The Last Legal Hanging

by Mae Berry

  “Juicy?” she asked, eyes darting between the two men.

  Finn looked startled and Daniel burst out laughing.

  “In means bonny, lass, beautiful.” He raised her hand to his lips and placed a lingering kiss, his eyes never leaving hers.

  “Oh… thank you. I think?” Sam tried to remove her hand as Finn rolled his eyes.

  Daniel slid closer and attempted to slip an arm around Sam’s waist. “Cum nigh wit me flower, lets be on our way. Our mucker Finn is a stick in de glar. We ‘ill ‘av more fun withoyt ‘imself.”

  Sam shot Finn a panicked glance and dug in her heels as Daniel attempted to walk away with her. Finn growled and shot his arm out, halting them. Bloody blighter.

  “I can’t understand a word coming out of your mouth, sir,” she managed to squirmed from Daniel’s grasped then scowled, “but your intention is evident and most unwelcome.” She slapped at him, “Keep your hands to yourself or I will be forced to do it for you.”

  Finn hid a smile. The surprise on Daniel’s face was followed by a huge grin.

  “Oi, I understand why yer wit her. She is magnificent.”

  Finn’s smirk faded. “It’s not like that.” He glowered and moved Sam to his other side, away from Daniel. “We’re working a case together. And shut yer Irish. She doesn’t understand.”

  Daniel wagged his eyebrows as he grinned. “Sure an’ almighty Finn-O. Though I be thinkin’ yer quick to deny.”

  Finn adjusted his suit jacket and resettled his cap. “Have ye seen Father Seamus around, Dan’el?”

  “Aye, last night. He said he was headin’ up to St. Joe ter de boys ‘ome day aft’r the morra.”

  Finn nodded. “You happen ter know if he found out any more ‘bout the missing laddie?”

  Daniel’s twinkling eyes sobered. “Yer man did not say.”

  Finn’s shoulders slumped as he removed his cap.”Tanks, Danny boy. We’ll be headin’ over to the ‘ome then.” He held out his arm for Sam to take.

  “Wait lad, how ‘bout the three o’ us goin’ round for a pint?” Daniel raised his eyebrows.

  Finn froze. “I don’t tink Miss Lawton be interested, Daniel.” He felt her stiffen beside him, then the she-cat grabbed Daniel’s arm and smiled up at him.

  “Thank you for the invitation, I will be happy to—”

  Finn growled. Not going to happen.

  Daniel laughed and threw his hands up in surrender. He cocked an eyebrow at Finn. “T’were, a pleasure bonny lass,” He bowed then stuck his hands in his pockets and turned away whistling as he passed. “Later Finn-o” He waved over his shoulder.

  “It was nice meeting you,” Sam called then turned on Finn. He took one glance at her face and grabbed her arm before she could speak then set off at a pace that prevented conversation.

  Chapter 16

  It was the dinner hour as they neared the crossroads of Mulberry and Eighth. Foot traffic picked up as laborers, shopkeepers and bankers hurried toward their mid-day meal. Finn drew Sam’s arm tighter.

  He noticed a dirty, barefoot boy dressed in little more than rags holding the hand of a smaller, decently dressed boy. The contrast between the two drew his attention. Standing at an alley entrance, the boy dropped to one knee and drew a cloth from his pocket. He scrubbed the smaller boys face and straightened his cap. He scanned the crowd and pointed to two well-dressed businessmen conversing. The littler boy nodded then toddled toward the men. He wailed and clutched the leg of one man. The other man dropped to his knees and rubbed the tykes back. He removed his suit coat and draped it over his small shoulders. The older boy took a step into the shadows and called. The toddler looked in the boy’s direction, shrugged out of the coat and ran off. Finn noted a bulge under the tot’s shirt. The man laughed and retrieved his coat.

  Finn dropped Sam’s arm and moved to the alley. Sam frowned. He waited a moment until the boys emerged then moved to intercept. He caught the older one by the upper arms.

  “Well now laddie, where ye hurrying off to?” The boy craned his neck and examined Finn with big eyes. “Hand it over, lad.” Finn held out one hand, eyes never leaving the boy’s face. The child struggled against him for a moment, then slumped. He stared at the ground as he dug into his grimy pocket and pulled out a finely tooled leather wallet. Sam gasped and the boy shot her a curious glance. The toddler stared at Finn, eyes wide, fingers in his mouth.

