by Mae Berry
Finn laughed. His oldest sister’s new baby had become the center of the world for everyone in the family. “Aye, and the fact everyone be sayin’ the lassie is the spitting image of Nora has nothing to do with it.”
“Well, if you go see them, you’d see yourself in little Maeve’s face too.” Her gentle tone took the sting out of the words but Finn sighed. She poured water from the kettle on the stove into the teapot and placed it and a cup in front of him.
“Sorry, ma. I’ve been busy.” He shifted under her intent gaze and cleared his throat. “Heard from the boys?” Mabel took a seat across the rickety table and laughed.
“I think the ‘boys’ be resenting that.”
“What? Fergie and Nev?”
She laughed again at his feigned surprise. “Aye, at almost thirty, Fergus and Nevan would hardly appreciate you calling them boys.”
Finn chuckled. “Aye, expect not, but the twins have always been a mite touchy.”
Mabel reached over and traced her finger around his swelling eye. “Wanna tell me ‘bout it?”
“Professional hazard, ma.” He poured tea into his cup, taking a sniff at the spicy aroma.
“Oh, and how do letting a big lug like Mahoney beat you down be a part of your job now?”
Finn cringed and shot her a guilty look.
“Don’t worry none, Daniel was round earlier to see Nora, he told me. Don’t think word has spread. Yet.” She blew on her coffee and took a sip. A slight smile played around her full rose-colored lips. Even at her age, his mother was a striking woman.
“Don’t think I like Daniel seeing Nora.” Finn frowned as he sipped his tea, angling it to avoid his sore lip.
Mabel smiled and patted his hand. “You thinkin’ you prefer Sean McMillan for Nora?”
Finn sputtered his mouthful across the table. He glared at her, then caught the twinkle in her eyes and relaxed.
“Tell me, Bobby Tom,” Mabel continued, “Why did you stop by this evening?”
He tried to grin at her use of his old nickname but it came out more of a grimace. “Surely, now a lad can visit his mum without getting all up in a hassle?” Mabel’s blue eyes turned the color of a dusky evening and held his. She waited. He sagged into his chair and scrubbed his hand across his face. “Been thinkin’ on things is all. Why?”
“A mother can tell, boy-o, when her child be hurting.”
Finn fixed his eyes on the table. The details of the Smith-Wilson case filled his mind. The violent spree had spread across the state, cutting down anything in the way. And the men involved? More animal than human. He had finally tracked them down; but not before lives were lost. Innocent lives. He ran his fingers through his hair.
“I’ve seen too much, ma. Too many cases of good folks gettin’ the bad. I’ve seen too many devils loose in this world leaving wrecked lives and people.” He stared into her blue eyes. “Why? Why does evil like that exist?”
“Oh Bobby lad,” Mabel sighed, “I’m so sorry.” She laid a gentle hand on his arm. “I worry about you. The questions you’re asking have been plaguing mankind for centuries.”
“No answer, huh?” Not that he expected one. He put his elbows on the table and hung his head scrubbing at the back of his hair.
“Och, my boy, all I can tell you is what I think and I’m no priest.”
Finn looked up, one corner of his mouth twitched. Good thing that. “Tell me ma, what do you think?” His eyes crinkled as he smirked. You never knew what would come out of her mouth. He’d given up trying to figure her out years ago. She was just… ma.
“Have you ever enjoyed a beautiful spring day? You know, when there is a warm gentle breeze and the trees are just burstin’ into bud? Flowers are bloomin’, their fragrance thick in the air? Bird’s twittering and singing mighty fierce?”
Finn sat back in his chair and grinned. “Ma, you’re a poet. Never knew that.” He sipped his tea as Mabel’s smile lit the room.
“Well, my boy, why do you appreciate a day like that?”
Finn tipped his head to one side and blew out a breath. “I suppose it’s because, we be coming off of winter. After a long season of ice and snow, warm balmy days with no biting wind or freezing cold are wonderful.”
“Exactly.” Mabel sat back and sipped her coffee. When she said nothing more Finn stared at her and raised one eyebrow. Exactly his point. You never knew where you stood with her.
“Guess I’m daft, I don’t get your point.”
