords, while the boss of a department which specializes in information gathering hadn’t a clue what was going on’?

‘Nah, I don’t think so, Harmon seems like a straight guy’.

‘Then why didn’t you go to him with the information’?

‘I was confused, being hunted, reasoning had gone out the window, I was just relying on instinct’.

‘That’s the best thing to rely on at times like that, instinct’.

‘You reckon so? You reckon Harmon knew what was going on’?

‘Sure what would I know? I’m just a simple little Irish girl, sitting by the kitchen range, thinking that maybe the bedroom is warm enough now to take the lord and master of the household in and offer up my body for his pleasure.’

‘Are you saying it’s time for fornication’?

‘Damn right’.

Grainne was gone to Ballina to do some work in her studio, so Tom went for a walk along the shore. He wanted some time to mull over what Pat had been suggesting. He wanted to consider his options. He could indeed do nothing.
After all, life was pretty good at the moment
, he suggested to himself. He could have no complaints where fate had dropped him….eventually. He wouldn’t have said that a week ago, when he was running for his life.
But that was then, and this is now. Here and now
seemed a pretty safe place to be. But was that safety an illusion? Was he really safe from Fielding, and all the permutations possible from that whole sorry mess? Then there was the situation with regard to the authorities. Where did he stand in relation to the murders of Christine and Li? Fielding was a powerful man. He had contacts, Tom knew. Information could be concocted. Evidence could be planted. People could be bought, and lives and reputations could be ruined on a phone call, or on the stroke of a pen.

Yes, life is good at the moment. But that could be turned on its head tomorrow, or next month, or next year. A knock on the door and you open it. It could be a neighbor, looking to borrow a pint of milk. It could be the police with a set of handcuffs. Or it could be a gun pointed at your temple.
Do I really want to spend the rest of my days peeping from behind the curtains every time there’s a knock at the door, or a car comes up the driveway?

He decided to head back to Grainne, if she was home, and run it by her. She wasn’t back, so he headed on over to Pat’s house. By road it was about two miles away, but heading overland, if he kept by the fields along the shore, it could be walked in twenty minutes or so.

He arrived to find Pat peeling potatoes in the kitchen.

‘Well, look what the cat dragged in’ said Pat looking up, ‘so what tears you away from that cozy little nest of yours’

‘I just came over for a chat’ replied Tom.

‘A chat eh? sounds ominous. Pull a chair up and chat away then.’

Tom sat down by the kitchen table, but said nothing.

‘Well’?

‘I’ve been thinking’ began Tom, followed by a long pause. ‘Well, I’ve been thinking of what my next step should be, if any. Like, everything is fine and dandy at the moment, don’t get me wrong, but will it remain that way? That’s what I’m wondering. Should I do nothing? Do you think I’m out of the woods’?

‘You could be out of the woods, Tom, you could be. But sometimes forests have bears. So, where’s the bear, that’s the question. The bear may decide to stay in the woods, happy to collect his berries, or he could decide to take a stroll down to the cabin, and maybe mooch around the trash cans a little. I really can’t see much point in Fielding chasing after you at this stage, if I’m honest. I mean, what does he gain? There’s no point in trying to shut you up anymore, because he probably realizes you haven’t much opportunity to talk anyway, as it stands at the moment. He does however, given the position he’s in, have the ability to cover up his own tracks a little better than they were covered initially, while at the same time exposing yours a bit more. In other words, given the time, he could probably frame you for the murders a bit better than the previous crappy attempt he made. Whether he wants to put in the time and effort involved to do that, I honestly don’t know’.

Tom sat quietly for a while, thinking.

‘Who’d win in a fight between a bear and a conger’? he asked finally.

‘Oh, the bear Tom, the bear would win hands down’.

Tom looked glum.

‘However’ continued Pat, ‘if there were two congers, and they had the element of surprise on their side, I think there might just be a chance they could bite the bollox off that bear, before he knew where he was’.

Toms face brightened up at the thought.

‘Would you be up for taking on a fight like that’? he asked.

