The Scrapper

by Brendan O'Carroll

  ‘Right, girls, come on, up you go, tidy your rooms and brush your teeth. Go on, off with you now, off you go!’

  The children left their places, kissed their father and then charged up the stairs, shrieking with excitement.

  Kieran began to eat. ‘They’re madly excited!’ he commented, eyeing Moya and knowing something was up. Moya confirmed this by simply staring at her mug and running her finger around the rim. ‘So, are you going to tell me what’s up?’ Kieran asked.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Moya said nonchalantly.

  ‘Moya, we’ve been having breakfast together now for years, and every time you run your finger around the rim of the cup, it means you have something on your mind. So what is it?’

  Quickly Moya took her finger away, a little flustered. ‘Daddy rang this morning,’ she said flatly.

  Kieran dropped his head and began to concentrate again on his breakfast. ‘Oh, I see. And what does the Commissioner have to say to his darling daughter today?’

  Before Moya answered she took a packet of cigarettes out of her handbag and lit one. Kieran’s eyebrows rose – he had never seen Moya smoke in the morning. Moya took a drag from her cigarette and slowly blew out the smoke. Unconsciously, she began to run her finger around the rim of her mug again.

  ‘Daddy told me you applied for the Special Task Force again!’

  Kieran didn’t look at her. ‘Did he now? And did he say what reason he’s going to give this time for turning me down?’

  Moya shot a glance at Kieran. ‘He’s only trying to look after us, Kieran.’

  ‘Well, I don’t want to be looked after. I didn’t join the police force to spend my life escorting politicians to meetings. I want to be a policeman. A real fucking policeman!’

  ‘Mind your language, Kieran, the girls will hear you.’ Moya glanced at the door. Kieran stood up and went to put his plate in the sink. ‘Well, thank God someone hears me because you certainly don’t, Moya.’

  He came back to join her at the table. ‘Let me be my own man, Moya.’ He seemed very agitated. ‘Look, Moya,’ he said, ‘I know your father means well, and I know you don’t want to have to worry. But I’ll tell you, love, if he blocks me this time I’ll … I’ll crack up!’ Kieran slumped down into his seat at the table and held his head in his hands.

  There was silence between them now. Moya poured them both more tea. She took another drag from her cigarette. She didn’t look at Kieran.

  ‘I asked him to give it to you. Not to block it.’

  Kieran closed his eyes. ‘You did? Oh thank you, love.’

  ‘Merry Christmas.’ Moya began to cry.

  Kieran hugged her. ‘It’ll be all right, love. You’ll see, it’ll be all right.’

  * * *

  Kavanagh’s pub – near Glasnevin Cemetery, 1.20pm

  Old Eddie would have been proud of his funeral party. It was a very merry affair, as is the custom for funerals in Ireland. Eileen and her mother Dolly were standing talking to four other women. They were laughing and giggling. Obviously woman-talk. Taking a sip from her drink, Eileen glanced around the room to see where Sparrow was. He was standing over at the bar listening to the stories of two older boxers. The old fellow at Sparrow’s left was showing him a jab and a right-cross. Sparrow nodded dutifully. Eileen thought she felt something touch her behind, like something leaning against her bottom. Suddenly she was pinched. She spun around to see who the offender was. The broad, burly, pugnacious-looking man gaping at her was Teddy Morgan. Eileen’s smile turned to a scowl. ‘Would you mind keeping your hands to yourself,’ she said through clenched teeth.

  ‘Now, now, Eileen, you know you want me,’ Teddy sneered back at her.

  Dolly joined in the attack. ‘Leave her alone, yeh big bollix.’ Dolly Coffey did not mince her words.

  Teddy slowly raised his arm and gently stroked Eileen’s cheek. ‘Still Mammy’s little girl, eh Eileen?’

  Dolly wasn’t giving up. ‘Here, why don’t you bring in your brother and double your IQ to fuckin’ six!’ The other women laughed.

  Teddy didn’t like being laughed at, and he turned his attention to Mrs Coffey. ‘Yeh have a big mouth, Missus,’ he said nastily.

  The women around Dolly went quiet. But Dolly didn’t back off – in fact she leaned towards Teddy. ‘Big enough to bite yer fuckin’ head off.’

