Do Not Go Gentle

by James W. Jorgensen

  “It may be understandable,” Eileen said, “but do you believe it?”

  “Believe that she’s behind this?” Jamie replied. “Absolutely.”

  “No, darlin’—do you finally believe that you can’t fight this bitch alone?”

  Jamie smiled at Eileen’s use of an actual curse word, then reached out and ran his hand along her jaw line. “Aye. I believe it, and I’m ready to accept it.” Jamie kissed his wife and let her help him up from the sectional.

  I can’t allow this to continue, Jamie realized, and I can’t be so damned stubborn—if I’m going to beat this woman, I’ll need all the help I can get.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Louie Lombardi heaved his bulk out of the Griffins’ SUV, leaning heavily on his golf handle cane and a death grip locked onto the frame. “Maledizione,” he muttered, his breath rising in white puffs, still cursing his handicap after two years. The Saturday after Christmas had arrived with dark, low-hanging clouds threatening to dump more snow on Boston and bitter cold that knifed through them.

  Jamie, standing beside the front passenger door, helped Louie out, putting his hand underneath Louie’s arm as he stood. “We make quite a pair, Gimpy,” Jamie said, brandishing his walking stick.

  Louie hefted his cane into his right hand, standing with his left hand still clutching the SUV and made a motion as if to strike Jamie. “Pot, kettle.” Then he laughed and shook his head, put his cane back on the ground, and stumped to the walkway.

  Jamie closed the SUV door and waited for Eileen, then walked beside her, slowly moving toward the house. “You promised you’re gonna be on your best behavior here, Lombardi,” he warned.

  Louie stopped and gestured for Jamie and Eileen to lead the way. “I ain’t promisin’ nuthin’, Griffin,” he rumbled. “I’ll behave if the maga behaves. I ain’t lettin’ no one put the malocchio on me,” he stated firmly, extending the index finger and pinkie of his left hand downward in a warding gesture.

  “For the last time, she’s not putting the ‘Evil Eye’ on you,” Jamie exclaimed with exasperation.

  “Louie,” Eileen chided. “You don’t believe in those superstitions, now do you?”

  “Look, you’re a Catholic too, right?” Louie replied. “If you believe a priest can turn bread and wine into the Body and Blood of Christ, why can’t a maga, a witch woman, put a curse on you?”

  “Because the priest is a religious man, a holy man. Curses and witches are just superstitions,” Eileen noted sternly.

  “I’m not so sure anymore,” Jamie muttered. Eileen gave him ‘the stare,’ which Jamie chose to ignore. Knocking on Luiseach’s door saved him from further scolding.

  The door opened and Luiseach greeted them, dressed in her usual style—loose black satin pants and a jade green shirt with the same black velour robe over the top. “Come in, come in. Ye’ll let all the cold air in, for sure.”

  Once she ushered the trio inside, Jamie turned to Eileen and Louie. “Luiseach Mac Eachaidh,” he said, pointing to the Mac Eachaidh, “or Lucy, as she’s called, meet my wife, Eileen Griffin, and my associate, Louie Lombardi.”

  Luy clasped both hands around Eileen’s warmly, and then cautiously extended one tattooed hand to Louie. “My ye’re a big ‘un, aren’t ye lad?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Louie replied respectfully, “but I’m no relation to the coach.”

  Lucy looked at Jamie questioningly, but Jamie shook his head. “Never mind. Now to introduce these two gentlemen by the couch.” Jamie pointed to the short, thin man with the long blonde ponytail. “This is Ríordán, a fili, or poet-philosopher.” Ríordán bowed slightly. “And the one who gives Louie a run for his money is Ánrothán, or Hanrahan. He is a druid.” Hanrahan inclined his head slightly, and then sat back down without offering to shake hands.

  “Sit, sit.” Lucy ordered, ushering her guests to empty chairs by the couch. Then the small woman bustled back to her kitchen to bring out more coffee.

  “Just watch out for Fionúir,” Jamie said.

  “Who is Fionúir?” Eileen asked.

  In response to his name, the small, sable ferret appeared, his small white face and black eyes glittering out of his dark brown mask. He chattered once or twice at the newcomers, and then popped back under the couch.