Mabel’s eyes twinkled. “Well, me boy without the difference between the harsh cold of winter and the mild warmth of spring. We would never appreciate the spring days. If every day were a warm spring day, every day would be the same. We would never know the joy that comes with that first pleasant breeze.”
Finn grabbed his cup and placed his elbows on the table. “Still don’t get the point, mum. Winter and spring? Good and evil? What do you mean?”
“I’m saying you wouldn’t recognize one if the other didn’t exist.”
“So if everything was good all the time, we wouldn’t appreciate it? Fine by me. Give me good old boring goodness all the time.”
“So you’d do without joy or happiness? Exultation? Bliss?”
“Doesn’t follow, ma.”
“Sure it does. You would never experience those emotions without their opposites for comparison.”
Finn let out a frustrated growl. “Fine. I’ll give you that but evil people, ma? How do you explain them? What be their purpose? To make the good look better or are they born that way? Evil? No rhyme or reason to it?” He cocked an eyebrow.
Mabel laughed. “Not born evil, but certainly sinful. Stay that way too without God.”
“Don’t start on me, ma.” Finn scowled. He didn’t need her preaching right now.
Mabel’s laugh rang out, filling the room. “It be each person’s own choice - own decision what path to walk - good or evil. Not only do we decide which we want to walk, we choose how we think an’ feel about it. A body can decide to walk in pure evil, yet tell himself he be doing what is right.”
“I don’t understand. How can you say that? How can you believe that after what that man did? To you? To Kil—”
“Robert Thomas, your father had the freedom to choose his own path. Just as you have the freedom to choose yours.”
Finn swallowed his frustration. Confounded woman. Never gave a straight answer. He ran his fingers through his hair again. “Ma, really, I—”
The front door slammed into the wall as Nora Finnley danced into the room. At the sight of his sister, Finn felt his tension drain. He rose and scooped her up in a big hug, spinning her around, laughing as she squealed. The soft scent of vanilla and cinnamon that was all Nora tickled his nose.
“Bobby!” she slapped at his arms “I didn’t know you’d be here!” Her green eyes, so like his own, snapped. He drank in her long red hair and simple dress. Her laugh warmed him. What ma said may not make sense but this, this was why he did what he did. To protect those like Nora. Sweet, innocent. It was his to do. Protect them. He grinned at her before setting her on the floor and cocked an eyebrow.
“Now, Nora me love, what’s this I hear ‘bout Daniel?
Chapter 6
The next morning, Finn took the streetcar down Broadway to 14th. Mrs. Richards lived near Franklin school. This part of the city was a mix of small family homes and businesses with upstairs flats. He stared out the window cursing his luck at getting sideways with Fenton. He knew not to antagonize the man. Unlike deputy marshals who worked up through the ranks, the office of marshal was about who you knew, not what you know. Finn sighed, removed his cap and smoothed down his hair. Fenton got under his skin, but Finn had worked hard for his job. That political pansy wouldn’t run him off.
Finn thought of his training and the obstacles he’d faced. He had worked longer and harder than most to get to his position but it would have all come to naught without a nudge in the right place from James Pendergast. Finn owed Jimmy favors, h
e shifted uncomfortably, but Jim was a gentleman. When you helped him, he supported you. If things turned sideways, he stepped in. The web of connections and associates the man had boggled the mind. Granted, Jimmy lived just shy of breaking the law and never hesitated to bend it; but he took care of his own. Loyalty was first in the Irish community. Family above all else. That was what made Jimmy, Jimmy. His definition of family extended beyond flesh and blood.
Growing up hadn’t been easy as a young Irish boy in trouble more than out. If it hadn’t been for Father Seamus and Officer O’Connell Finn would most likely be dead. Or in jail. Lorcan O’Connell. A fond smile touched Finn’s lips as he remembered his first run in with the man.
The day he met O’Connell, Finn was a nine year old streetwise rat. He stood on the corner of 8th and Mulberry zeroed in on a likely looking mark. Judging by the cut of the man’s brand-new suit and heavy gold watch-chain, a rich man. Most likely newly rich. His attention was focused on impressing the foppish men with him. Perfect. Finn moved out from his hiding place, put a panicked look on his face and ran straight at the man, looking over his shoulder as if demons chased him.
