Aquarium

by Steven Henry

  “Then what…” Erin began. Then she stopped. She felt suddenly foolish. “CPR,” she said.

  “That is my conclusion,” Levine said. “These fractures are consistent with chest compressions, particularly when administered by an amateur.”

  “You’re saying someone tried to save her life?”

  Levine nodded.

  “That doesn’t sound like something a murderer would do,” Erin said thoughtfully.

  “I don’t speculate on psychological profiling,” Levine said. “Profiling is a soft and inexact science. Forensic medicine is much more likely to lead to conclusive results.”

  “Thanks, Doc,” Erin said. “Let us know as soon as you have cause of death.”

  “I’ll forward my report as soon as I complete it. And I’ll complete it as soon as I’m able to finish working. Without distractions.”

  That was about as polite a way as Levine had of telling Erin she was getting in the way and it was time to leave. Erin took the cue.

  “Thanks,” she said again and got away from the morgue and its clinical, chemical-smelling horrors.

  Erin had gotten used to stopping by the Barley Corner after work for a drink. Now she lived there. It was a little strange, particularly since she had to assume most of the mob clientele knew exactly where she was living and who she was living with.

  Confidence was the way to handle Mob guys. If they smelled fear on you, they’d eat you alive. It was a lot like training an aggressive dog. You didn’t want to pick fights, but you had to assert authority. Fortunately, Erin had a lifetime of experience to fall back on as a girl with three brothers, along with twelve years as a cop. She walked into the bar like she owned the place, taking a second to scan the room.

  There was Ian Thompson, Carlyle’s bodyguard and newly-promoted head of security. He wasn’t even thirty years old, but the former Marine Scout Sniper was as tough a man as Erin had ever met, and more reliable than most. He favored her with a slight nod and went right back to watching the room.

  Erin recognized a few other faces, all O’Malley guys. A couple of them smiled at her and one waved. It was weird being accepted by mobsters as one of them, but that was the point of her undercover work.

  She saw James Corcoran at a booth on one side of the room. He appeared to be chatting up a woman, which wasn’t unusual, but the woman appeared to be older and heavier than his usual target. Then Erin recognized the woman and all her confidence dropped right out of her. At that moment, Corky, feeling eyes on him, looked up.

  “Ah, there’s the very lass,” he said cheerfully. “How’s the business of coppering, love?”

  “Hi, Corky,” Erin said. Then, biting the bullet, “Hi, Mom.”

  Chapter 6

  Erin stood in the Barley Corner, watching her two worlds smash into each other. Her thoughts were racing. What did Mary O’Reilly know? Erin had told her dad about Carlyle, but had asked him not to tell her mom about the gangster. But then she’d moved in with Carlyle and she’d hardly been able to keep that a secret from her family. She’d called her mom to tell her the news the day before yesterday. Erin tried to remember exactly what she’d said.

  “I’m moving in with a guy, Mom.”

  “What? Erin? Honey, when? Who is this guy? How long have you known him? Does your father know? But of course he does. He’s been so close-mouthed the last few days. Oh my goodness. This is the man who was shot in your apartment? What’s his name?”

  “One question at a time, Mom. His name’s Morton Carlyle. He runs a pub downtown, just a couple blocks from where I’ve been living.”

  “A bar owner?”

  “Yeah, Mom. I’ve been going to his place after work a lot, we got to talking, and we found out we’ve got a lot in common. I helped him out with a couple of things and… you know, one thing led to another.”

  “How old is he?”

  “He just turned fifty.”

  “Isn’t that a little old for you, dear?”

  “It’s a fourteen-year gap, Mom. It’s not the end of the world. He’s in good shape, he’s healthy. Well, except for getting shot.”

  “When are you bringing him up to meet us?”

  “Mom, he’s just getting out of the hospital. This isn’t a good time.”

  “Oh, of course not. How long have you been seeing him?”

  “Since around New Year.”

  “Erin!”

  “Sorry, Mom. It’s just that work’s been crazy, and I’ve got a lot going on in my life, and I thought Dad might not approve. It’s complicated.”