  “Oh, how cute,” Eileen cooed, walking to a chair nearest the couch and sitting. She tapped her fingers on the floor, attempting to draw out the ferret.

  “He’ll most likely hide given the number of people here,” Lucy said as she set down a tray with coffee, cups, cream, and sugar. “Especially the two monstrous ones.” Neither Louie nor Hanrahan made any comment in reply.

  “I love your tattoos,” Eileen said, lightly touching the older woman’s arm as she went to sit down.

  “Oh, aye, your husband told me ye are the one who uses Ogham script on your store in Uphams Corners.”

  Eileen’s face clouded. “Not any longer—the store was destroyed by a bomb.”

  When Lucy, Ríordán, and Hanrahan all aked questions at once, Jamie held up his hand as he swallowed a gulp of coffee. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he said. “There’s a great deal I need to tell you about recent events, which is why I asked to meet with you all today.” After everyone quieted down, Jamie related all of the events that had occurred, from the details of Cal’s death to the unsuccessful bombing of the Griffin house, the successful bombing of Eileen’s business, and the nearly successful kidnapping of Riona.

  “May all the saints preserve us,” Lucy exclaimed when Jamie had finished.

  Ríordán shook his head. “I warned you about the dangers of taking on the Witch of Endor,” he said sadly.

  “This is no time to say ‘I told you so,” Hanrahan reprimanded in his deep, cavernous voice. “Clearly the cailleach is worried and striking out in an attempt to defuse whatever danger she perceives from you.”

  “Perhaps,” Jamie said, “but I’m more concerned about finding out exactly what she’s up to and how to stop her.”

  Hanrahan smiled and chuckled somberly. “So none of these events have persuaded you to stop your investigation?”

  Jamie shook his head. “Not in the least,” he grimly replied. “If anything, it has just made me even more determined.”

  “Not to mention pissed off,” Louie added. “Pardon my French,” he added to the ladies.

  “Very well,” Hanrahan replied. “Let us talk of this.” Lucy and Ríordán deferred to the druid. “When we met in October, your aura showed that you were seriously ill, but not from a supernatural source. Are you still ill, Jamie?”

  Eileen poked Jamie in the ribs. “Aura? You had your aura read? Wait ‘til I tell your sister,” she whispered.

  “Hush, woman,” Jamie remonstrated quietly. “Yes, I’m still ill, Hanrahan and no cause has been found. I’m starting to give up on finding a cause.”

  The druid inclined his head, his long black hair swinging out slightly. “Understandable. So what is it you wish from us today?” Hanrahan’s dark eyes glittered appraisingly at Jamie.

  After a moment, Jamie took a deep breath. “My desire to bring Sedecla to justice is not enough to get the job done. I have enlisted the aid of others, such as Louie here,” Jamie gestured toward the former gangster, who snorted but said nothing, “and two others. They are my eyes and ears since I am unable to do everything by myself any longer.”

  “An admission which I thought I’d never hear,” Eileen added, again sotto voce.

  Jamie glared at his wife as an appreciative laugh swept through the others. “Do you mind?”

  “Not at all,” she replied, waving her hand. “Go on. You’re doing an excellent job.”

  Jamie harrumphed, and then turned back to the druid. “Based on what I’ve learned, Cal found his way into Sedecla’s complex—intending to find evidence to tie her to the murders, I assume, but he didn’t make it out of her complex alive. So I’m not very hopeful about just leading an assault force in against her. I need to know wh
at we’re going to be up against and how we fight it.”

  Hanrahan nodded slowly. “I understand, Jamie, but I must ask you—is this a desire for revenge or a quest for justice?”

  Jamie sat silently in the padded armchair, across from the druid and fili. After several seconds of listening to a clock ticking, Jamie finally replied. “I guess a little of both, if I’m being honest. I’ve taken too many injuries from this woman for this not to be personal. Why?”

  The druid raised open hands, palms up, and shrugged. “If you are blinded by anger, it may prevent you from defeating the cailleach.”

  “Defeat?” Jamie asked. “You make this sound like a war.”

  “It will be, lad. You’re not getting in and out of there without spilling some blood. Most likely on both sides. Are you prepared to pay that price?”

  Jamie considered this, and then replied. “Yes, but that’s not my only goal. I need to obtain hard evidence linking Sedecla to the murders. Otherwise, I’m putting myself and my companions in legal jeopardy.”