Finn hit the dandified fop with practiced precision. The man toppled in a tangle of limbs cursing like a sailor. Finn picked himself off the ground looking horrified and dodged a blow from a walking stick. He threw some insincere apologies over his shoulder and took off.
Finn never saw O’Connell until the officer grabbed the back of his shirt yanking him off his feet. O’Connell later insisted to Finn that his surname meant “strong as a wolf” and that altercation insured Finn never questioned it. Finn also never forgot what O’Connell said as his steady gaze locked onto his eyes.
“Boy, with a talent like yers it be a pity to waste it in jail. The good Lord never gives gifts lightly so I be thinking you be needin’ someone to show you how to use them.” O’Connell then pushed Finn up against a building. “What be your name boy?”
“Finn,” came the surly reply. O’Connell continued to stare into Finn’s eyes until the boy looked away. “It be Robert Thomas Finnley.” O’Connell continued the stare. “Sir,” Finn added.
“Och, now Robert Thomas, I be needin’ you to stay right here. Move to the left or right and there be consequences. Understand?” Finn nodded, sure he did not want to experience those “consequences”. O’Connell walked a few paces behind the rich man who was still brushing off his clothes and sputtering profanities. With exaggerated movements, O’Connell bent down and pretended to lift something from the boardwalk. He came up with the wallet Finn had filched. Finn’s eyes grew wide as he patted his own waistband. He never noticed when O’Connell had lifted it.
“Anyone ‘round here lose a wallet?” O’Connell scanned the crowd as if searching, “If you can tell me what be in it. I’ll return it.”
Horrified, the rich man patted down his pockets. “It is mine, sir. Some guttersnipe just bumped into me and it must have jarred loose. Bog-trotters like that should be kept employed not running about free to accost law-abiding citizens.” The man held out his hand and wiggled his fingers at O’Connell.
“Well, now to be sure’n all right, sir.” Finn hid a smirk as he noted O’Connell’s brogue became thicker at the rich man’s ethnic slur. “I be needin’ proof this be yours, sir. Kindly describe what be in it.”
“Really, officer?” The man’s ire frosted the air like ice in January.
“To be sure, sir. Wouldn’t be doing me duty to let it go to any but the rightful owner.” O’Connell eyed the dandy.
The rich man let out an exaggerated sigh. “There is over twenty dollars in there, officer.” He waggled his fingers at O’Connell again.
The officer opened the wallet carefully and slowly counted the money. A frown appeared on his face. “Well now, sir. How much over it be? Twenty plus dollars be a fortune to be sure.”
The man snorted and stared at O’Connell. “I am uncertain, twenty-three, twenty-four dollars?”
“Which be it, sir? Twenty-three or twenty-four?” O’Connell cocked his head to the side, his face a study of concerned solicitude. The man opened and closed his mouth like a landed fish. A huge grin spread over Finn’s face.
“There is also my calling card,” the man sputtered, “Mr. Michael Walters and the card of a Mr. James McPherson and a paper with the Bank of Austin address.” O’Connell again opened the wallet and slowly withdrew the cards and paper scrap. He scrutinized each carefully. Mr. Walters let out a furious snort and glared at the officer. With a satisfied nod O’Connell returned the contents to the wallet and handed it to Walters. The man snatched it and turned in the opposite direction muttering under his breath.
O’Connell watched him leave, a small smile on his face. He then turned back to Finn and motioned him closer. Finn stepped away from the wall, unsure which option was best; run away or join this larger-than-life man? There were consequences either way. O’Connell studied him. “That be how you handle business, lad. There be more subtle ways to get your point across.” O’Connell winked.
That was the turning point in Finn’s life. O’Connell became the guiding hand Finn needed. Finn became the son O’Connell’s life hadn’t allowed him. O’Connell taught Finn everything he knew and was with Finn through all the dark times, save one - O’Connell’s own demise. Murder, more like, Finn thought, thinking back on the suspicious facts surrounding his friend’s death. The faces of all the others Finn had lost tried to flit across his mind. Killian. Da. Finn refused to indulge them. He needed to focus. He needed to get on with this case and bring it to as rapid a close as possible. A quick talk with the mother, a witness or two seeing the husband with the son at a train station or with a mistress and he would be done. Nothing more to this case. There couldn’t be anything more.
