A Man With One of Those Faces (The Dublin Trilogy Book 1)

by Caimh McDonnell

  ‘Water dancing’, as Phil had described it, was in fact aqua-aerobics. Auntie Lynn apparently attended classes at the Saint Vincent’s Baths on Tuesday mornings and Friday evenings. The class took over most of the shallow end of the pool, leaving two lanes for the dedicated swimmers on the left side, and an area of the deep end free for a few teenagers to engage in as much high jinx and heavy petting as it was possible to get away with under the watchful eye of the lifeguard. Normally, that would not have been much, but the lifeguard’s attention was currently firmly fixed on the weirdo with the bandaged shoulder who was walking across the pool. One fifteen-year-old kid in particular was using the situation to gain a life-alteringly significant feel of some side-boob.

  The woman at reception had questioned how Paul was going to swim with his arm in a sling. He’d lied and said that he was there on the advice of a physio, to work on his leg muscles after ‘the accident’. This had all seemed like a much better idea half an hour ago. He had figured at least here Lynn would be forced to speak to him, if for no other reason than to get rid of him. After class, it would have been all too easy for her to walk away. It also removed any possibility of her sharing the family obsession that he might be wearing a wire.

  This was all assuming he didn’t get thrown out first. The rapidly degrading structural integrity of the pair of bargain itchy underpants he was using in lieu of swimming trunks had effectively made this a race against time. Paul concentrated on achieving what he thought was the kind of underwater walk you’d do if you were doing it for physical therapy reasons.

  The sharp tang of whatever chemicals they used to de-pee pools these days made his eyes and nose burn. As he slowly marched himself along the edge of the shallow end towards the aqua-aerobics class, he could hear the instructor’s voice booming over the hubbub, exalting his class to ‘lift those legs, ladies’ and ‘feel the stretch’. The class consisted of about a dozen women. Paul couldn’t accurately gauge their ages from behind, but he reckoned most of them wouldn’t see the other side of 40 again. They all wore swimming caps, making them even harder to differentiate. As he wandered into their collective eye-line, Lynn Nellis had become easy to spot. The other women just looked uncomfortable at Paul’s presence, whereas she looked absolutely livid.

  Paul stiffly waved his right hand and then followed with a ‘should I come to you or…’ point, doing all he could to convey the impression that they were old friends, meeting by happy coincidence. Lynn’s face grew even darker and then she jerked her head towards the other side of the pool. As Paul started walking across, Lynn stepped out of line, mouthed a quick sorry to Mr Aqua-muscles and headed across to meet him.

  They stopped when their paths intersected. Lynn was wearing a purple swimming cap and a tight smile over gritted teeth.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” she hissed.

  “Nice to see you too, Auntie Lynn,” replied Paul, trying to keep it light and non-confrontational.

  “I’m not your bloody auntie.”

  Which was correct. Truth be told, she was not Phil’s auntie either. She was in fact his second cousin. Lynn and her husband Paddy had taken Phil in when he was eleven and raised him as their own. Before that, he and Paul had been in a couple of foster homes together. Phil had always behaved more awkwardly around Paul after he’d been adopted, like he was suffering from survivor’s guilt. Paul hadn’t minded. He had spent quite a lot of time around Lynn and Paddy’s house, and they had always been welcoming. Paul guessed it was partly because they felt sorry for the odd little orphan boy, and partly because Phil hadn’t exactly been blessed with an abundance of friends. Phil had come home from school with a lot more bruises than even his extreme level of clumsiness could explain away.

  Lynn gave Paul an appraising look. Her facial expression made clear that the appraisal hadn’t gone well. “Look at the state of you! And for Christ sake, take your hand out of your pants. You’ll have people calling the guards.”

  “I’d love to but I don’t have swimming trunks with me and these pants aren’t holding up too well. If I take my hand away, someone will definitely call the cops.”

  Lynn shook her head and mumbled curses under her breath.

