The Murk Beneath

by L. D. Cunningham

  As we passed through Buttevant, I was reminded of my tail of O’Brien. I wondered if O’Brien would stop to fill up at the same petrol station again. I wondered if he would buy cigarettes and put one in his mouth before getting into the car. I could imagine his nervous energy. How he fidgeted his hands, paced around in circles. He would be doing that now, I thought.

  I suppose it was my own nerves that made me talk to Crowley between Buttevant and Charleville.

  “How’s Justine getting on?”

  Crowley looked at Hognatt. “Is he trying to wind me up?”

  Hognatt put a hand on my lap. “I’d just keep my trap shut till we reach our target.”

  Charleville was closer to Limerick than Cork. That made sense with Moose supposedly taking the initiative on the meet. We passed through the town and took a right about two minutes later. Shortly after the turn was a facility surrounded by chain-linked fencing. A sign that had all manner of dirt on it, from diesel fumes and whatnot, read jennings feed company – specialists in bovine and equine nutrition. A picture of a horse adorned the sign also. Then it made sense, I suppose. The love of horses. Maybe Jordan had made an acquaintance in need of a quick sale.

  Hognatt stopped and got out. He took keys from his pocket and opened a padlock. He pushed back two chain-link doors to make plenty of room for the van. He got back in and we drove up to the main building.

  He looked back. “O’Brien will know about this place within the hour. We’ll make sure no one’s here now and hide the van.”

  The crew in the back nodded.

  He looked to me. “You stick with me. Don’t leave my side.”

  I had no other plans.

  The men in the back took their MP7s and walkie-talkies from the holdall. Also in the holdall were balaclavas and helmets fitted with night-vision goggles. They were every bit as well equipped as the Garda ERU would have been. It gave me some reassurance. Hognatt went around back and took his own equipment, then came back to me at the front of the van. He was holding a handgun in his hand. He held it out to me. It was my P99.

  “Try not to shoot this if you can.”

  “And if I have to?”

  “Well, in that case just shoot the fucking thing. Just make sure I’m out of your way.”

  I thought maybe he was underestimating me. But he’d probably seen the actions of greenhorns in the army. You didn’t know how they would react until they were under live fire.

  Hognatt and his men checked the feed plant. They pronounced it clear and we all went back to the van.

  “Pass me the nocks,” Hognatt said to Crowley.

  I had no idea what he meant until Crowley handed him a set of binoculars. Army guys and their one syllable names for things. Maybe they thought two or more syllables took so long to say that they got you killed.

  Hognatt pointed to positions for Crowley and the other two. A grain silo and outbuildings that surrounded the inner courtyard.

  Hognatt asked them to double-check their LAMs. I enquired and he explained that a LAM was a laser aiming module. The red dots I saw when the men targeted their MP7s made it clear – not only did they enhance aiming, they scared the shite out of anyone who saw a dot on their chest.

  Hognatt drove the van around the back of the main building and came back to the group in the courtyard. He directed the others to take their positions and then I followed Hognatt to the main building. He took out his mobile and called Moose.

  “We’re ready. If the operation succeeds, I’ll text you the location of your reward.”

  O’Brien had been instructed by Moose to wait in Buttevant for a call with the meet location. The instructions also included a warning to bring no more than two people with him.

  Hognatt put the binoculars to his eyes. He pointed them to the turn off from the main Limerick road.

  Fifteen minutes passed. I was getting nervous.

  “What if he doesn’t show?”

  Hognatt kept looking through the binoculars, said nothing.

  A minute later a car turned off the Limerick road. Hognatt raised his walkie-talkie to his mouth. “Possible target sighted.”

  A hundred yards from the gate.

  “Target confirmed. Wait for my command.”

  The car was a dark-coloured SUV. It stopped at the gate facing in. A man got out of the back and walked a few steps inside the gate. He took a good look around. He got back into the SUV. The SUV didn’t move.

  “They smell a rat,” I said. “The operation’s blown.”

  “Steady,” Hognatt said to me.