  Complicated, Erin thought ruefully. That word didn’t even begin to cover it. “I didn’t know you were coming down,” she said. “You should’ve called. You know I keep unusual hours. You might’ve been waiting all night.”

  “Not to worry, love,” Corky said brightly. “I’d have made sure to keep her entertained. After all, you’re practically family. No kin of yours will be wanting for anything I can provide.”

  “I came down to the city to do some shopping,” Mary said. “I’ll be staying with Junior and Shelley tonight. What time is it?”

  “About five-thirty,” Erin said.

  “Oh, my!” her mother said. “The time does fly. I should let Shelley know if I won’t be there for supper. I’ve been talking to this nice gentleman for over an hour. He tells the most charming stories from the old country.”

  Erin gave Corky a hard, penetrating look. It bounced right off him.

  “Did Dad come with you?” she asked.

  “No, he went out on a fishing trip with a couple of his friends. One of them just bought a new boat and had to show it off. They’re probably drinking beer and eating hot dogs on the lake about now. I wasn’t invited.” She smiled. “So here I am. Now where’s this gentleman friend Mr. Corcoran’s been telling me so much about?”

  “It’s Corky to my friends, Mary,” Corky said, patting her hand. “I’ve told you that.”

  “Where is he?” Erin asked Corky.

  “Haven’t an earthly, love. I’ve not seen him this afternoon. I’m thinking he’s probably resting in bed, as a lad does when he’s had a few extra holes punched in him.”

  “I’d better check on him,” Erin said. “And see if he’s up for hosting.”

  “Nonsense, dear,” Mary said briskly, getting to her feet. “I raised three boys and a girl all the way to adulthood. I cared for all four of you through the chicken pox. Then there was your broken arm, not to mention Michael’s whooping cough and Junior’s bout with croup. If your man needs care, I’m quite capable of providing it. I’ll be happy to prepare whatever he’s allowed to eat.”

  “Mom,” Erin said gently, “he owns a bar and restaurant. There’s a kitchen right here.”

  “Oh.” Mary deflated slightly. Feeding people was the best way she knew to take care of them.

  There was no point in drawing it out. Better to get it over with. Erin took a deep breath.

  “But let’s go see him. Just remember, he’s barely out of the hospital.”

  Mary beamed. She took a bag out from under the table and started after her daughter. “It was very nice meeting you, Corky,” she said.

  “Likewise, Mary,” he said. “I hope to be seeing much more of you in the future.” Then he winked and bent in to give her a quick kiss on the cheek.

  Mary gasped in surprise, but didn’t seem entirely displeased. “It’s been a long time since a strange man tried to kiss me in a bar,” she said.

  “And it’ll be a long time before he tries it again,” Erin said. “If he knows what’s good for him.” She steered her mother away from the grinning Irishman.

  Halfway across the room, Ian stepped away from the wall. Somehow managing not to be impolite, he got between Mary and the door. His eyes were on her bag.

  “Ian, it’s okay,” Erin said, recognizing the sudden tension in his posture. “This is my mom, Mary. Mom, this is Ian Thompson. He’s the… bouncer.”

  “Ma’am,” Ian said politely. “Can I
ask what’s in the bag?”

  “It’s a Bundt cake,” Mary said. “Homemade. Chocolate with cream cheese frosting.” She glanced at Erin. “Is something wrong?”

  “Forget about it,” Erin told Ian. Then she turned to her mother. “Ian was in Iraq and Afghanistan. He dealt with IEDs and roadside bombs, so he doesn’t like strange packages. He didn’t mean anything.”

  “No disrespect, ma’am,” Ian said.

  “Thank you for your service, young man,” Mary said.

  “My pleasure, ma’am.”

  “Ian saved my life a week ago,” Erin said. “Carlyle’s, too.”

  “Oh!” Mary exclaimed. Then, to Ian’s utter consternation, she set the cake bag on the floor and put her arms around him in a sudden, spontaneous, and enveloping embrace.

