Terence managed to keep his emotions in check throughout the inquisition, but he raced frantically into the kitchen the moment he closed the door behind Brady.
Eveleen looked up when she heard him approaching, her eyes soft and vulnerable, her expression worried. “What shall we do, Terry?”
He had always been her rock, the one who had supported her through troubled times and ill health. She hoped that he’d be able to comfort her and tell her not to worry, that the whole thing would blow over, but he didn’t. He inhaled deeply and forced his wind out through his nose. “Pack!” he snapped, then turned and hurried off.
Chapter 58
It was midnight in a town that went to bed directly after supper. Terence and Eveleen packed the car in the pitch black and drove away, bidding their home farewell forever. They had just made it to Ennis Road when the shrill sound of a whistle filled the air. They were less than a mile from the Sarsfield Bridge that spanned River Shannon, the border of County Limerick, when on both sides of the road the lights in every house came on.
Eveleen’s heart went still. She clutched her chest, feeling for the next beat. “Terence, I’m scared.”
He let the vehicle slow momentarily while he scanned the road in both directions, and then without further warning front doors began to spring open. “Heaven help us!” he cried and pushed down on the accelerator. Before them angry citizens poured out onto the road, closing in around them.
“Thief,” they screamed. “Give us our share!”
He tried to maintain a steady forward motion, but the mob was all around the car, impeding their progress, the townspeople clamoring for their due.
“Careful,” Eveleen warned. “You’ll run someone over.”
“I can’t stop,” he shouted. “They want our blood.” He allowed the car to advance at a roll, hoping the crowd would give way to his sedan.
But they didn’t and they grew angrier at his defiance. Like a colony of ants they swarmed in front of the car, making it impossible for them to go further. “Get out, you coward,” they yelled. “Open your pocketbook and let us have what we deserve.”
Then came the thud of a cricket bat on the front fender.
Eveleen trembled. “They’re going to kill us, Terry. Dear God. What are we going to do?”
The crowd answered in place of her husband. They began to rock the car and pummel the windows with their fists. “Come on out!” they screamed. “Come on—” The driver-side window shattered and the mob reached in for Terrence. They snatched his cap and his eyeglasses before they smartened up and unlocked the door. They reached in and grabbed him.
Eveleen screamed as her husband was yanked out of the car. “Stop it,” she screamed. “Stop this madness.”
The mob expressed no interest in her. The river of ants changed direction, swarming around their prisoner. They all wanted their piece of the man.
“Eveleen,” he screamed as the mob dragged him away.
She saw a mountain of a man standing over her husband, his fist clenched and drawn back to strike. She heard Terrence grunt, and then the mob piled on top of him and he was no more.
Book III:
Beacon Hill
Chapter 59
August 14, 1977
Bairre Donovan looked calm and collected, striking a classic Ben Hogan pose near the 18th hole in his hand-tailored linen shirt and silk golf pants. “What do you think?” he asked, turning to Hollis Strom, the general manager.
“Debbie Austin is up two strokes. I think she’ll come in at nine under for the tournament and close out Lopez and Whitworth. You?”
He grinned. “I think you’re to be complimented. The cart girl you just hired has an ass like Ann-Margret.” He shielded his eyes to block the sun and looked off into the distance. “You have the prize money, don’t you? I think I see the gallery moving toward the 18th tee.”
“Yes, boss.” He tapped his breast pocket. “Right here. Your wife coming to help you present the checks?”
He checked his watch. “Should be by anytime now. She and James were out shopping this morning—he’s a man, but she still likes to go with him to buy the things he needs for college.”
“Jesus, fall is in the air already? I hate it when the summer comes to an end.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
“You and the family staying for dinner.”
“Depends. Who’s in the Empire Room tonight?”
“Tony Bennett.”
“Yeah?” he commented, seeming pleased. “Good, the missus likes that San Francisco ballad he sings. I may get some tonight if I’m lucky.”
