by Brian Martin
He was scanning the headlines and he saw an article from Dublin. Seems like the French Navy had intercepted a ship named the Eksund and it was packed full of armaments which the authorities believed were destined for the IRA. The article explained that the weapons, mostly Kalashnikovs, were surplus Libyan army weapons that Gaddafi was sending the IRA in order to fight British imperialism. The authorities speculated that this was one of five shipments and that the others had landed their cargoes undetected sometime during the prior year. One commentator remarked that if that were the case, the IRA would now have three times as many rifles as they had soldiers. Brian wondered if the IRA had all this weaponry, apparently for free, would they still be smuggling guns from the USA. Did this mean that his dad and his friends would stop what they were doing, had they already stopped, had they ever started? God damn son of a bitch, what the fuck was going on, he wondered. At that moment, he saw a large guy in a cheap grey suit approach his table and sit down right opposite him.
“Brian Flanagan, right?”
It is hard to put into words all the things that went through Brian’s head, in what they now refer to as a nanosecond.
It’s not a hit, he thought. They don’t ask your name. It’s too crowded in here, too many people.
Cheap suit, too, too cheap for a reporter even.
He’s a cop. Jesus Christ Almighty!
He didn’t know how they learned these things, but he never knew a neighborhood guy who when asked his name like that actually answered the question “yeah that’s me,” the answer was always some version of who wants to know. Without acknowledging who he was he tried the polite response,
“And you are?”
A quick flash of what looked like a badge, “Detective Bandinelli. No, don’t get up, relax, finish your sandwich, this is just informal. What my Irish grandmother used to call a ‘chat.’”
Brian noticed the cop had brought over a cup of coffee with him, which he placed on the table between them as he sat down.
“Meatball sub here is pretty good. You ever try Three Guys over on 21st Street? It’s a bit of a hike for you, but it’s worth it. Best meatball sub in the city. Anyway, Mr. Flanagan, I was out last night and I happened to be following a certain gentleman. No particular reason, we just do that from time to time because you never know, right? So I follow him into the city and he goes down this alley and into the back entrance of a building. A little while later a man and a woman come out, arm in arm, the same way. So I follow them to an apartment over on Broadway. Later on that same evening, the guy I was following, he meets a tragic end in the office of that building he went into. You probably heard about it on the news. Now, it looks like it’s pretty straight forward. The guy gets into some beef with the business owner, the business man pulls out a gun, shoots our guy, realizes what he has done and shoots himself, saving everyone a lot of trouble I might add. So far so good, right?”
As you can imagine, Brian had stopped eating. He actually wondered if he could be arrested for vomiting all over a police officer in public.
“Anyway, as you may already know our guy was not too popular, not with us and not even with his own people. No one will really miss him much. No one wants to make waves or complicate what seems to a simple case. However, I thought it would be a good idea to speak to the young lady who left the building arm in arm with the young gentleman. So, I went over to her apartment this morning and I had a nice cup of coffee with her and she told me about last night.”
Oh sweet Jesus, remain calm, don’t show any emotion, he thought. Keep the same expression. Better still, take a bite of the sandwich. Bite the sandwich. Out of politeness you are indulging some crazy guy and listening to his crazy story.
“She told me that you were there for a meeting, something to do with banking. She was working late and you offered to walk her home. Everything was fine when you left the office, our guy and the businessman were still talking friendly enough, no shouting or nothing. You walk her home, she invites you up. You two spend some time together and then you go home to your wife. Hey, I can’t say I blame you, that’s a very attractive woman. I can’t imagine very many guys would pass, if they were invited up to her apartment. Now I understand, being a married man myself, that you coming in and making a statement could be embarrassing and as I said, no one wants to complicate this case. So, anyway, she knows your name and where you work, so I come by around lunch time and there you are heading out and here we are. You don’t say much, do you, Mr. Flanagan?”
Brian gave him that shrug of the shoulders and a little shake of the head that in New York means ‘heh, it is what it is’ or more precisely, ‘I have no intention of answering your question or acknowledging what you have just said in any way.’
"I figured you wouldn’t have much to say. Your Uncle Jim doesn’t say much either whenever I stop by for a chat and I thought all you Irishmen were supposed to have the gift of the gab, the blarney, my grandmother called it. So, to the point then, Mr. Flanagan. I am going to do you a big favor here. I am not going to mention seeing you and your girlfriend at a crime scene, I am not going to make you both come down and make statements. Statements that could prove particularly embarrassing for you. In return, Mr. Flanagan, someday I want to feel like I can count on you for a favor in return.
“As with any organization, the death of our guy last night leaves a void. That void is probably going to be filled by guys close to your Uncle Jim. I suspect he’s going to be moving up in the world, so to speak. He’s going to be keeping some important company in the future.”
“Now, I know that you are not involved with Jim on a day to day basis, but I am sure you see him from time to time at family things. I want you to keep your eyes and ears open for me, that’s all. I want to know if he’s driving a new car or buys a new house, goes on an expensive vacation, that sort of thing. No harm in it. Just one friend helping another. Nod if you understand me, kid.”