‘You should know me by now Tom. Biting the bollox off bears is my forte’.

*****

‘So, you got everything’?

Sally rummaged in her overnight bag.

‘Toothpaste, check. Spare knickers, check. Yes, I think that’s about it. What’s the plan anyway? We do have a plan, I presume’?

‘I’m afraid you over estimate me, Sally. I’m more a hunch guy than a plan guy. We’re going to Nebraska ‘cause I’m following a hunch, is all. It’s the only thing I can think of to chase up, that card Lowanski had. He’s a slippery customer, is our Mark. Trying to take Fielding down leads to a dead end each time I try, so I’m just looking to approach this from another angle. Fielding is mixed up in those two bodies that were dragged from the bay, and your near death experience, I know he is, I can feel it. But basically I’m just clutching at straws, looking for a way to pin something on him, so I can nail the bastard. Nebraska is the only thing I can come up with at present. It’ll probably lead nowhere, but sure it’s a break from the routine if nothing else. I’d love to have a word with your friend, Tom Feeney, but with him being holed up on the other side of the Atlantic somewhere, the chances of that happening anytime soon are slim or none’.

A flicker of sadness crossed Sally’s face at the mention Tom, which Brad immediately noticed.

‘Oh I’m sorry Sally, I tend to forget that you two were involved. Maybe when all this is cleared up he’ll be able to come back, eh’?

‘Maybe’ answered Sally, without much conviction. ‘To be honest, I don’t know what I’d even say to him if he were to walk through that door right now. We were sort of thrown together, y’know? Circumstances and all that, sort of like a holiday romance, or possibly a war time romance would be a more accurate analogy. But if peacetime were to come, who knows how we’d feel about each other. Anyway, the chances of our paths crossing again are slim’.

Sally’s face brightened.

‘Of more immediate concern, I think it’s only fair to point out the fact that I’ve never actually flown, so you might have a gibbering idiot on your hands pretty soon’.

‘Oh flying is no problem Sally, don’t give it a thought’.

‘Maybe, but I think I’ll pack another pair of knickers, just in case’.

*****

Tom made his way back across the fields towards Grainne’s house. He had made his mind up. He was going back to America. He was going to get his life back, wrench it out of Fielding’s clammy grasp if need be, but he was going to get it back, or die trying.

Shit, leave out the dying bit for Christ’s sake. Think positive, you fucking moron.

Yes, he was going to reclaim his life, him and his uncle, standing together.

I’m Tom Feeney, and if you stand in my way, I’ll bite your bollox off.

He was a field away from the house, and he felt good about himself.

Suddenly, he froze. All the positive thoughts evaporated like an early morning mist as he stood, squinting at the yard in front.

Two motorbikes?

Grainne’s bike stood where she normally left it, but who was the owner of the second one? He continued on his journey, but much more cautiously now. He skirted the hedge and stone wall, slightly stooped, keeping as low down as it was possible to be while retaining the ability to walk. He got as far as the outhouse in the garden and stopped, watching and listening. He could make out voices now, fragments, mainly a loud male, his voice raised, sounding agitated.

‘..pay up.. you fucking bitch…burned my bike…owe me’.

Then, a second male voice, deeper in tone than the first.

‘….damn fucking right, Charlie…her bike..give it to her..yeah..’

Then a scream, Grainne screaming, items falling in the kitchen.

Tom pushed in the door of the outhouse, his eyes scanning frantically, searching for a weapon, something, anything he could use, until his eyes settled on a claw hammer high up on a shelf. He grabbed it and ran, still crouching, to the back door of the house. He peered over the sill of the kitchen window. There were two of them all right. One, who he presumed was Charlie, had Grainne by the throat, pinned to the wall next to the range. Her cheek was glowing red, from where she’d been struck, and a trickle of blood ran from her nose down the side of her chin. The other voice stood near the kitchen door, a smile on his face, saying nothing. He had a long unkempt beard, a shaven head, and he wore a leather biker jacket, like Charlie. However, he was larger than Charlie, possibly eighty pounds larger. All Tom knew for sure was that he was one big mother.