“Seems to me you get some every night and luck has practically nothing to do with it.”
Bairre quickly looked around to make sure no one was listening. He shushed Strom with a finger to his lips. “Shhh. That’s between you and me, friend. Sure, I got a bit of ol’ Seamus in me. What man doesn’t?”
“What man gets to go to bed with one of Charlie’s Angels and the actress that plays Wonder Woman all in the same summer?”
“Aye. Wealth has its rewards, I won’t deny it, but that doesn’t mean I don’t live up to my image as a father. Family comes first, Hollis. I always take care of matters at home before I take care of matters of lust. That’s one of the reasons why I sponsor the charity classic for the LPGA. It makes a man stand tall in the eyes of his missus.” The smack of a struck golf ball resonated in the air. “That should be the Austin woman closing out the tournament. Won’t be long now.” An obvious cough drew his attention. Enio Benzino stood a few yards away, waiting patiently for Bairre to notice him. “Be right back,” he told Strom and strode over to Benzino.
“Walk with me,” Bairre said as he directed Benzino toward the outlying pine trees that backed the eighteenth hole, out of plain sight from onlookers. Benzino was a necessary evil, a henchman who had a particular function in his organization, a man he didn’t like to be seen with in public. He was stout and suffered from Graves’ disease. His eyes bulged and his hands were always cold. He wore gloves even in the summer, which added further to his inscrutable appearance. “Stuff your paws in your pockets,” Bairre ordered. “Who wears gloves in the summertime? You look like a damn cat burglar.”
“You know why,” Benzino answered in a gravelly voice. “It’s the ty-roid ting.”
“You could’ve called.”
“Your secretary answered. I didn’t think you’d want me to leave a detailed message.”
“So it’s done?”
Benzino nodded. “What should I do with the trash? The usual?”
Bairre thought for a moment. “Aye. The usual. Anything else?”
“No. That’s it. That wasn’t so bad, was it?” he said, his grin carting a cynical message.
“Always a pleasure,” Bairre replied. “I’ll deposit your due in the safety deposit box first thing in the morning.”
“Tanks.” Benzino turned and walked off abruptly.
Bairre waited for his henchman to leave and then walked back to his general manager.
“Who was that lug?” Strom asked. “I think I’ve seen his ugly face around before.”
“No one,” Bairre replied in a casual tone and took a practice swing with his club. “Just another ugly face in the crowd.”
Chapter 60
The Beacon Hill Resort and Country Club sparkled in the night like an alpha star in an obsidian-black sky; its lights and music radiating an air of extravagance on an otherwise unremarkable stretch of road called Motor Parkway. Designed and built by William K. Vanderbilt II in 1908, Motor Parkway was the first limited-access roadway in the world. With its banked turns, guard rails, and reinforced concrete tarmac, it was the perfect course for auto-racing, but a tragic accident during a 1910 motor race promoted the New York State legislature to ban auto racing in New York except for on race tracks, and the superhighway became just one more multilane thoroughfare in suburbia.
With its six-thousand-seat Empire State Ballroom, the Beacon hosted many of
the most lavish and extravagant affairs in the metropolitan New York area, and became a featured Long Island venue for some of the most sought-after and notable entertainers in the world. It hosted political conventions and fundraisers, and became a destination for the elite and powerful. No one knew how to make the select crowd of wealthy Long Islanders as welcome as Bairre Donovan. Through the connections he forged, he became more powerful than any he hosted.
Strom walked down the corridor that led to the resort’s private offices. He saw Gillian, the new cart girl, tiptoeing out of Bairre’s office, quietly pulling the door closed. He wiped the grin off his face and pretended to be looking elsewhere before they made eye contact. He smiled. “Good evening,” he said politely and walked past her to Bairre’s office. He knocked twice. “Mr. Donovan?”
He heard Bairre’s confident voice waft through the door. “It’s all clear, Hollis. You can come in.”
He found Bairre in his private bathroom. He had just stepped out of the shower and had a towel around his waist. “So?” Strom asked, eager for details. “How was she?”