  Ian Thompson was a man of action, a combat veteran Carlyle had once called the most dangerous man in New York City. But he’d never faced an opponent like Mary. He stiffened, and Erin saw a whole series of emotions dance across his normally-stoic face, but he carefully put one arm around the O’Reilly matriarch and awkwardly returned the hug.

  “Just doing my job, ma’am,” he said.

  “Nonsense,” Mary said. “I’m glad you were there to look after my little girl.”

  “She looks after herself just fine, ma’am. Now please, excuse me. I’m working.” Ian disengaged himself and returned to his place by the wall.

  “What a fine young man,” Mary said. “Quiet, but so polite. It’s rare these days.”

  “He’s a good guy,” Erin said, retrieving the cake before someone could kick it across the room.

  “So tell me about Morton,” Mary said as Erin got out her key.

  “First off, I don’t call him Morton,” Erin said. “Nobody calls him that.”

  “What do you call him, dear?”

  “Just Carlyle. His friends call him Cars, but I don’t like the nickname.”

  “Why do they call him that? Does he like to drive?”

  Erin pretended she hadn’t heard the question. The nickname came from Carlyle’s IRA days, when he’d built car bombs for the paramilitary group. Her mom didn’t need to hear that. She got the door open and ushered Mary and Rolf in, making sure the door locked behind the three of them.

  “I’m home!” Erin called quietly, hoping not to wake Carlyle if he was asleep.

  “Grand,” his voice came from the living room. “And who’s with you?”

  “My mom came down for a visit,” she said. “Are you decent?”

  “If you’ll give me half a moment.”

  The O’Reillys paused at the top of the stairs. After a minute or so, Carlyle spoke again.

  “Come in, please.”

  Erin had expected to find him in a bathrobe, or maybe pajamas. But that wasn’t Carlyle. He’d apparently needed the pause in order to tie his necktie and throw on his suit coat. When Erin and her mother entered the living room, Carlyle looked as sharp and put-together as ever. He was standing, as he always did when a woman entered the room.

  “You didn’t need to put on the tie,” Erin said.

  “If I’m making a first impression, I’d best make it a grand one,” he said. “Mrs. O’Reilly, I presume?”

  “It’s Mary, dear,” Erin’s mom said, offering her hand. Carlyle took it, bent over it, and kissed it.

  “Aren’t you the gentleman,” Mary said. “Erin tells me you don’t like to be called by your given name. What should I call you?”

  “Carlyle will do,” he said. “I’m charmed to meet you. I’m only sorry I’d no greater warning you were coming. I’d have taken some extra pains on your behalf.”

  “Speaking of pain, sit down,” Erin said. “You shouldn’t be walking around more than you need to.” She’d seen the lines of strain on his face, though he did a good job hiding them.

  “Since you ask,” he said, sinking onto the couch. “You’ll be staying for supper, surely.”

  “I don’t want to put you to any trouble,” Mary said.

  “It’s no trouble, truly,” he said. “I’ll just have the kitchen send something up. Anything off the menu, you’ve only to ask.”

  “They make a great Irish stew,” Erin said.

  “And steak and kidney pie,” Carlyle added.

  Erin’s stomach lurched, remembering the morgue. “But I’m just having a salad tonight.”

  “You’re too thin already, dear,” Mary said. “If you want to carry a healthy baby, those hips could use a little more meat on them.”

  Erin choked. Carlyle’s eyes widened and he shot Erin a quick look.

  “Mom!” Erin gasped. “It’s a little early for that!”

  “Never too early,” Mary said pleasantly. “I take it you’re a good Catholic, Mr. Carlyle?”

  “I missed Mass this past weekend,” he said. “On account of my injury. But it’s the first one I’ve missed in quite a few years.”

  “That’s good,” Mary said. Erin pictured her mom checking an item off her internal checklist. “Erin hasn’t been quite so regular in her attendance, I’m afraid. She tells me you own the establishment downstairs?”

  “It’s my name on the title, aye,” he said. What he didn’t add was that Evan O’Malley’s money had put his name there.

  “Erin hasn’t told me very much about you,” she went on. “From your accent, and from talking with your friend downstairs, I understand you were born in Ireland?”

  “Belfast,” he confirmed.