  Finn lowered himself to one knee, stared into the boy’s dirt-streaked face. “He be yer brother?” The boy nodded. “I be sayin’ this only once, stay off the street. No more pinchin’ pockets. Tis not safe out here. Ye need ta do better fer yer brother. Go see the Father at the boys’ home on Third. He’ll set yer up. Git along now.” He released the boy’s arm and gently pushed him away. The lad shot Finn one incredulous look, picked up the toddler and took off, disappearing into the crowd. Finn sighed, things never changed, too many homeless children, too few people who cared.

  Sam stood mouth open and stared between the retreating boys and Finn. “Why on earth did you—”

  Finn held up a hand and stood to his feet. His eyes scanned the crowd. He headed toward the boys’ mark.

  “Sir, sir!” He called as he strode, “Excuse me, sir!” The man turned. Finn smiled and brushed the star pinned to his coat, drawing the man’s attention. Sam saw the gentleman’s demeanor change from laughing to cautious. “So sorry to disturb you sir, but I spied this laying on the ground. Where you stopped? Is it yours?” The man slapped at his pocket and frowned, staring in the direction the small boy had run. Finn continued to wave the wallet. “It is yours isn’t it?” Finn moved closer to the gentleman, “You want it back? Without unnecessary trips to the police station or time spent answering questions?” The man eyed him then yanked the wallet from Finn’s grasp.

  “Thank you, marshal,” he said. He shook his head and strode off toward his friend, tucking the wallet into his coat pocket. Finn sighed and turned to Sam. She was standing in the middle of the boardwalk, eyes wide. Finn tensed. Here it comes.

  She placed her hands on her hips. “What kind of lawman are you?” she rose to her full height, “You purposely let that…” Finn grabbed her arm and hurried her out of the bustle to the alley. He looked around then turned to her, his face an inscrutable mask.

  “Problem, Miss Lawton?” She flinched at his use of her full name, but Finn was too angry to care. She did not understand. She lived in pampered luxury on the south side of town.

  “You… you let that… that…” she sputtered. He quirked an eyebrow at her. She took a deep breath and tried again. “You can’t let a… a pickpocket walk away after committing a crime.”

  Finn’s jaw clenched. “I kept a young boy out of jail and pointed him toward people who can help him.”

  Sam shook her head vehemently. “No. No, You aided and abetted a criminal.”

  Finn raised a hand in surrender. “And you, lassie, don’t know waat yer sayin’. Come wit me or stay. Makes no never mind.” He exited the alley and turned onto the street.

  ✽✽✽

  Finn never slowed his pace and Sam struggled to keep with him. She was tired of watching this man walk away from her. They arrived in front of a building that leaned so far to one side it was a wonder it still stood. The sign above swung back and forth in the slight breeze. Third Street Mission was hand scrawled in peeling black paint on a once white board.

  Finn lifted his cap but stopped before running his hand through his unruly hair. Good thing, the man resembled a dandelion. Sam crossed her arms over her panting chest and glared up at him. He’d said nothing since the thief incident. What could he say? A federal marshal letting a miscreant go? No, not much to say about that.

  “Look, please don’t be goin’ on about it. You’ll jist—”

  “Oh? Say nothing concerning a duly deputized assistant deputy marshal not apprehending a criminal caught committing a felony?”

  Finn closed his eyes and groaned. “Criminal? Felony? Seriously? I gave a wee
lad a warning. Sendin’ the lad to jail—”

  “Wee lad? He’s old enough to work. Contribute to society not steal from it.”

  Finn’s face contorted. “Don’t talk about things you do na understand. And keep your voice down, Father Seamus can hear better th—”

  “Don’t understand?” Sam’s voice rose. “Commit a crime, pay the consequence. There is no ambiguity—”

  The door to the mission yanked inward with a force that sent it crashing into the wall. In the doorway stood a wiry man that Sam could look square in the eye, a fact she noted before she took a step back. His wild shock of white hair made Finn’s mop appear well groomed. But it was his eyes that caused her to retreat. She swore there was fire shooting from them, and since his glower was pinned on her, the step back seemed prudent. Finn groaned under his breath and held out his hands.

  “Now, now, Father-.”

  “What be goin’ on out ‘ere?” The man’s booming voice was so at odds with his stature that Sam’s mouth fell open. His furious gaze drilled her. She took another step back.