“Tight,” he replied with a boastful grin.
Strom smiled and shook his head in bewilderment. “You’re my hero, Mr. Donovan. I don’t know how you do it.”
“Years of practice, my friend. Years of practice.” He immodestly dropped his towel and slipped on his boxers. “How can I help you, Hollis?”
“Bennett goes on in twenty minutes. Your wife and son are at your usual table. Jim ordered a scotch, neat. Guess he takes after his old man.”
“Ha! He sure does. The lad’s a true Donovan, through and through.”
“Joe Spencer asked if he could speak to you for a minute.”
“The union steward?” Bairre’s smile faded. “For God’s sake, Hollis, I just got laid and I’m in no mood to deal with that man’s shite. Can’t you get rid of him?”
“I tried, Mr. Donovan, but he’s a persistent son of a bitch, as you know.”
“More union malarkey, is it?”
“You are the head of the union.”
“Sure and it’s a curse as well as a blessing.” He buttoned his shirt collar and pulled his necktie into place. “How do I look?”
“Like a man who has the world by the balls, boss.”
“That cart girl had me by the balls not ten minutes ago—she’s got an arse that moves up and down like a jackhammer. I should give you a raise just for having such effective hiring practices.”
Strom chuckled. “I added a line to the employment application—right under name, address, and phone number is a check box that reads: Fucks like a pro. Yes. No.”
“Good thinking, Hollis. I commend you on your initiative.” He slipped on his dinner jacket and checked his watch. “Spencer’s got five minutes. Do you mind showing him in?”
“Sure, boss.”
Strom left Bairre’s office. There was a knock on the door moments later. He opened it immediately. “Tom,” he said with a forced smile. “Come in. Come in. I’m surprised to see you here.”
“That’s because none of us can afford to visit this place anymore, Bairre.”
His expression showed mild irritation. He checked his watch. “I’ve only got a few minutes, Joe. How can I help you?”
Spencer was a slow-talking hard-ass engineer with a vague expression permanently painted on his face. “I pretty much just told you, Bairre—the first few years were okay, but the prices have been raised so high none of the men can afford to come here with their families anymore.”
“Is that all?”
“Yes. That’s all. You used six million dollars from the union retirement fund to build this Taj Mahal forgery and practically wiped out the fund. You can’t expect the rank and file to keep quiet when you’re entertaining the rich and famous and they’re stuck home in front of the TV with a Budweiser and a Swanson frozen dinner. It was supposed to be a place the men could come to enjoy with their wives and kids. I tell you there’s no end to the bellyaching I hear every day—the men are yammering day and night like a broken record.”
“It’s your job to control them, Joe. So do your job. I could’ve given your job to any pussy I wanted to if I didn’t care whether they could control the men or not.” He picked his gold Rolex up off the desk and slid it onto his wrist. “I’m sure all the rumbling will die down once the casino opens and their pension accounts grow fat and bloated.”
“That’s the thing, Bairre, the men are tired of waiting. Is gambling going to be approved or not? It’s been over three years and we’re still waiting.”
“The wheels of progress grind slowly, Joe. What do you want me to say? You know how these politicians are with their back-rubbing and favors. It’s moving along as fast as it can.”
“There are rumors that the state politicians have changed their minds because there’s too much local opposition, and that lots of civic groups are complaining that gambling will draw all kinds of riffraff into the area—drug dealers, prostitutes, and the like.”
Bairre grimaced. “That’s absurd. For the love of Pete, would you open your eyes and take a look at this place? Does it look like the kind of place that welcomes shylocks, pimps, and hookers? Tony Bennett is sold out tonight with tickets going at fifty dollars a head. Are they too blind to see this place is going to be a goldmine? I’m already entertaining soft offers from the Stardust, Tropicana, and MGM, for crying out loud. The union will be able to cash out ten minutes after the legislature approves the bill.” He checked his watch again. “Look, I’ve said all I’m going to say. Go back and make the troublemakers shut their mouths. I’ll sponsor a free golf outing for the men and get some pretty girls to serve cold beer. That ought to take some of the heat off.” He opened the door and guided Spencer out into the corridor. “Can you handle that, Tom, or do I have to keep my eye open for a new steward?”