  “And do you have any family on this side of the Atlantic?”

  “It’s just me.”

  “Then it’s settled,” Mary said. “Erin will be bringing you to our next family get-together.”

  “I’m grateful for the invitation,” he said. “But that’s Erin’s decision, I’m thinking.”

  “Nonsense. We’ll be glad to have you. You can meet the rest of the family. Though…” Mary paused and furrowed her brow. “You look a little familiar, for some reason. I feel like I’ve seen you before.”

  “It’s possible. Erin tells me she grew up in Queens. I lived there when I first came over, almost twenty years ago. Though if you remember a chance meeting from so far back, you’ve a right keen mind.”

  “That’s true,” Mary said. “We did live in Queens. Sean and I moved upstate when he retired. What are your views on marriage, Mr. Carlyle?”

  “Mom!” Erin exclaimed.

  “It’s all right, darling,” Carlyle said with a gentle smile. “Your mum’s only looking out for you. If I’d a daughter, I’d be at least as hard on any lad she brought round. I’m only lucky your da’s not here. He’d be even harder on me, I’m thinking.”

  Carlyle had dodged the question with his usual skill. Erin wondered whether Mary would remember the circumstances later. Erin knew that was the truth. She also suspected her mother had remembered the time a much younger Carlyle had come by their house, back when she was a teenager, and had given her dad the information on his partner proving the other cop had been dirty. That had saved Sean O’Reilly’s career, but at a cost two generations of O’Reillys were still calculating.

  “You don’t have to answer that question about marriage,” she said.

  “It’s all right,” he repeated. “I’ve been wedded once before, Mary. Just for three years, but they were the finest years I’ve known. Before I met your daughter, of course.”

  “Divorced?” Mary asked with a twist in the corner of her mouth. She didn’t approve of divorce.

  “She died,” Carlyle replied.

  “Oh! I’m so terribly sorry!” Mary was instantly contrite. “You must think I’m horrible, bringing that up.” She wanted to give him a hug, Erin saw it in her face, but she remembered his injury at the last moment and settled for putting a hand on his arm.

  “Thank you for your concern,” he said. “Losing Rosie was a terrible blow. But we all have troubles in this life, and that was a long time ago.”

  “And what do you think about children?” Mary asked, recoveri
ng.

  Erin squirmed. She didn’t like having her mother pry into her boyfriend’s life like this. She already felt like too many people were looking in at them. The last thing she needed was for her family to be judging her while she was trying to keep up appearances for the Mob.

  “I’m fond of children,” Carlyle said evenly.

  “And of having your own?” Mary pressed on.

  “I’ve yet to be so blessed.”

  “I’ve been starting to worry about Erin,” Mary confided, patting him on the knee. “She’s working all the time, with no chance for any sort of normal social life. And you know, I sometimes think her dog stands in place of a baby for her.”

  Erin and Rolf exchanged a look. “He’s my partner, Mom,” Erin said. “He’s no baby. He just bit a guy who jumped me this afternoon.”

  “No harm done to you or Rolf, I trust,” Carlyle said.

  “It wasn’t a big deal,” she said. “But I wouldn’t take a baby along on a felony arrest.”

  Rolf sat beside Erin looking proud, and maybe just a little bit smug.

  Dinner went well. Carlyle was polite, pleasant, and charming. Mary backed off a little on the questioning, though she did ask about Ian.

  “Erin tells me your bouncer saved both your lives,” she said.

  “Aye,” he said. “Though it was a close shave for me. Ian’s a good lad.”

  “What was he doing at Erin’s apartment?”

  “In addition to his other duties, he’s my driver.”

  “You don’t drive?”

  “I’ve an unfortunate tendency to drift toward the left side of the road,” he laughed. “I’m told Americans prefer to drive on the right.”

  “Tell me a little about Ian. How do you know him?”

  “He was something of a wild lad in his youth,” Carlyle said. “His mum was gone and his da wasn’t doing any particular good for him. I took him under my wing while he finished his primary schooling. When he came out of the Marines, he asked if I’d a job for him. He’s been working for me ever since."