  Suddenly Sparrow came over. He stood between Mrs Coffey, Eileen and Teddy. Although shorter by far than Teddy, he still squared up to him. When Sparrow spoke, his voice was quiet and even. ‘Have you a problem, Teddy?’

  ‘Don’t give me this macho shit, Sparrow. I might just take offence and break your fuckin’ neck!’

  ‘Then you better get the neck on its own, Teddy.’ Sparrow stared straight into Teddy’s eyes. Eileen wanted to take Sparrow by the hand and pull him away, but she knew better. Any sudden movement now might just be the spark that’d cause the explosion. The two men stood looking at each other. The entire pub had gone quiet. Bottles were taken from the tables and held by people’s sides. Old boxers were ready to move into action if required. Teddy slowly glanced around the room and the expressions on all the faces told him he had no friends here. He backed down. ‘Just get the keys of the car, Sparrow. Simon wants the collecting done by four o’clock.’

  Sparrow’s eyes didn’t leave Teddy and the pitch of his voice didn’t change. ‘I’ll follow you out.’

  Teddy turned and sneered at Mrs Coffey and gave Eileen a suggestive wink as he left. The general conversation rose again.

  Sparrow turned to Eileen. ‘See you at about half-five, love. Are you all right?’

  ‘I’m grand, Sparrow. You mind yourself, love!’

  He kissed her softly and into her ear whispered, ‘I will – I’m sorry about last night, love.’ They smile at each other, and a simple wink from Eileen told Sparrow that he was forgiven for his suggestion that they might separate. Sparrow tossed the keys in the air and left the pub.

  * * *

  Snuggstown Shopping Centre, 3.45pm

  The black Jaguar was parked outside the video shop. Sparrow sat in the driver’s seat reading a newspaper. The street was decked out with Christmas lights and all the shops festooned with decorations. Sparrow was half-reading the newspaper and half-mulling over what he would get Eileen for Christmas. The two Morgan brothers came out of the video shop, laughing, and climbed into the back of the Jaguar. Sparrow tucked his paper between the seats and started the car. He put on the left-hand indicator and pulled out into traffic, checking his rear-view mirror as he did. In the mirror he saw Teddy rip open an envelope and extract cash from it. Sparrow closed his eyes.

  When Sparrow took the job as driver for Simon Williams he knew exactly what Simple Simon did for a living, and he knew exactly what he would be doing for Simple Simon – driving him here, driving him there, and driving Teddy and Bubbles wherever Simple Simon told them they had to be at any given time. He knew Simon Williams ran the drugs, prostitution and racketeering scenes in Snuggstown, but Sparrow absolved himself by continually telling himself, I only drive the car – just like the piano player who takes no responsibility for the singer’s performance. The truth was that Sparrow had never broken the law in his life and he had made it clear to Williams when he took the job that he was not getting involved in anything like that. And in the six years he had worked for Williams he had never been asked to do anything other than drive the car and mind his own business.

  ‘Right, that’s the last one!’ Teddy said as he tucked the money in his inside pocket. ‘We’ll pick the boss up from his mother-in-law’s, and then it’s home to Snuggstown.’ Teddy spoke to Sparrow’s eyes in the rear-view mirror. Sparrow simply nodded back.

  Within fifteen minutes they had arrived at old Mrs Plunkett’s. She lived in a Dublin flat complex. As the Jaguar pulled into the courtyard of the tenement flats it looked decidedly out of place, yet nobody took a blind bit of notice of it. Sparrow applied the handbrake and honked the horn twice. Within moments a
ground-floor door opened and a man and a woman emerged. Dressed to kill in his tan cashmere crombie coat and brown trilby hat, Simon Williams made his way to the car. If Simon was the most feared man in Snuggstown, the person coming behind him was surely the most feared woman, Simon’s wife, Angie. Angie was a pretty woman, who wore too much make up. She had a reasonably good figure and wore expensive clothes, the best that money could buy. Whatever Angie wanted, Angie got. She had short blond hair and an even shorter fuse. Many’s the man who was found unconscious in an alley because he had upset Angie. And it didn’t take too much to upset Angie – a taxi driver simply looking at her the ‘wrong way’ could find himself a week later with a broken arm. Sparrow worried about Angie. He didn’t ever want to upset her. She reminded him of the kids at the end of his road who kept pitbull dogs; you were all right unless you upset them, but they would never tell you what it was that upset them. So Sparrow went out of his way not to talk to Angie and not to make eye-contact with her if he could help it.

