“Real, proper tea. That would be lovely.”
He led her off to Gertrude’s by the hand, because he could not let go.
Dear Bridgid,
This ought come as no surprise to you, but Mum is a horrid pain lately. She insists that if ye had not left Ireland, ye would never have been kidnapped. We tried to explain to her that your kidnapper is a local lad from near Clifden who followed you clear to America, and his crime would no doubt have happened much sooner, had you not left. That does not fit her story well, so of course she refuses to believe it. She will not even speak of the death of that poor Mr. Wilkie. She insists you would have been safe at home here.
Da and Declan and I believe, actually, you may well owe your life to the fact that you are in America. The garda there are the best. They figured it out quickly, and when he struck again, they took care of it in the instant. And all the lads at Hooligan’s agree that Stover would have murdered you by now, had you not escaped. It is unbelievable, the whole business.
I fear Da may be losing patience with Mum and her bitterness and negativity. He quickly tires of hearing her constant diatribes now and simply walks out on them. Declan tells me that once he even got up and left in the middle of supper. He goes to Hooligan’s much more often than he used to. Should he happen upon a woman who is pleasant and stable of mind, would he walk out for good? He says no, but Declan and I are not so certain. He says he sorely misses the woman she used to be and he is muckle glad you escaped from her. That is the very word he used, escaped.
You will like this. The barman at Hooligan’s took up a collection when you were rescued. Quite a nice sum and the barman delivered it to the church as a thanksgiving for your safe return. I need not mention that Da donated the most. Father Malloy is building a fund to aid girls who are troubled. Not just girls in a family way, but girls such as yourself, in danger with no one to turn to. There be no agency locally that they can turn to. Oh, and Declan says hello.
Our resort is humming right along. We plan to offer an autumn special deal where guests can help bring in the harvest. Would you believe they love to pay money to do jobs you and I absolutely abhorred when we were growing up. Digging turnips, what jolly good fun! They even love to sterilise the cream separator. As I recall, you loathe that task. Mr. and Mrs. Waite visit now and again. They truly like our little farm. We made note that Mrs. Waite had trouble getting around, especially on steps, and we now have at least two cottages that are equipped for guests who do not get about well. Wider doors for wheelchairs, bathroom counters you can sit at in a wheelchair, ramps not steps, that sort of thing. Indeed we purchased a wheelchair to have on hand should a guest require it. We try all this out on Mrs. Waite and she makes the suggestions. She is not in a wheelchair, at least not yet, but Mr. Waite says the day is coming. Can you picture Mr. and Mrs. Waite, who have all the money in the world, digging potatoes? Mrs. Waite says she would so love to be able to do that. We’re trying to figure out now how to make gardening accessible. That’s the word the hoteliers association uses, accessible, meaning that even the handicapped can use the facility, and it is quite the coming thing. Apparently we are in the forefront.
We praise God and thank him every day for your health and safety.
Love as ever, Gilly
Bridgid was having a wonderful time, much more fun than she could ever convey in a letter home. She had completed the early morning shift today at the fire station, napped while, then joined Joe at the raceway in the afternoon. So much more went on behind the scenes than she could have guessed. She sat beside Joe as Bubba, Johnny, Joe, and that Ellis Lane were gathered around a table in an air-conditioned room beneath the bleachers, eating takeaway Chinese food and discussing strategies. Ellis, she had learned, was her age and already a fine driver.
Bubba said, “Y’know, what we really need is something besides the race to perk up crowd interest.”
Johnny reached for seconds of sweet and sour pork. “The two best cars in the country aren’t enough?”
“Different colours maybe, but cars are all alike. I’m thinkin’ humanize the humans. Look how the gate goes up when the Snake is drivin’.”
Johnny snorted. “He ain’t human.”
“Okay, okay, A J Foyt. Y’all know what I mean.”
Joe looked at Ellis. “I see what you’re saying. As far as the crowd knows, Ellis and I are two peas in a pod. We’re rookies and we drive fast cars. You want to separate us in the crowd’s eyes.”