  “Well,’ said Paul, trying to steer the conversation into happier waters, “this aqua-aerobics stuff must be great, you’re looking fabulous.” He’d have said it regardless, but it happened to be true. Lynn was probably somewhere about fifty, but if he hadn’t first met her seventeen years ago, he’d never have guessed it. She’d kept the same firm figure she’d always had. It was weird to think of her in these terms, as he’d been a kid when they’d first met, but in hindsight she’d always been a looker. Dark red hair framed a slender face, with the bright green eyes that hinted at the fiery temper she was rightly known for. No doubt a few hearts had broken when she’d married Paddy Nellis. Perhaps a few may have even offered her a chance to rethink that choice when, only a year later, her new husband had gone down for a three-year stretch for armed robbery. She’d stood by him, though, and when he’d got out, having served every day of his sentence for keeping his mouth shut, they’d adopted her cousin’s orphaned son and raised him as their own. Those three years had been the only time Paddy Nellis had ever seen the inside of a prison cell. He’d not gone straight but he’d got smart.

  “Look,” said Lynn, “I don’t know what the hell you think you’re doing here but there’s nothing I can do for you.”

  “People are trying to kill me, Lynn.”

  She looked around nervously but there was no way anyone could have heard them over the general noise of the pool.

  “I know that. What I don’t know is how you know that, and come to think of it how you knew where to find me.”

  In answer, Paul nodded his head towards the three rows of stacked benches that made up the viewing area at the side of the pool. There, amidst the pregnant lady with a pram, a teenage girl sulkily texting and a couple of tremendously bored looking husbands reading the paper, sat Brigit and Phil. Phil waved back nervously. Lynn rolled her eyes.

  “Feck sake, that boy will be the death of me,” said Lynn. “D’ye know, when you two were kids, we had him tested. See if they could figure out why he was so… y’know. These days, he’d probably be ADHD or ADD or whatever else they call it. Back then, they couldn’t get past thick.” Her voice brightened up briefly. “Who’s the girl he is with?”

  Paul hesitated. “It’s probably better if you don’t know.”

  Lynn sighed. “If she’s with you, you’re probably right. I just thought he might finally have found a reason to get out of his room and stop playing that fecking orc and fairies game, whatever it’s called.” Lynn stopped, clearly feeling she’d allowed herself to rather wander off point. “Look, the both of you need to get out of here.”

  “I’ve got nowhere to go,” said Paul.

  “And that’s my problem, is it? Just go anywhere and be happy if you’re still alive when you get there.”

  Paul paused and looked her straight in the eye. “Lynn, your husband, God rest his soul, told me if I ever needed it, I had a favour. I’m calling it in now.”

  Lynn laughed a humourless laugh. “Jesus, Paul, cop yourself on. Paddy is dead – and so is any debt he had to you.”

  “But…”

  “But nothing. You got paid for what you did for us, and paid well. Do you want to know the truth about my sainted husband? Love him as I did, he was the smartest eejit on God’s green earth. Sure – he robbed a load of money and got lots of slaps on the back and winks from blokes down the pub. Thing is, after you’d taken all the expenses out of it, laundered it, factored in all the planning that went before, and the hassle that went after, it was a waste of time. The only reason this family has anything to its name is that I took what little was left and invested in the balloon shop, the taxi company, a couple of knocking shops and, yeah, I lent some people some money and I wasn’t shy about hiring some lads to go get it back if they didn’t pay. It ain’t g
lamorous, but it’s a life. Paddy, may he rest in peace, might be remembered as the Robin Hood of The Liberties but I’m the one who had to actually make the money. The man had brains to burn, he could have made ten times more in a suit than he ever did with a gun, but most men are just boys who’re allowed to buy booze. So don’t go telling me that I owe you anything.”

  “Could you not have a word?” asked Paul, hearing the note of pleading in his own voice.

  “With Gerry Fallon? Are you kidding me? Do you know who he is?”

  “Yeah, he’s some big time gangster.”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head vigorously, “you don’t get it, do you? You know how all these other so-called ‘criminal masterminds’ have their nicknames? The General, the Penguin, the fecking Unicorn or whatever. Do you know what Gerry Fallon’s nickname is?”