  Teddy jumped from the passenger seat in the front of the car and helped Angie put her shopping bags into the boot. After seeing Simon and Angie safe into the back seat he climbed back into the front beside Sparrow. Williams looked every inch the businessman to Sparrow as he eyed him in the rear-view mirror.

  ‘Home, Mr Williams?’ Sparrow asked. Simon was waving out the window at his mother-in-law and didn’t turn around. ‘Home, Sparrow, like a good man, and don’t spare the horses!’

  Angie leaned forward and poked Sparrow in the neck. ‘Take it easy, you, there’s china in them bags in the boot,’ she warned.

  Slowly the Jaguar pulled away from the flats and headed for Snuggstown. Ten minutes later they passed the Fairy Well which marked the city boundary with Snuggstown. Sparrow smiled towards the Fairy Well and said aloud, ‘Hello, fairies!’ as he did every time he passed the well. Years ago his mother had told him that if he didn’t say hello to the fairies every time he passed them they would not be good to him. And like all good Irish Catholics, Sparrow was superstitious. Simon smiled and Angie looked to heaven. The car was quiet; there was no conversation.

  To break the silence, Sparrow spoke to Simon. ‘I see the Falcon has opened up again, boss!’

  ‘The Falcon? The Falcon Inn? When?’ Simon asked with a frown on his face.

  ‘Last night, a new owner. A northern fella. The word is he’s IRA,’ Sparrow said.

  Teddy wasn’t convinced. ‘IRA, me bollix! Some stone-thrower opens a pub and every gobshite in the area is callin’ him IRA!’

  ‘Last night?’ It was as if Simon hadn’t even heard Teddy speak. ‘I didn’t hear anything about that.’

  Angie now joined the conversation and as always was the antagoniser. ‘They shouldn’t do that without consulting you, love. No fuckin’ respect, that’s what that is. No fuckin’ respect.’

  There was silence in the car for a few moments.

  ‘Sparrow!’ Simon said.

  Sparrow looked in his mirror at Simon. Simon’s expression had completely changed. It had got darker. ‘Yeh, boss?’

  ‘Take a right at the dairy. I’ll go up and introduce myself to this – new owner!’

  In a reflex action that comes from years of boxing, Sparrow’s stomach muscles tightened and tiny beads of perspiration popped out behind his ears. He had what his mother would have called ‘a foreboding’.

  * * *

  Garda Headquarters, Dublin, 4.00pm

  The unmarked detectives’ car was parked outside the Harcourt Hotel. Detective Michael Malone sat in the passenger seat, with his wage packet on his lap, reading his pay slip. He frowned when he read the amount of tax deducted this week.

  ‘The bastards!’ he exclaimed, not caring that somebody had to pay his wages. He was alone and speaking to himself. He wondered what was delaying Kieran, and glanced out the passenger window just in time to see him leave the Garda Headquarters across the street.

  Kieran made his way over. He had a broad grin on his face. When he climbed into the driver’s seat there was an air of excitement about him.

  ‘So, what’s up?’ Michael asked.

  Kieran half-turned in the seat to face Michael. ‘Good news and bad news,’ Kieran announced. He saw the puzzled look on Michael’s face. ‘I’ve been transferred to the Special Task Force. I’ve just had a chat inside and they told me I’m taking over as Detective Sergeant of the Serious Crime Squad in Snuggstown.’

  Michael’s mouth opened. ‘God almighty, Kieran! That is bad news.’

  ‘No, Michael, that’s the good news!’ Kieran smiled broadly.

  ‘So, what’s the bad news?’

  Kieran leaned conspiratorially towards Michael. Instinctively Michael leaned towards Kieran. Kieran gave Michael a little poke with his finger on the shoulder. ‘The bad news is you’re coming with me!’

  ‘No way!’

  ‘Sorry!’

  ‘No bloody way, Kieran – you didn’t!’

  ‘I did, Michael, believe me I did! From Monday on, you and I are gonna be real coppers.’

  Kieran started the car and began to drive. Two hundred yards down the road he slapped the steering wheel. ‘The Series Crime Squad! Yes!’ Kieran was ecstatic.

  Michael Malone stared sheepishly out the passenger window. ‘Oh hell!’ he muttered.