  The SUV moved forward. It drove into the courtyard and stopped about forty yards from the double doors of the main building.

  Hognatt pulled his balaclava down over his face.

  “Look the other way,” he said to me.

  He took a flashbang from his pocket and threw it towards the car. He raised the walkie-talkie. “Go. Go. Go.” He gave the command calmly. Like he’d given it countless times before. Just then there was a flash of light and a bang milliseconds later.

  “Stay here,” he said and at first I complied.

  Hognatt walked briskly forward with the scope to his eye. I could see two dots on the windscreen of the SUV.

  Hognatt shouted, “Police! Don’t move! Hands up!”

  Crowley and the others closed in with their MP7s aimed at the occupants of the SUV. They were most likely blinded by the flashbangs, maybe hearing ringing in their ears.

  Hognatt’s men shouted over each other: “Don’t fucking move!”, “Get out of the car!”, “Drop your weapons!”.

  They reached the SUV without a shot being fired. Almost in unison, Hognatt’s men opened doors and pulled out three men. They forced them to kneel at gunpoint. They searched the men and took handguns from their pockets. Hognatt stayed in position to cover them.

  This was my moment to move in. I took the P99 from my pocket and released the safety. I came up behind Hognatt.

  “May I?” I said.

  “What the fuck, Bosco? I said stay behind.”

  “The bag.”

  “What?”

  “I’ll do the bag, if you’ll indulge me.”

  “But I like doing the bag thing.”

  “Just this once.”

  He sighed. “In my back pocket.”

  I took it out and walked to where Crowley had his MP7 pointed at O’Brien’s head.

  “Up here, O’Brien,” I said.

  O’Brien either didn’t hear or he ignored me. I reached down and grabbed his hair and forced him to look at me. There was terror in his eyes.

  “Who the fuck are you?” he said.

  “The Gentleman says hi,” I said.

  I was fiddling with the drawstring on the bag, loosening it. I didn’t notice O’Brien moving his hand to his ankle. I didn’t see the flick knife. The weapon of a hoodlum.

  O’Brien lunged the knife towards my gut. I parried it, but it pierced my shirt, sliced into my love handle a bit.

  I lifted a leg and kicked the knife from his hand. I swiped him across the jaw with the P99 and he fell face first into the dirt. A tooth fell from his mouth and lumps of congealed blood dribbled from the side of his mouth.

  I slipped the bag over his head. I tightened the drawstring.

  It’s difficult to describe what I felt then. Scoobs might have called it closure. But closure is just modern psychobabble. It was more cathartic than that. If you could imagine the sensations of biting into an Arbutus bread, Gubbeen cheese and Italian cured ham sandwich, drinking ice cold Howling Gale Ale on a hot summer’s day, and Clonakilty black pudding melting in your mouth, then wrap them all up together, you might come close to understanding.

  Hognatt and his men got to work on tying up O’Brien and his men in the main building. Crowley searched the SUV and found five bricks of meth in a hidden compartment. He took the bricks into the main building and put them on the ground near O’Brien.

  Hognatt retrieved the van and we got in.

  “Good w
ork, men,” Hognatt said. “Bonuses all round.”

  The men cheered, then laughed. The bagging of O’Brien was a release of sorts for me. Cheering and laughing was theirs.

  A mile after Charleville, Hognatt stopped the van.

  “Pass me the rucksack,” he said to one of the men.

  He got out next to a road sign that said there were sixty kilometres to Cork. Sixty klicks in military speak, what with their preference for single syllables. He tossed the rucksack over a wall into a field. He took out his mobile and keyed in a message for Moose.

  He tossed the phone to me. “Call Cotter.”

  I got out of the van to make the call. Cotter answered almost immediately. Before I could tell him about picking up O’Brien and his drugs, he spoke with urgency.

  “Jesus Christ, Mick. We’re missing two men. Savage and Mangan.”

  “Dominic Mangan?”

  “Yeah.” There was silence for a moment. “Do you have something to do with this?”