  Paul’s silence was his response.

  “Exactly, because he doesn’t have one. Early doors, he subtly let it be known to journalists and anybody else who mattered, that the first person to stick a name on him would regret it. He didn’t get into this to get famous, he did it to get rich, and he’s very good at it. He was discreet, he was methodical and, more than anything, he was brutal. Anyone that got in his way, they never found a body. It’s hard to pin a murder on somebody when you’ve not got a corpse. Nowadays, he gets a percentage on everything, whether people realise it or not. Bookies, girls, every shipment of that filth…”

  The Nellis family had always been strongly anti-drugs. It was the late 90s heroin boom that had left Phil in the foster home in the first place.

  “Gerry Fallon is the invisible man, unless something or someone threatens that. God help you, it looks like you have.”

  “But… I honestly don’t know anything. It’s a big misunderstanding. Tell him I’m no threat to him, I swear.”

  “Jesus, Paul, grow up,” she said, her tone more of sadness than anger, “if Gerry Fallon wants you dead, you’re as good as. I’m sorry for your trouble but it isn’t mine, and don’t go bringing it to my door.”

  “But…” said Paul, as much to himself as Lynn, “you’re my last hope.”

  “Then, you’ve not got one.”

  It was hard to tell amidst the moisture of the pool, but he thought he saw a tear in Lynn’s eye.

  “Does Phil know anything?” she asked. Paul shook his head. “Good. Then get gone and don’t come looking for us again. I like you Paul; I’ve always liked you. You were a good kid and, Lord knows, you didn’t get the easiest start in life. So here is what I’m going to do. I’m going to go back and finish my class. Then, I’m going to have a shower and get dressed. Then, and only then, I’m going to ring somebody and tell them you turned up. I’ll say I tried to keep you here long enough for me to contact them without raising suspicion. I’ll say I thought I had, but at the last minute you got cold feet and legged it. Phil is going to see you get into a taxi outside and he is going to tell them that too. I’m sorry, but a head-start is all I can give you.”

  “There’s no other way you can help me?”

  Paul was surprised as she put her hand on his face and stroked it softly. “Son, not even God can help you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “So how long have you known Paul?” asked Brigit. She’d been sitting beside the gangly man she’d gleaned was called Phil on the uncomfortable wooden bench in virtual silence for ten minutes, and it was starting to get to her. Actually, what was really getting to her was Phil’s left knee. It had been jangling up and down beside her constantly. She felt like she was sitting beside a washing machine on a never-ending spin cycle. Between that, the constant nail biting and the repetitive incantation of the phrase ‘Lynn is gonna kill me’, he was becoming incredibly annoying.

  “What?” Phil replied.

  “Paul, how long have you known him?”

  “Ah, ages. We were in homes together as young fellas.”

  “Homes?” It was only after Brigit had said it, that she realised it may’ve been a spectacularly insensitive question. Phil didn’t seem that bothered though.

  “Foster homes. We were in one out in Blanch, then separate for a while, then back in one just off Parnell Square. The Blanch one had been really nice, but then Barry Dodds tried to burn it down and ruined it for everybody. Such a prick that Doddsy.”

  “He sounds it.”

  “Oh God, yeah,” said Phil. “He put my hand in a bucket of warm water while I slept once, trying to make me pee the bed. It didn’t work though. Paul stopped it. Then when Doddsy walked into the bathroom next morning, the same bucket only fell on his head. It was pure class. Paul is dead smart with stuff like that.”

  “So, did you two live together long?”

  “Until Auntie Lynn and Uncle Paddy took me in. I was the lucky one there I suppose. Shit,” said Phil, turning to her. “You don’t think she’ll boot me out of the house now, do you?”

  Brigit gave him a quizzical look, trying to figure out if he was joking or not. “You still live with your auntie?”

  Phil looked at her as if she’d slapped him in the face. “She’s got Sky Movies – Sky… Movies!” He said it with an air of unmistakable reverence.