  “Yeah, Mama Lombardi’s boy didn’t come through years of shady dealings unscathed just to wind up in jail at this point in my life.” Louie locked gazes with the druid. “There ain’t enough money in this for me to stick my neck too far.”

  “Money?” Lucy asked. “What money?”

  Jamie sighed. “Cal Cushing’s family has posted a reward for bringing his murderer to justice. The reward money is the primary reason Louie and the twins are assisting me.”

  Hanrahan shook his head. “If money is all that drives this attempt, then it will surely fail.”

  “Nobody said we was only doin’ this for the money, magic man,” Louie growled in irritation. “It’s the main reason, o’ course, at least for me, but not the only one. I don’t like people who kidnap little girls.”

  “If you attempt this primarily for the money,” Ríordán said, “it is still doomed to failure.”

  “Why’s that?” Jamie asked. “What do their motives have to do with anything?”

  “Their motives have everything to do with succeeding,” Hanrahan replied firmly. “I can assure you—the cailleach and her servants will not be fighting you for money. Sedecla has an overwhelming desire for unspeakable power and her servants live in terror of their mistress.”

  “Why is a thirst for power a better motive?” Eileen asked. “Isn’t seeking power really the same as seeking money?”

  Hanrahan thought for a moment before responding. “To a degree, Mrs. Griffin, but there is a critical difference. Sedecla’s heart and soul burn with her quest for power. She will stop at nothing to achieve her goal. Someone who is driven strictly by potential monetary gain does not burn. They will weaken and fail because their hearts lie elsewhere.”

  “Kind of like mercenary soldiers versus fanatics—the 9/11 bombers were willing to die for their mission,” Jamie offered.

  “Exactly,” Hanrahan thundered. “That is exactly my point. If your group is driven by lesser motives such as revenge or monetary gain, Sedecla’s obsession for power will overwhelm you. If, on the other hand, you are driven by an equally passionate motive—justice, for example—you will be on a level playing field, so to speak.”

  No one spoke for several moments. “Well,” Jamie finally said, “I understand your point, but we aren’t going to be deterred, whatever our motives. I’m fighting for my life and the lives of my family.”

  “That makes ye more passionate than those who would do this just for money,” Lucy noted.

  “Perhaps,” Louie admitted. “I can’t speak for those girls, cuz I don’t really know them, but I can tell you this, mister.” Louie’s craggy face took on a fierce aspect as he addressed Hanrahan. “I’ve laid my life on the line dozens of times, and it was always for money. Money and loyalty to the person who paid me, and I never backed down, not once. As I said, I ain’t doin’ this just for the dough—kidnapping little girls really pisses me off, and that burns bright in my heart, buddy.”

  Hanrahan sighed. “Well, I cannot say whether your motives will be enough. I can only warn you about the cailleach. I can tell you of her powers, her strengths, and her weaknesses. I can even help you in your effort, but I cannot guarantee success.”

  “No one expects any guarantees, Hanrahan,” Jamie said in a quiet voice. “However, we need your help. I am finally willing to believe that this woman possesses some type of extraordinary powers. I think I speak for my group when I say that we don’t know how to deal with that.”

  Hanrahan shrugged. “Then let us discuss the Witch of Endor in more detail.” During the next two hours, Lucy, Ríordán, and Hanrahan related all they knew of Sedecla. Some of the discussion was repetitive for Jamie, but he didn’t mind since Eileen and Louie needed to hear it. Jamie took notes. Hanrahan led most of the discussion, with observations and additions by Lucy and Ríordán.

  When the discussion was winding down, Jamie spoke up. “Okay, then, let me see if I can recap the situation to everyone’s satisfaction.” All faces turned toward him. “One, Sedecla is the person responsible for the murders in the Raisin Killer case, for Cal’s death, for the bombing of Eileen’s shop, and Riona’s kidnapping.”

  “’Raisin Killer’?” Lucy asked, arching an eyebrow.