  “Yer man Halloran? Can you get a hold of him?”

  “Since Savage and Mangan went missing, pretty much everyone’s been called in.”

  “Tell him to expect me. Tell him there’s about to be a break in his case.”

  “What is it, Mick? You’re not …”

  “What? Confessing? Fuck no. Just tell him to stay where he is and wait for me. And there’s something else you need to know too.”

  I explained about O’Brien, his two heavies and the drugs. I gave him the location. I was vague about the means of capturing them.

  “Jesus Christ. It’s Jordan, isn’t it?” he said.

  I remembered the Jordans’ love of horses. Somehow it filtered into my response.

  “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, Barry.”

  And with that I hung up.

  Hognatt dropped off his men and drove me back to the container where Savage and Mangan were. He stayed until I had Savage secured in the back of the car.

  “You need any more help?” he asked.

  “I’ll be fine from here.”

  “Well … maybe our paths will cross again someday.”

  I didn’t think so at first, but then I realized that trouble had a habit of inviting itself around. Maybe I would see him again. I hoped it wouldn’t be after he took a bag from my head.

  “Maybe. And maybe you should stick around a bit longer.”

  Hognatt looked around. It was like an emigrant from a century earlier taking a last look before boarding a ship in Queenstown for a one-way trip to America. I knew then he planned on going back to Africa.

  “Take care, Bosco.”

  I nodded. He got into the van and drove off leaving a dust plume behind him.

  I got into the Mondeo. There was a smell of urine. Despite everything, I felt some pity for Savage.

  “Are you ready for this?” I asked.

  How could he have been? He said nothing in reply. He just stared out the window as we drove towards the Bridewell.

  When we arrived at the Bridewell, I pushed Savage in front of me, his hands still bound by the plastic ties. There were stunned looks from Guards as we walked in the front entrance. Though I had no right to manhandle a Guard into the Bridewell like I did, no one confronted me. At the desk I asked for Halloran.

  Halloran came out, looked at me with the look of man that’s found out his lottery win was a hoax.

  “What is this, Bosco? Release him this instant.”

  He gestured to a uniformed Guard to take action.

  I whispered in Savage’s ear, “Remember what I said about my friend’s machete?”

  “Wait,” Savage said, directing his words to Halloran. “I’d like to … I need to … I’m handing myself in.”

  Halloran’s mouth dropped open.

  I took the car keys out of my pocket. I threw them to Halloran and he caught them instinctively.

  I said, “If you think the shit’s hit the fan now, wait until you open the boot.”

  Halloran spoke to the uniformed Guard. “Untie Savage’s hands and take him to interview room two.”

  He walked to me and said, “I have an arrest warrant pending for you, Bosco. You’re not going anywhere.”

  “Then you’d better call my solicitor,” I said. “Goulding’s his name. Terence Goulding.”

  Halloran spoke to another uniform. “Take Mr Bosco to interview room four.”

  I was happy to oblige.

  Halloran went outside. A moment later, as I was being led to the interview room, I heard him.

  “Bosco!”

  EPILOGUE

  Barry Cotter was looking out at the estuary when I arrived at the Rochestown walk by Hop Island. Some birds were searching for worms in the mud. An onshore breeze brought the rank smell of decaying seaweed.

  I greeted him and we started to walk towards Passage West.

  “It’s a crisp morning,” I said. I hunched my shoulders to emphasize how cold it was.

  Barry looked at his watch. “It’s afternoon, you dozy twonk.”

  I grunted. “How many is it now – four?”

  “Five, including Bracken this morning. I think they are anxious to cap it there if they can get away with it. The last thing we need is another witch hunt. Not after the whistle blowing thing.”

  They. The brass. The recent whistle blowing cases that had highlighted corruption in the Guards had shown just how much they all closed ranks, brass included. A dead rat had been hung from the door of one of the whistle blowers. It wasn’t proven, but everyone suspected it was a Guard. It was just one way to underline that omerta in the Guards was alive and well.