  “So, what happened to Paul’s family?” asked Brigit.

  “Long story. His mam, God love her, she was never right. She was from up North, fell in love with a British soldier and they, whatcha-me-called-it, scalloped together.”

  “Do you mean eloped?”

  Phil thought about it and then shook his head. “Nope, I’m pretty sure it’s called scalloped. Anyway, they tried England for a while, Manchester, I think it was. That’s where Paulie was born, but his ma couldn’t settle over there. There was some trouble or other. Then they moved to Dublin, thinking that might be easier but no good. To be honest, his ma, she was…”

  He twirled his finger beside his head and nodded knowingly, like this was some form of highly specialised medical opinion.

  “Lynn said she was one of those maniac depressive types.”

  “Manic?” guessed Brigit.

  “What?” asked Phil.

  “Never mind.”

  “Anyway, she was always up and down. Your best buddy one minute, your worst enemy the next. Eventually, I suppose, Paul’s da couldn’t hack it anymore. He left. Never heard from again.”

  “And his mum?”

  Phil shook his head. “In and out of care, so Paul went into fostering. She’d come see him and it’d all be ‘we’ll be living together in a house, we’re going to America, your Dad is coming back…’ then she’d be gone again. One time when she came to see him, she just started singing at the top of her lungs. Other lads were ripping the piss over it. Paulie got into a lot of fights. Eventually, she had her accident.” Phil stopped to bless himself. “It was only me, Paddy, Lynn and Paul at her funeral. And Bunny of course.”

  “Bunny?” said Brigit.

  “Yeah.”

  “Who is he exactly?”

  Phil looked at her in shock, unable to comprehend anyone living in a world that didn’t have Bunny McGarry in it.

  “He’s like the sheriff of Dublin, man. He’s also the head honcho of St Jude’s hurling team. He gets others to help out and that — couple of coppers and one of the teachers from Fintan’s — but it is his gig, man. Everybody plays there. Worst junior hurling team in Dublin.”

  “Worst?”

  “Generally, yeah. Dangerous, though. You’ve got to give them that. Most heavily penalised team in the league, so they say. Bunny is very good at shouting, but he wouldn’t be the greatest on the finesse side of the game. The only good team they ever had under-12 was our one. In all the years before and since, we were the one that nearly won a trophy. Would’ve done but for Paulie.”

  “Did he mess up in a game or something?”

  “No, he never messed up in a game. He was a natural so he was, you should’ve seen him. Even as a 12-year-old, he could drop a free over the bar from 40 no bother. We’d foul them, they’d ret
aliate, Paulie would score the points and win us the game. It was a simple gameplan but it worked. ”

  “So?”

  “So Paulie didn’t play in the final. He and Bunny had a big falling out.”

  “Over what?”

  “Ah, it was ugly so it was. They gave us these tests in school, right? A few of us were pulled out for special attention after. Me, Doddsy, Horse and a few of the others, we got these extra classes from this nice lady, for y’know – being thick. At least until Doddsy tried to burn the classroom down. He is such a dick.”

  “And Paul was in these classes?”

  “Jaysus, no. They gave him some more tests. I only found out by looking in his bag, because he was trying to keep it quiet, but they said he had one of them genius IQs and that.”

  Brigit looked down at the man who was now clambering carefully out of the pool, one shoulder heavily bandaged, the other arm desperately clinging onto a pair of pants that were barely maintaining his modesty.

  “This nice couple, they were whatcha-me-call-its… lecturers! From Galway. They were talking about taking him in, like proper taking him. They were friends of the woman who did the tests. That’s dead unusual. Normally after like 10, nobody is ever going to proper adopt you. It was all looking great and then…”

  Phil paused for dramatic effect.

  “Then?”

  “Bunny got involved. It was happening, and then suddenly it wasn’t. Paulie took it bad, man. Blamed Bunny for everything. He reckoned Bunny didn’t want him moving ‘cause of St Jude’s. So he walked away from the team, wouldn’t play in the final. We got absolutely hammered, man. It was a massacre, and Paulie never played again.”