  “Now Father,” Finn tried again.

  The priest’s enraged gaze snapped to him. “Robert Thomas Finnley, who be this eejit you bring to me door?”

  Sam wasn’t sure what an eejit was, but she was pretty sure it wasn’t a compliment.

  “Father Seamus, please,” Finn groaned and laid a placating hand on the man’s shoulder.

  The priest shrugged it off with a movement that sent Finn’s hand flying. “I’ll be havin’ none of that boy-o.” The priest turned to Sam and thrust a gnarled finger in her face. “You, Miss high-an’-mighty, you come wit’ me.”

  Sam searched Finn’s face. He shrugged and stepped aside. She followed the priest whose pace left her lagging. What was it with Irish men? Were they trained from birth to run everywhere?

  They entered a large room with a shadowy back hall as its only other exit. The well-sanded wooden floor sagged. A stove with benches took up one corner occupied by ragged boys craning their necks to see what had set Fr. Seamus off this time. Another priest sat in their midst, a horn book on his lap. His curiosity surpassed the boys.

  “Finn! Finn ye came!” A small boy jumped to his feet and threw himself at the marshal. Finn squatted and pulled the boy into a big hug.

  “Patrick-boy, ye be lookin’ good.” He scrubbed at the boy’s wild mop and grinned. Other boys went to Finn, stopping a pace or two from him.

  “Micky, an’ Pete,” he patted the boys on the arm, “good to see you lads.” He turned to the tallest, “an’ you too Davey, how be your arm?” He nodded at a tattered sling.

  “Better, sir,” whispered Davey.

  “He be Finn,” said Patrick with the voice of authority, “not sir.” Davey ducked his head and nodded as Finn stood.

  “Well now lads, Father Tim be waiting to go over your catechism.” Patrick and Micky both groaned. “If I be remembering rightly, no dinner til it be done. So best be at it.”

  Father Seamus rounded on Sam, arms folded. He cocked one eyebrow and tilted his head tapping his foot. “Well lassie?” Sam shook her head and squinted.

  Finn sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “She not be from here, Father. She doesn’t understand.”

  “Ignorance be no excuse to spout things ye don’t know nothin’ about.”

  Sam looked at the priest. Man of the cloth? At this point, she didn’t care. “Elucidate, if you please.” She clipped her words.

  “Two-bit words, lassie.” He continued to tap his foot.

  She huffed. “Please, tell me what it is I’ve done wrong?”

  The priest’s smile lit up his face. “Now, ye be comin’ along. First thing is admit yer wrong. Come wit me.”

  Sam rolled her eyes and threw up her hands as she followed the priest out of the room.

  ✽✽✽

  Later Finn sat on the sagging porch steps and laughed at the group in the alley as Sam ran the wrong direction again. As simple as the game Come With Me was she couldn’t remember which way to run. The boys loved it, she was an easy mark and they usually beat her back to start. Still, she was determined. He had to hand it to Father Seamus, the priest amazed him. Imagine, putting Samantha Lawton to work in the kitchen. Father Theodore, affectionately known as “Bear”, hadn’t appreciated a feminine influence in his domain. The shy priest had stoically put up with her presence even if he wanted to bolt every time she asked a question. And she had many questions. Apparently, investigative work left no time for domestic pursuits. She was clueless. It was a surprise she hadn’t starved years ago.

  Father Seamus held out a mug and sat next to Finn. “Could be hope for the lass.” The priest nodded as Sam tapped one of the bigger boys on the head then ran into him.

  “Nah, she’ll never get it right.” Finn took a sip of tea as Father Seamus chuckled.

  “Where ‘zactly, Bobby Thomas did ye find her?”

  Finn spewed his tea. “It’s not that! We’re workin’ together. She was on a case long ago that might have bearin’ on the missing Richards boy.”

  “Ah. Too bad that. Anything on the boy?”

  Finn stared at the priest. “No, I was hoping you had something.”

  Father Seamus shook his head and blew on his drink. “How ye holdin’ up?” The priest studied his cup.

  Finn shook his head. “It’s only when I stop to think, that I wonder.”

  “Oh?”

  “Aye.” Finn stared at the ground in front of him, the sound of the boys’ laughter faded. “Why, father? If God is love and mercy why so much pain and… evil?”