  “And Halloran?”

  “Taking as much credit as he can. To be fair, he’s pursued the others with Savage’s assistance.”

  “If it hadn’t been for Goulding’s sorcery, I might have been shackled to Savage and Mangan. Halloran would have loved it.”

  “There’s history there, I believe?”

  I remembered my mother’s face. About how Halloran had refloated memories like a sunken cruise liner full of skeletons being salvaged.

  “I’m not done yet with Halloran.”

  A young woman, her arse tight in an Under Armour baselayer pants, zipped by on roller blades. Barry ogled her.

  “That’s a sin if ever there was one,” he said. “Putting it out there on show like that.” He was practically drooling. “But you’ve your eyes elsewhere, I hear.”

  I didn’t enquire as to how he knew about Grace. I didn’t want to know about sources anymore. I didn’t want to be paranoid like The Gentleman.

  “We’ll see. There’s hope for me yet.”

  As we walked, the wastewater treatment plant across Lough Mahon at Carrigrennan, on the south tip of Little Island, came into view. I thought about how, much like the plant did, I had at least helped clean up some of the effluent that had been poisoning the city – Savage, Mangan, O’Brien. But there was plenty more where it had come from. Moose would be busy dealing his new poison in Limerick thanks to Jordan’s ruthless pragmatism. The Eel would continue to pursue his loan book by any means necessary. And the Gentleman? Well, as far as I was concerned, the jury was still out on him.

  I said, “How did you explain O’Brien and the meth?”

  “I told O’Brien that if he pleaded to the drugs charges that we wouldn’t pursue conspiracy to murder. His two associates were offered lesser charges. The brass wanted to have a win, so they turned a blind eye to exactly how it went down. We agreed on a simplified version of the truth, if you know what I mean.”

  I did.

  “You know, Barry, one of these days we should go for that pint. Events seem to have gotten in the way in recent times.”

  Barry laughed. “And you don’t think they will again?”

  He was right. What with trouble being a close relation of mine, practically immediate family.

  We walked to Passage West and back sharing some blue jokes along the way.

  Somewhere fancy we had agreed.
I didn’t know anything about restaurants, so I chose a five-star hotel, Hayfield Manor, near the university.

  Grace arrived wearing a long purple dress that only had a strap on one shoulder. She’d had her hair done. She wore a broad smile on her face. She looked angelic. The right kind of angelic.

  I looked over the menu and tried to hide my shock when I saw the prices.

  “We can split the bill,” she said.

  I’m a man of tradition. I told her I’d take care of it. Jordan had paid well and I needed a way to start spending the cash I was accumulating under my mattress.

  “That’s not how I operate,” she said. “I pay my way.”

  I wasn’t going to argue. I guessed if I was to have a chance with her, I’d need to compromise.

  “What catches your eye?” I asked.

  “The terrine for starters and tart tatin for the main.”

  She sounded like a food critic the way she said it. I felt embarrassed about replying with my own choices and appearing agricultural.

  “Mickey? What are you going to order?”

  I picked the most pronounceable items. “Soup of the day and Salmon.”

  “Ah take a risk, will you?”

  I waved her off. “I’ve always wanted to try a nine Euro soup.”

  The waiter took our food order and Grace chose a fifty Euro bottle of wine. Like father like daughter.

  We made light work of the starters and continued our conversation.

  “I’ve talked to Daddy,” she said.

  “Go on.”

  “He’s in good form. He talks a lot about you. Says that he has plans.”

  I’d had enough of Jordan over the past three weeks. Every punch, cut, rise of my blood pressure had been down to him. By him looking out for me in a twisted way, because of his soft spot for Dad.

  “Tell him I’m grateful for his consideration, but that I’d like a little vacation time. I think I’ve earned it.”

  She smiled. “He’s decided to step back from much of the business to concentrate on his pet project.”

  “The MMA academy.”

  She nodded. She leaned in closer and whispered, “I think it’s his Mother Theresa complex. He wants to save the children. You know?”