“Zackly.”
Ellis frowned. “We’re even about the same build and hair. From a hunnert feet you can’t tell us apart.”
Bubba nodded. “I been thinkin’ on this. How ‘bout, you know, y’all hate each other’s guts but you’re on the same track, so you race each other. Grudge match thing.”
Ellis wagged his head. “Dunno ‘bout that. Don’ think the crowd’ll like us hatin’ each other. Or lovin’ each other, either. And I know for a fact my granny wouldn’ like it.”
Bridgid asked, “Do ye think per’aps a rivalry might achieve the same end?”
Ellis grinned at her. “Yeah, now that I could get behind.”
Bubba swilled some Bud Lite. “So what couldja rival about?”
Joe pondered this as he finished his chow mein. “Can we do something with the age difference? That’s about the only real difference we have.”
You could see the wheels were turning inside as Ellis polished off his plateful. “Hey, y’know, I hear tell they’re gonna set up a jet john in the backfield. Hit’s just gonna be for Joe, ‘cause old men hafta pee so often.”
Joe nodded. “And they’re going to put an outside line in your car so you can call up your mommy and ask her how to run the race.”
“Thass it!” Bubba waved his fork.
Ellis grinned wickedly at Joe. “I happen t’ know the last car you got paid to drive was the pace car at a tractor pull.”
“Oh, yeah, kid? I know people older than you who are still flunking algebra.”
Leroy grinned and bobbed his head. “Thass it! Thass it! Think up some more one-liners, both of you, and we’ll set up as many interviews as we can. Off-the-cuff stuff’ll be best.”
“And Bubba, you can talk about the rivalry with your colour this Sunday.” Johnny shoved his empty plate back. “Bridgid, you’re one smart cookie. I think we got a winner here.”
A phone rang and for once it wasn’t Joe’s. Johnny pulled his phone out and mashed it to his ear. He grunted. Pause. He grunted again. “Thanks.” As he thumbed the line closed he was grinning. “Joe, you passed the drug test and the background check. You’re in.”
“Then the suspension didn’t show up yet.”
“Sure it did. In this trade choir boys are boring as hell. The crowds want a bad boy, a danger dude. You fill the ticket just fine. Look, both of you. Sunday’s your maiden voyage. Winning is always nice, but you don’t hafta win on your first outing. You only hafta finish. You can pull that off easy.” He grinned at Joe. “Welcome back to racing.”
Dear Gilly, Mum, Da, Declan,
I received your wonderful letter today and I’m very proud of Da’s friends at Hooligan’s. What a splendid thing to do! Joe says he is impressed with how sweet and generous Irishmen are. Please tell them I am profoundly grateful for their caring and kindness.
I began my new job early Thursday (very early, from midnight to eight), but most of my tasks on that day consisted of filling out paperwork. I have the heavy equipment endorsement on my American driver’s licence, but they were apparently not at all certain that I can drive heavy equipment. So I was checked out on the aid van, the pumper, and the hook and ladder. The station chief, John Szchypanski, seemed genuinely surprised that I can not only operate those pieces of apparatus but I can back the hook and ladder up into the bay using the mirrors. I had Friday off and then I began work in earnest today, Saturday, again taking the graveyard shift. For some reason, the brass on the apparatus in this station needs polishing every bit as much as d
id the brass in Galway. Until we responded to an auto accident about six this morning, I polished brass.
That was the good news. The bad news is that I am now the sole breadwinner. Joe is no longer a policeman. He was put on suspension without pay, not because of anything he did—indeed, he had done exactly the right things, by the rules—but because of pure cowardice on the part of his superiors. They yielded to a bully who has a set against Joe in particular and the force in general. Joe was totally disgusted, as well he ought be, and quit the force. Several others in his division quit as well, including the captain and the detective that was set to take over as head of Homicide when the captain retired. Tis quite a brouhaha and we’ve no idea what will come of the city’s homicide division.