With a glance out the window of the street car, Finn noted his stop. He exited with several others all hurrying about their business. He shook his head to clear his thoughts when a lounging workman caught his eye. Why would the devil be at odds this early? Why did he stare cutty-eyed at a nearby beat cop? Finn sped up to get a better view of things and abruptly stopped as something slammed into his chest. To his horror, he realized that something was a rather small woman. A rather small, comely woman. A rather small, comely woman who had landed flat on her backside and looked ready to take his head off. And hand it to him. After stomping on it.
“Och! I’m sorry miss! Wasn’t watchin’ where I be goin’. Are you ‘urt?” He reached down to help her off the walkway. Then caught his breath as her eyes traveled from his hand up his arm to his face. His look changed to one of amazed amusement. There was something exotic about the tilt to her chocolate brown eyes. Eyes that were attempting to burn a hole through him. Her heart-shaped face was unfashionably tanned. She’d lost her hat in the altercation and her coil of brown hair was askew in a bun at the back of her neck, tendrils spilling around her face while frizzy bangs graced her forehead. Finn found a woman’s hair fascinating. He imagined hers loose and flowing down her shoulders. His thoughts jerked back to the current situation when the woman’s gaze narrowed. He quirked an eyebrow and prepared to be his best charming self. Then she opened her mouth. And the day dream hit brutal, hard reality.
“I am sure I am uninjured. No thanks to your barreling down the street without a bother to other pedestrians. You should take more care, sir!” Finn took in her tone more than her words. He noted her voice was pitched lower than expected from such a small woman. No genteel, parlor-bred, modulated tones here. No, the word that came to mind was… harpy. She railed at him as she scrambled on hands and knees picking up her papers. Finn hurried to help her but none of his efforts met with her approval. Still, her position crawling about the boardwalk presented an interesting view of her… charms. He caught her eye and snapped back to himself.
“Tis sorry I am, lassie. Please, let me ‘elp ye.” He cringed as the tense situation thickened his brogue. He was trying, really trying; after all it was an accident. It wasn’t as if s
he hadn’t some responsibility for running into him. Though he admitted, it had been like a horse taking on a locomotive. Or maybe a cat. For some reason that seemed a better analogy as the woman spat something about him doing enough as she tried to gain her feet. He was too busy trying to help to listen to her. Finn rushed to grasp her elbow but she waved him off, awkwardly steadying herself. After directing one more scathing glare at him, she stormed off slamming her hat on her head. His eyes followed her rather shapely form as it cut through the oncoming rush of humanity. She was tiny, but a force to be reckoned with. He shuddered.
Why, oh why couldn’t the pretty ones be gentle and the gentle ones be pretty? Finn stooped to retrieve his cap. Ah well, a woman was the last thing he wanted, needed or wished to pursue. His life was full enough. The only woman he need pay attention to was his saintly mother. Now there was a real woman. Anyone who could raise six children AND put up with that drunken sot… well, the word amazing wasn’t strong enough.
Finn clamped down as unwanted thoughts of the man who sired him threatened to intrude yet again. He clenched his teeth. Got to remember, there are only five of us left, thanks to dear old da. No. No, not just da. Da and me. Finn grimaced and made his way down the street.
✽✽✽
Finn arrived at the Richards’ address a few minutes later. It was a small house, old but meticulously clean. A weed wouldn’t dare grow in this garden. He took in the scrubbed front porch with two steps leading to a worn door. The white paint on the house was fading in places and the sky blue shutters hung skewed; but the windows on either side sparkled. The heavy drapes were pulled shut. Odd, for this time of day. As he stood there, a woman came out of the front door. She was pleasant-faced; tall and big-boned wearing a starched, high-neck, black dress. Her dark hair was streaked with gray and was pulled into a severe bun with a rather ugly, small black hat perched on the top. Finn noted wryly he had no interest in seeing her hair loose about her shoulders. She twisted a black handkerchief. Finn gazed at her and frowned, she looked to be in mourning.