Brian nodded.
“Well, I’ll be seeing you around then, Mr. Flanagan. Nice chatting with you.”
Brian spent most of Saturday thinking and pretending to watch a college football game on TV. It was Notre Dame and USC or as many Irish Catholics refer to them (the University of Spoiled Children). Noreen put his gloomy expression down to the fact that the Irish were being clobbered. After the game, she said that she had made reservations at a high end Italian restaurant they liked, about a twenty minute drive from where they lived. Brian went to put on a jacket and tie and a clean pair of slacks; Noreen put on a white silk blouse, a black skirt and heels. No matter how many times they got dressed up to go out she still took his breath away. Brian was not a bad looking guy, but he knew when they got to the restaurant heads would turn and they would be turning for her.
They had an excellent meal and they talked about this and that, friends and family. Noreen said that he seemed a bit down and that maybe he was working too hard and that he should try and forget his troubles, at least for this evening. He had a glass of wine (being the responsible designated driver) and she finished a bottle of very decent Spanish red as well as a glass of brandy as he sipped his espresso. The drive back was only twenty minutes or so, mostly local roads with a lot of traffic lights. At the first red light, his wife turned to him and unbuttoned the top button of her silk blouse.
“Red lights are so boring, such a waste of time, don’t you think?”
He agreed but argued that they were really necessary and that people should make the best of that time. The next red light was followed by two more buttons. Due to his excellent sense of timing and superior driving skills, they hit every possible red light on the way home without causing an accident. They even managed to find parking on their street not far from their apartment. Needless to say, he was in something of a hurry to get home once he pulled into the space. He had the parking brake on and his seat belt off in record time. He turned to his wife and was surprised that she didn’t seem to be in any hurry at all. “What’s your rush?” she ask
ed. For a New Yorker that fancied himself as being pretty quick on the uptake, he could be surprisingly and embarrassingly slow when it came to that sort of thing.
So he replied, “I just thought we might want to get back to the apartment.”
“And so we should, but I seem to have lost one of my earrings and I was hoping that you would help me look for it,” she said while throwing one of her earrings into the back seat. After doing their best to, as Noreen would say, ‘scandalize’ the neighborhood, they eventually headed back to the apartment and no, they did not actually find the earring when they eventually did go looking for it. An hour or so later they were lying in bed pleasantly exhausted when he decided that it was time to come clean.
“Listen, there is something I have to tell you.”
“Can it wait till morning?”
“No, it’s important.”
“I thought there was something up with you. Work troubles?”
“No, worse than that.”
“Are you feeling okay, you certainly seemed fine this evening?” (Said in an attempt to lighten the mood).
“Listen, I have done something incredibly stupid.”
Silence.
“Is it to do with money?”
“I wish it were.”
“Ah Jesus, no.”
“Listen, it was unbelievably stupid and I am so sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I swear it will never happen again.”
“You have been with someone else and then you waited until we… and then you tell me… you bastard, you are a fucking monster!”
“I was meeting a client, it was late, I walked this woman back to her apartment and she invited me upstairs and I was stupid and weak and I went with her. It meant nothing. I love you more than anything and I am so sorry.”
Brian got pretty much the reaction he expected. It was the couch for him and a graphic explanation of what would happen to him if he came near the bedroom door. In the morning, he tried to apologize some more. Noreen snapped that she wasn’t interested, repeated that he was a monster, and added that if he had given her anything from his slut she would kill him stone dead. She calmed down a little after a cup of tea. God bless tea, he thought, it is the only thing he had seen that will calm an Irishwoman in full fury. After finishing her tea in complete silence, she announced that she was going home to think and that he was not to follow her, assuming, of course, that he did not intend to set up shop with his slut. Then came the tricky part. She was doing exactly what he needed her to do. He wanted her to go home to Ireland, but he had to make an effort to persuade her to stay, just not a successful effort. Knowing his woman, he hit on just the right tone.
“I understand, I really wish you wouldn’t go, but I understand.”
“Oh you do, do you? You understand. That is mighty big of you.”
“Can I get you some more tea?”
A few quick phone calls, some hurried packing and his wife was ready to head to the airport. He offered to drive her but she insisted on taking a taxi. He put her bags in the taxi and she got in without a word. She did look at him though as the taxi was pulling away. She had tears in her eyes and she looked so sad and disappointed. It took every ounce of his self-discipline not to call back the taxi and explain everything, but there was no going back. His wife was headed to safety and away from the mess he had made. She was safe and away and that, for now, was all that mattered.
Of course, after she left his grief and panic set in. What if he wasn’t able to get her back ever? What if he had really lost her forever?
Brian thought about the first time they met. A group of friends and acquaintances were meeting for drinks at a pub off Grafton Street in Dublin. He saw her come in with someone he knew and he quite literally could not take his eyes off her. He managed to sit down opposite to her and a mutual friend introduced them. Her date had already had quite a few and he proceeded to get into a heated political debate with another friend of theirs. This meant that he was completely ignoring his date and it left Brian with a wonderful opportunity to impress Noreen with his wit and charm.