Instantly however Joe was hired as a driver for a racing consortium, people he knew from his youth. His first race is tomorrow, Sunday. He tries to maintain a calm demeanor, but I can tell he is very nervous and very excited. As a lad he dreamt of racing and probably would have pursued that had his mum not died. He and his sister had to earn the money to live, and he says that driving does not provide a living, at least at the first, and especially not for a tad his age. You’ll remember that Tommy told us at the reception, Joe and Fel each held two jobs for a time as they completed their college education.
Da, you have praised his driving highly ever since that horrid business a year ago, and you and I both know he will do very well. It would seem he is nowhere as assured as are we, however, and he is much discomfited. So tomorrow I will watch the first automobile race I have ever attended and cheer for the orange car. Tommy and Gretchen will pick me up after work and we shall go together first to breakfast and then to the raceway.
Last Sunday, Tommy, Gretchen, Joe, and I took the children to the zoo. The children immediately went off to do their own thing, so to speak, and we four took a leisurely stroll. I do hope you can come to America soon just so you can go to the zoo. It is like our zoo in Phoenix Park and yet quite different. Declan, you will greatly enjoy the wide range of animals, in particular the snakes, turtles, and frogs in a specially designed reptile house. Too, there is an enclosure containing all local birds and animals, nothing but Arizona creatures. I think you will find particular interest in the peccaries. There are even the huge Galapagos tortoises outside in their own enclosure.
I am most taken by the baby orangutan, born recently, which has just been put on public display. It is a family group. There are the infant’s mother, Lily, its father, a huge pie-faced fellow named Seba, and two of what you might call teenagers.
The Friday after the ordeal, Joe and I again visited the zoo. Joe has a special place dear to his heart near a cage with the Great Indian Hornbill, a very pleasant and peaceful place, where he goes when he must gather his wits together or if he wants someplace quiet to think. We sat there a while; simply sat there; and it was a balm on my rattled nerves. Joe and Fel both go to the zoo often, and the children like to go there for their birthdays. Birthday children are roundly feted by the zoo. In fact, perhaps the farm could develop a special Birthday-on-the-Farm program to attract local visitors.
Here is an amazing story for you, and it is quite true. The Arabian Oryx was nearly extinct in its native desert, so the zoo brought several to Phoenix, for the climate here is similar to that of Arabia. The oryxes are kept off display so as not to become habituated to humans. Declan, they are small tan antelopes with long narrow horns. They are happily breeding, and the zoo sends the progeny back to Arabia. Joe says the oryxes have again become established in the Mideast deserts where once they roamed. To make certain they do not fall to poachers, the Saudi prince has assigned an armed guard in jeeps, complete with mounted machine guns, to maintain their distance and yet keep an eye on them.
I am at the house, which is to say, our home in Tempe where the children go to school. Joe and Tommy, along with several other detectives who quit, have gotten together to discuss how they want to handle this turn of affairs. They are meeting out on the back deck. Guinness is involved.
Bless you all.
Your loving
Bridgid
Chapter 13 Ellis Lane
“So how is retirement treating you, Jerry?” Joe watched his half-empty Guinness bottle sweat. The old gang were gathered under the shade frame on Joe’s expansive patio, just like in the old days. Except tonight it was ten pm and no one showed signs of leaving.
“Retirement isn’t everything it’s cracked up to be. Already Marj is sick of having me underfoot. And it’s only been thirty-six hours.”
“Yeah? Well unemployment ain’t no picnic in the park either, you know.” Hugh reached for another Bud Lite.
“Did ye go job hunting yet?” Tommy asked. He was the only one in the group who still had a job as a policeman.
“Hell no. Unemployment is still better’n working.”
“Even so, ye best be practicing for y’r next job. Repeat after me: Do ye want fries with that?”
Meghan giggled. The smile faded quickly. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to find a place to work as good as our division used to be.”
“I agree,” Hugh uncapped his beer. “We had something special going. And efficient. Working together like we did, we accomplished a lot of good stuff. And we got along together the best of any outfit I’ve ever worked for.”