He shot Bairre a hot stare and then bunched his lips. “I sure hope you know what you’re doing, Bairre, because without gambling our six-million-dollar investment won’t be worth six cents, and if that happens, things are going to get very ugly.”
“Not to worry,” Bairre boomed in a confident voice. He slapped Spencer on the shoulder. “I’ve got the New York legislature eating out of the palm of my hand. You go back and tell the fellas they can rest easy. Tell them Bairre Donovan’s got everything under control. Tell them to be patient and I’ll make ’em happier than pigs in shit.”
Chapter 61
Thanksgiving 1980
“Another scotch, Senator?” Bairre approached New York State Senator Colin Fanning with a bottle of Jameson and two fresh glasses. He set the glasses down on the end table and opened the bottle.
“Just a snort. My stomach is as empty as a democrat’s wallet,” Fanning jibed.
Ignoring him, Bairre poured three fingers for each of them.
“You’re a hell of a host, Bairre Donovan. The missus and I appreciate you opening up your home to us for the holiday. Anne ain’t felt like cooking much since her mom passed away.” Fanning grinned and held out his glass. “To County Limerick and all the good Irish people on this festive occasion.”
“Least I could do for one of my own. How many genuine County Limerick boys do you think I come across here on God’s green acre?” They clinked glasses, sipped scotch, and Bairre opened a humidor. “Looky here, Colin; real Cubans, finest smokes money can buy. Help yourself.”
Fanning ran one under his nose. “Mind if I save it for later? I find that smoke dulls the palate, and I don’t want anything to taint the flavor of that succulent turkey your wife’s been slaving over.”
“Sure then. Take some for the road.”
Fanning winked at his host and stuffed three in his jacket pocket before offering another toast. “Here’s to the road, may it be long and bountiful.” Following a sip of scotch, he added, “You’ve got to come up and visit me in Albany, Bairre. Two single gentlemen can have a mighty fine time in the state capital.”
Bairre smirked. “Did you say s
ingle?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.
“That’s right,” he replied with a sly grin. “I also said gentlemen.”
Bairre heard footsteps and put his finger to his lips. “Shhh. Do you want both of us to spend Thanksgiving in the doghouse?”
Claire Donovan had her hair up in a bun. Pearls accentuated her long neck and matched her earrings. “Fifteen minutes, boys.” She turned to Fanning. “I hope you brought your appetite, Colin.”
“All the way from Albany County,” he replied.
She glanced at her husband with a knowing expression before turning back to the kitchen. “Behaving yourselves, gentlemen?”
Bairre closed his eyes and shook his head.
Fanning was giddy from the scotch. “Shit! Do you think she heard me?”
“The woman’s got ears like a goddamn bat.”
“You’d better come up with a bribe and fast. What does she prefer, flowers, chocolate …”
“Faithfulness,” Bairre said crisply. But that ship has surely sailed. “Don’t worry. I know how to handle the old girl. Hey, do you mind if I switch on the game for a bit? I’ve got money riding on it.”
“How much?”
“Five grand that says the Cowboys cover the spread.”
Fanning’s eyes grew large. “Not exactly a small-time wager, Bairre. I guess the resort business pays well.”
“Nonsense. The hotel is a pig in a poke. It’s not covering monthly expenses, especially now that the golfers have disappeared for the fall. Fortunately real estate out East is appreciating in leaps and bounds and I own a shit ton of it.” Bairre grinned, grabbed the clicker, and switched on the game. A grin spread across his face when the score was reported. “Thank God. They’re up.
The Mather Triad: Series Boxed Set (Chloe Mather Thrillers) Page 65