His first idea was to say, listen, you and I belong together, I just know it, let’s get out of here and go someplace where we can be alone. Then he thought this might be just a bit strong for an opening line so he settled for a little small talk. Depending on how that went he could always go back to his original line. Well, there is an old fashioned phrase called getting the cold shoulder and while he had heard it, he had never experienced it until then. He kept trying and trying, but all he could get were one word answers, ‘yes, no, sometimes’ and the occasional ‘really’ which is often used by Irish people when they are not paying attention to what you are saying, but want to be polite. Her date was ignoring her and still he couldn’t get so much as a smile out of her. Maybe she didn’t like Americans. It was unusual to find that in Ireland, but some of the radical leftists didn’t care for Yanks on principal. She didn’t look like a radical leftist, in fact, he had managed to ascertain that she was in nursing school. That was a two-word answer, so he felt he was making progress until she got up and went to the ladies room. When she came back she sat about as far away from him as she could get.
Brian had never wanted to talk to someone so much in all his life. He came to the conclusion that Noreen plain just did not like him. He was not her type or he had said something that offended her or something had rubbed her the wrong way. Too arrogant, too pushy, too interested, trying too hard or too good looking. Maybe she was intimidated, that was it. A good looking, charming young American might be too much for her. She was after all just a simple country girl up in the big city (if you could call Dublin a big city) away from home for the first time. He could deal with the fact that he might be too much for her, but the idea of flat out rejection was too painful.
They kept running into each other at pubs and parties and eventually he got Noreen to smile once or twice. When she broke up with her boyfriend, she took his breath away one afternoon by asking him out. He was totally astonished. He had run into her outside Bewley’s coffee shop and asked her to have a cup a coffee with him. He told her that he needed some female advice. He was surprised when she accepted his offer. It was really the first time they were ever truly alone together. He explained that he had broken up with the girl he had been seeing and Noreen said yes, she had heard. He said that the girl had contacted him and that it sounded like she wanted to get back together. He still liked her, but he wasn’t sure if getting back together was a good idea. Noreen listened attentively and then advised him against getting back with his ex-girlfriend. She thought they were not all that well-suited for each other and that they would only break up again later on. Her advice was that he find someone he would be better suited to. He asked her in all seriousness if she had someone in mind. He was really interested in hearing who she thought he would be right for. He figured that she must have a friend in mind. Then she said the last thing he was expecting to hear. He had asked her again to give him a name and she said, “Isn’t it obvious?”
He said, “No, not to me, who are you talking about?”
She smiled and said, “Me, you should ask me out.” After Brian got over the initial shock, he said absolutely he would like to ask her out, but that he was really surprised. He asked her about the first time they had met and she said that she had already heard about him from her friends and that she heard he was seeing someone from college at the time. One thing she really hated was a cheater. She had waited until they were both single before asking him out. They had been together ever since that first date. He had fallen in love right away and stayed that way.
The economy in Ireland at the time was terrible, and although he was entitled to Irish citizenship through his grandparents the chances of him finding any kind of work were extremely slim. As a nurse, she would have no trouble finding work in the States so she gave up her home and family and friends and moved back with him when he had to go. She adapted well to life in New York/New Jersey. They
had even gotten to the point where she found Woody Allen funny and understood the humor in Annie Hall. She had come to accept that the best performance ever given by a movie actor was Robert DeNiro in Godfather II. On his side, he had come to appreciate the beauty of a sunset or a sky full of stars, or the peace that comes from standing on a hillside and looking out to sea, not a sound but the wind coming in from the ocean. He worried that she would be lonely, but she was outgoing and made friends easily and after all, as she told him, wasn’t he her best friend.
Loving someone more than yourself, choosing to love them. Not loving them because they were family, because you were supposed to love them, but because you choose to, you wanted to, or you couldn’t help but love them. Loving them enough to hurt them and send them away. It would have been worse if she had seen him led off in handcuffs, it would have been worse if the police had come to the door and asked her to come down and identify a body. If she had been in the car with him, and they had decided he had to go, they might have killed her as well. But the look she gave him as the taxi pulled away, not anger, but sadness and disappointment. Like that look Jesus gave him, only worse. Jesus at least understood the whole picture and although Brian knew that Jesus was disappointed in him, he knew that Jesus had seen worse.
Chapter Thirteen
Florida, New York, 1987
On the day Morgenstern and Tarantino died, Jim Flanagan and his wife Jeannie were in Florida. He had surprised her the night before with airline tickets and they had flown out that morning for Tampa. They rented a car and stayed just up the coast in a nice resort at Ponte Vedra. They sat around the pool and took nice long walks on the beach in the evenings. They went to some good seafood restaurants, relaxed and enjoyed each other’s company. They stayed for a week as planned and then headed back to the city. They agreed that they should take breaks like that more often. Jeannie had mentioned that Jim seemed a bit preoccupied at times during the week and wondered if something was troubling him. Jim had responded that it was nothing and he usually made a joke to change the subject. Jeannie understood that it was probably business and that there would be no discussion. She did her best to help him to relax and to try and take his mind off whatever was troubling him.