  * * *

  The Falcon Inn, Snuggstown, 4.30pm

  Fintan McCullagh, formerly of Belfast, was proud to be the new publican at the Falcon Inn pub. Built in the mid-1970s it was situated right in the middle of the west side of Snuggstown – the toughest side. Since it had opened its doors, the pub had had fifteen owners. Most went into the venture with a keen interest and came out with a nervous breakdown. Without doubt the Falcon Inn had been the roughest, toughest pub in Snuggstown. Fintan knew all this, but was undeterred, having lived in Belfast through riots, bombings and internment. He was not a man who scared easy. He had a sharp Northern Ireland accent. He had already heard the rumours that he was fronting the pub for the IRA, and frankly he did little to deter them. In fact, he used his accent to good effect.

  The previous night had been his opening and the beginnings of a fight had broken out. But it hadn’t reached the punch stage by the time Fintan arrived on the scene. He looked at the two men involved and simply said, ‘Are ye havin’ a wee problem here, gentlemen?’ The two stared at each other and then at Fintan, and slowly shook their heads. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘’Cause I don’t like wee problems, you see. When I come up against a wee problem I have to find a solution. Messy business, don’t you know. Enjoy your drink, gentlemen.’ The two men finished their drinks; there was no fight. When they were leaving, Fintan took them to one side. ‘Thank you for your custom, but don’t come back,’ he warned them. He could tell by the looks on their faces that they wouldn’t.

  So if the people of Snuggstown West had decided that Fintan was connected with the IRA, and that kept peace in his pub, then so be it.

  Fintan was taking advantage of the fact that it was early evening and the pub only had about five or six customers. He was standing at the end of the bar, musing over a crossword puzzle. About forty years of age, he had silvery blond hair tied in a ponytail. Behind him an open fire blazed away, throwing an orange flicker across one side of his face and body. The heat was gorgeous.

  There was just one barman on duty, PJ Duff, a local lad. PJ couldn’t believe his luck when the pub just around the corner from his home had reopened and he had secured a job as a barman. PJ hadn’t had a steady job for three years. He was thrilled with the position, and enthusiastic too. Even though the bar was not busy, PJ was working his way along the shelves polishing the bottles. He was that kind of man – he couldn’t sit still and would always find something to do. Fintan took another sip from his coffee cup and spoke a crossword clue aloud.

  ‘Backing in to a railway. Mmm.’ He was so engrossed that he barely noticed when the four people entered the lounge. The other customers noticed, however, and all but two of them left a
bruptly. Simon Williams, his wife Angie and the Morgan boys settled themselves at the bar. PJ wiped his hands and turned to the customers.

  ‘What’ll it be …’ PJ froze in mid-sentence. He glanced over at Fintan. But Fintan didn’t even look up from his newspaper.

  PJ went back to his customers. ‘Hello, Mr Williams, what can I get yeh?’ PJ’s hands were shaking now.

  ‘Em, three pints of Budweiser and a glass of Guinness, son,’ Simon ordered.

  ‘With blackcurrant!’ Angie added.

  ‘Eh, the Guinness with blackcurrant, son,’ Simon confirmed.

  PJ quickly began to get the drinks. The shaking in his hands was still there and he was perspiring with nervousness. Again he glanced at Fintan who seemed to be still engrossed in his crossword.

  Simon, thanks to PJ’s glances, now knew who the boss was. He looked down the bar at Fintan as he lit a slim cigar. Taking a long, slow draw from the cigar he turned to Bubbles Morgan. ‘Bubbles, go out and tell Sparrow to come in, we could do with a laugh. This place is fuckin’ dead.’ Bubbles nodded and left quickly.

  Now Fintan looked up. His eyes met Simon’s eyes. Both men stared at each other, expressionless. It was Simon who looked away as the barman placed the last of the drinks on the counter.

  ‘That looks like a nice pint, son, well done!’

  Again PJ glanced at Fintan. Fintan had turned and was walking to the CD jukebox. He inserted a coin. He flipped through the albums, mulling over his decision.

  PJ, more nervous than ever now, looked at Simon, his voice trembling. ‘Seven-eighty!’

  ‘Ten, twenty, thirty! How do you play this game?’ Teddy asked sarcastically.

  PJ glanced nervously towards Fintan. Fintan had his back to everyone. ‘The … eh … drink, that’s the price of the drink. Seven pounds and eighty pence.’