Jerry looked at Tommy. “Any hints who the next division head will be?”
“I’ve heard nothing so far. Mayhap they’ve not thought about it yet. They’ve a few other fires to put out; tis not just us.”
“So Bellamy wrecked the whole department, not just our division.”
“Traffic detail, Records, and now Homicide. I was talking to Meg. Vice is having problems it’ll take money to fix, and Bellamy is whining to them that we’re broke. Robbery’s having trouble. About the only division that’s escaped Bellamy so far is Fraud. And Meg fears tis only a matter of time before Fraud be cut off at the knees as well.”
“And the chief still backs up Bellamy.” Jerry sounded disgusted.
“That may be changing.” Tommy finished his Guinness. “The damage our budgetary people are causing is becoming too great to ignore.”
Hugh grimaced. “Now that the damage is done.”
Joe was still pondering moreso than conversing. “Think it would do any good if I sat down with the chief? I’m already successfully employed elsewhere, so it’s not like I need my job back. And I’m a lieutenant, not a total peon.”
Jerry was staring at the beer cooler. “I was thinking about that myself. You have clout, but I have more clout, and like you, I don’t have to beg for my job back. Maybe I should sit down with him.”
Hugh shrugged. “Both of you. Double the clout.”
“Two to one, he would feel as if we’re ganging up on him.”
“You would be. That’s the goal.” Hugh glanced at his watch. “Tommy, when Hugh and Joe quit, why didn’t you as well?”
“I was going to. But we need eyes and ears in the squad room to stay on top of what’s happening. We cannot depend upon the chief to keep us properly informed.”
Hugh snorted. “Ain’t that the truth. Joel Visneros is acting, but I doubt he can keep up with it and keep it all straight. He’s really struggling.”
Jerry sat forward to put his empty on the table. “It’s late, but one more thing: How should I approach a meeting with the chief? Points? Suggestions?”
That took another two hours.
“If it don’t fit, she says pin whatcha want changed and send it back.” Bubba waved a frilly pink pincushion. It definitely looked incongruous here in the anteroom under the raceway bleachers.
Joe climbed into the uniform that once upon a time when he was a kid he had dreamt of wearing, the high-collared jumpsuit of all professional drivers. Honestly, Rodriguez, what a snowflake you are. Tears in your eyes? Seriously? He swung his arms, flexed his legs, touched his toes. His knees and elbows bent easily without restraint. Nothing reached out to compress his balls
or tighten his collar. “Feels good.”
“Sukie suits up all our drivers. Well, the suits are storebought and she alters ‘em. She’s got this here heavy-duty sewing machine jes’ for jumpsuits. And my coveralls.”
“Please convey my warmest gratitude to your wife.” Joe put on his new driving shoes and they walked out onto the track.
Johnny Paredes’s butt was filling the driver’s-side door of Joe’s orange car. He crawled backwards and stood up. “Made a couple adjustments to the accelerator. Let me know if it improves response. Damn, Joe, you look almost professional.”
“Clothes make the man, they say.”
Johnny chuckled and walked off to tend Ellis’s blue car.
Joe climbed in and started an engine that purred like a contented tiger. He was pretty good at tuning an engine, but Johnny reigned supreme as the master. Maybe that suspension was from heaven after all. He could get used to this life real easy. He rolled to the top of the track and stayed on the outside wall, working the accelerator. He couldn’t feel any difference.
Ten minutes later they called him up and he ran his time trial. He was cooling off in the backstretch when Johnny came on his radio. “Joe. They said run it again.”
Whatever the race brass want. Whether it was the track boss or the police chief, Joe was but a peon who took orders, a cog in the machine. He moved in to the rail and poured it on again. Johnny said he had worked on the accelerator. At high speed Joe still couldn’t feel any difference.
He cooled down for another lap and drifted into the pit. Johnny was there and three mechanics were waiting for him, people he didn’t know. They popped his hood. He got out and stood beside Johnny to watch. The strangers asked something and Johnny responded. The strangers walked away.
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