  Jamie waved a hand dismissively. “Cops always give cases a nickname. ‘Raisin Killer’ came from the shriveled state of the bodies. Two, Sedecla is the head of several very powerful organizations—the Disciples of Endor, Samuel Properties, and the criminal group known as the Mazzimah. Three, regardless of whether or not it is true, Sedecla believes herself to be the actual Witch of Endor cited in the Bible. Consequently, even if she is not actually that person, we must take her belief into account as we plan our actions.”

  “Good,” Hanrahan rumbled.

  “Four,” Jamie continued. “Once again, regardless of any of our beliefs, Sedecla believes she possesses formidable supernatural powers, which we must also take into account in our preparations.”

  “Stubborn, hard-headed Irishman,” Ríordán muttered.

  “Hush now,” Lucy said, slapping the fili’s arm.

  “Thank you,” Jamie said. “Five, while we know the location of Sedecla’s compound—the North End townhouse—we do not know the extent or the layout of her complex, and we have to get some idea of this before we go charging in there. Six, while we do not know the exact nature of Sedecla’s purpose behind the murders, we know that she is using them to build up her power to obtain some goal, real or perceived, which would greatly increase her abilities and make her a bigger threat.”

  “Could you dance around any more without stating any actual belief?” Hanrahan groused.

  Jamie sighed. “I understand, Hanrahan. I really do, but the whole ‘Tree of Death’ and mystical, god-like powers stuff is still too much for me. As I’ve said, I’m willing to accept that there may be some supernatural aspects to this case, and I’m willing to incorporate whatever defenses or weapons the three of you believe would help us combat those aspects. I can’t lie, though. In my heart, I still don’t believe in all of this. Now, I’ve only got a few more points—if everyone could please just hear me out?” When the group murmured assent, Jamie continued. “Seven, given that our objective is justice, not revenge, we also have to find solid evidence linking Sedecla to the crimes we believe she has committed. Eight, since we haven’t yet found any solid evidence, we can’t involve the police, not at this point. I do reserve the right to decide when it’s time to involve the authorities. My ninth and final point is that given our lack of legal evidence, we must proceed cautiously. If we have to take any actions that might be questionable, we need to decide to do so as a group, not individually.” Jamie looked around at the others. “Anything I’ve forgotten?”

  Lucy pointed toward his notepad. “How about a tenth point? Jamie agrees to keep an open mind.” Everyone but Jamie chuckled.

  Sighing, Jamie said as he wrote, “Ten, everyone involved will keep an open mind.” Once again, h
e looked at everyone, and then added, “Eleven, Jamie is in charge, and his decisions will be final.”

  As the rest of the group voiced their objections, Jamie whistled sharply. The piercing sound caused the ferret to pop his head out from beneath the couch, and then duck back under cover. “I’m serious. We have to conduct this like a police investigation if we’re going to avoid getting into trouble ourselves. Since I’m the only one here with police experience, that puts me in charge. However,” he continued, raising an index finger to stave off interruptions,“ being in charge doesn’t mean I’m a dictator. It means that I have to listen to everyone’s opinions and ideas before making a decision, but once I make a decision, everyone agrees to abide by it. Otherwise, we’ll lose control of this thing and wind up in jail or worse—someone getting hurt or killed.”

  After several seconds of consideration, heads began nodding and Jamie heard mumbled assent. Hanrahan spoke up. “Who, exactly, are you including in this effort? Just you and your cohorts? Or are you including one or more of us? If so, why should we follow your orders?”

  “Cuz he’s a bossy SOB,” Louie growled. “He was orderin’ us around like this yesterday, too.”

  “That’s not so,” Eileen disagreed. “Well, he is bossy, I’ll grant you that, but Jamie’s right—in any group there can only be one person in charge. Otherwise, nothing ever gets done. Hanrahan,” Eileen continued, turning toward the druid, “if you expect Jamie to defer to you in supernatural matters, then it’s only reasonable to expect you to defer to Jamie for investigative matters. Since this is primarily an investigation and attempt to bring Sedecla to justice, Jamie’s the only logical choice to be in charge.” Hanrahan considered her point for a moment, and then nodded in assent.

  “Perhaps,” replied Ríordán, unwilling to give in, “but can you agree to this? Yours will be the final decision, but in any matters involving supernatural aspects, our advice will carry the most weight. After all, you yourself pointed out that you’re the expert on police matters. So your opinion should carry the most weight there.” Everyone looked to Jamie for his reaction.