  Father Seamus’ eyes pierced Finn, seeing into parts he’d prefer not to expose. “You want the easy answer or the tough one?”

  The priest’s face had an intensity that made Finn pause. Why this? Why now? A gut-wrenched part of him struggled. He nodded his head. “Truth, Father.”

  “We, every one o’ us, be forgettin’ where we come from.”

  Finn frowned. “I not be following—”

  The priest laid a hand on Finn’s arm and turned him so they were facing. “Back in the beginnin’ of time, the Lord called everything— the earth, stars, plants, animals— everything into being by just saying so. Didn’t lift a finger. But man, ah Bobby, man’s different. He formed man with His own hands. Breathed life into him with His own breath.” Father Seamus’ hands shook as he held them out as if cradling a baby. “We, everyone o’ us, be crafted with intentionality, with a purpose. Not on a whim or by happenstance.”

  “Crafted?” Finn’s eyebrows shot to his hairline.

  “Created, designed, conceived. However you wish ta say it. The good Lord meticulously made us each and everyone. He were purposeful. He has intention with each life.”

  Finn drew in a sharp breath. “You saying, father, that God purposefully created murderers and abusers? You sayin’ that?”

  “Nay, lad,” Father Seamus closed his eyes, shoulders slumping, “I be sayin’ the Lord has His purpose for us. We be the ones ignorin’ it. We be the ones forgettin’ He intentionally designed each of us.”

  “Intentionally?” Finn was incredulous, “Designed with forethought?”

  “Aye,” the priest nodded emphatically, eyes locked on Finn.

  Finn shook his head and snorted. “I can’t see that.”

  “Each one painstakingly crafted, not popped out like a factory. He’s a workman who lovingly crafted us unique. There be a purpose for each life.” The father’s eyes pleaded. “Men rather go on their own. Be masters of their own life. Forget that we—”

  Finn ran his fingers through his hair. “Waat are ye saying? A loving God can’t stop a man from doin’ wrong? Can’t demand he does good?” Finn’s voice rose with each question.

  “Listen to yourself. Would you ever think of forcing Nora, or the twins to do your biddin’? No choice but do what ye say?”

  Finn jutted out his chin. “If they were doin’ wrong…”

  “No, Finn. I be sayin’ they have
no choice. No decision. They be doin’ what be right always. No. Other. Option.”

  “If it kept them from hurting another…” He crossed his arms and glared at the priest.

  “Aye, Bobby, and you? What if you were under compulsion with no decision but to love your da?”

  “What?” Finn recoiled as if struck by a whip.

  “If one be under compulsion. It be for bad and good. You’d have no free will. You couldn’t hate. Couldn’t love. Don’t you see? You’d have no choice. You’d be compelled to think about your da the same way you did everyone else.”

  “Yes, but he’d not have kilt—” Finn’s voice cracked.

  “Aye,” said Father Seamus gently, “But, we all be nothin’ but a pack of automatons.” He shook his head and moved closer to Finn. “Finn. Lad. God loves us too much to force anything on us. Be it good or bad. He lets us make our own decisions.”

  “So God is powerless is that what you be saying?” Finn turned back around, his features a black scowl.

  “No. The Lord be all powerful. He hurts when we mess it up. Weeps over our stubbornness to go our own way. But He won’t force us, Bobby. We reject Him on our own or come to Him on our own. Either way, we have consequences. But it don’t change the fact He intentionally designed us with a purpose.”

  “No, no. I cannot accept that!” Finn jabbed a finger into the priest’s wrinkled face. “No, no!” He stood, towering over the seated man. “Lugh Finnley were the devil’s own spawn, I tell you, not a crafted design.”

  “Finn, lad,” Father Seamus held his hands in a placating gesture.

  “A God that created such a man is not a God I can believe in.”

  “Bobby, you’re not trying to understand. Yer jist a bull headed…” Father Seamus took a deep breath. “The only one you be hurting is yourself.”

  Finn swallowed then muttered under his breath, refusing to look at the priest. Father Seamus watched him clench and unclench his fists. Suddenly, Finn yelled and punched the wall. Silence fell in the alley as the boys and Sam peered at them. Finn sagged and laughed mirthlessly. He turned to Father Seamus, eyes bleak. “Tell me then, father, what exactly does a devil’s spawn… spawn?”