Blood From A Shadow (2012)

by Gerard Cappa

  CHAPTER ONE

  Tuesday, October 9, 2012

  I could have retreated into the Hell’s Kitchen shadows. I could have showboated an entrance. I could have kicked him in the balls. I didn’t do anything, just stood there, waiting for him to notice me in Blind Mary’s Bar, on a dark 10th Avenue Tuesday afternoon.

  Jack Gallogly made things happen. I was here because he had sent for me. He sent the message so here I was, waiting. He must have wondered how many men I had killed since the last time he had sent for me, but he knew I would come.

  He saw me, brushed past two of his new buddies, hooked his bulldozer arms and grabbed my two hundred pounds frame cleanly off the floor. His still black beard was soft as he kissed me, first on both cheeks and then on my forehead. I didn’t resist. His cologne hit me like a woman’s perfume, maybe even a particular woman from our childhood, I couldn’t remember who. It couldn’t mask his thick macho musk, the essence I recognised to be him, sparking quarantined flashbacks from my boyhood, when we scent-marked our territory around McLean Avenue, so that the narrow strip bordering the Bronx and Yonkers was ours, by right and by conquest.

  The bar pack were muzzled by his spicy pheromones, they knew he would speak, he knew they would listen.

  “This is Con Maknazpy. He is a hero of the United States and my most trusted friend. You’re all going to see him around from now on. When he speaks, you hear my voice, ok?” he said.

  A couple of them raised a glass to me in reluctant salute. One seedy grunge scoped me through milky-yellow eyes, working out what was so special about me. Just so no-one would confuse my status with his own, Gallogly crooked a steroid forearm around my neck, partly so that he could kiss my hair, but mostly so that he could brace me in a submissive posture. I knew the rules, allowed him to wrangle his Alpha status over me and them.

  “Let’s go in the back room, Con, we need to talk,” said Gallogly, ushering me further into the gloom and away from his camp followers, nimbly texting with one hand as he guided my shoulder with the other.

  We dodged under a low archway that partitioned the bar and he nudged open a frosted glass door. We stepped into an empty smaller room, maybe 15 x 15, with long narrow window slits along the two outside walls, parallel to the ceiling. The windows were guarded by security grilles on the outside so that daylight couldn’t penetrate this inner sanctum. There was a weak white bulb in the corner, but, in here, a smoky blue light existed independently, without reference to the world outside.

  There were six chairs upside down on a long table. Tracks left by a dirty mop were smeared across the black and white tiled floor. The hanging stink of foul water was trapped. The nicotine walls were patched with photographs of a blanched Hell’s Kitchen and immortal boxers and ball players from the 60’s and 70’s. Pride of place went to a splashed portrait of James Cagney, signed by somebody.

  Gallogly pulled down three chairs with a speed and dexterity that would have surprised anyone who hadn’t seen him in action.

  “Take a seat Con, I’ve asked a friend to join us, he’s on his way,” he said, reading a message on his iPhone and sending a quick reply with only a passing look at the screen.

  A bartender, who once had a grand Roman nose but now had it folded under his right eye, came in behind us. He balanced a tray on the thumb and two fingers of his left hand, carrying three cups, a glass jug of coffee and milk in a beer glass. He sat the tray on the table and poured coffee for both of us. He kept his furious attention on the cups and nodded to Gallogly as he turned to leave.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  Broken nose didn’t answer, except for a dirty look he hid from Gallogly.

  “Nice customer service, what’s wrong with him?” I said.

  Gallogly laughed. “You don’t remember, do you Con? You came in here looking for me a while back. Said you were going to kill me. Lucky for both of us I was back in here. Eddie there tried to get you out. You broke his face before they got you out the door.”

  I knew nothing about it, must have been one of my lost days.

  “Is that why I’m here now, you want pay back?” I said.

  “Christ Con, I’ve just made a big deal about kissing you in front of the good, the bad and the ugly! Doesn’t that say enough?”

  “Who else is coming?” I said, nodding to the other chair.

  “Just my accountant, don’t worry about it.”

  “I’m sorry Jack,” I said, “I was in a bad way for a while there, fucked if I can remember coming looking for you. I don’t even know why. Was the guy hurt bad?”

  Gallogly shrugged. “He got over it. The important thing is you’re back. Everybody understands, war can do that. You’re still a hero to us.”

  So, everyone understood, that cheered me up.

  “You know me, Con, I’m not one of those guys full of shit talk and no action. I know what it must have been like, fighting the Hadji. I’ve still got your back, just like the old days.”

  He should have noticed when I flinched at “Hadji”, but he didn’t.

  “I’m doing fine now, Jack, really,” I said. “Thanks anyway, but I don’t need any help right now.”

  “Con, look, you say you’re doing fine but you are living like a hermit in that dump in Hoboken. What about Rose, how long is she supposed to wait for you?”

  I knew he didn’t care, but it stabbed a ripple through my pulse anyway.

  “Why did you send for me, Jack?” I said.

  He looked at the iPhone again.

  “Con, in the old days that third chair would have been filled by our fallen brother. We lost him in Iraq and nearly lost you, too. We haven’t forgotten about the two of you.”

  Ferdy McErlane, Specialist, 69th Infantry. My comrade, from Bronx gangland turf wars to Iraq. We survived it all, just. We came home. He couldn’t detox the adrenalin and rebounded as a mercenary. Ambushed, my guilt and my nightmare.

  He saw my jaw tighten, knew I wasn’t tamed yet.

  “Ok, ok, calm down, it’s me you’re speaking to, remember?” Gallogly said. “I’ve known you for something like 30 years, Con. You used to be the fucking guy, the one we all knew would do something, the one who would be somebody. Yeah, I get it, you had it rough over there, but other people have coped with worse. You’re letting yourself down, you’re pissing on all us who needed you to make it. You’ve let the fucking Hadji win!”

  “You’re way out of line, Jack,” I said. “You remember somebody else, the kid I was doesn’t exist anymore.”

  Gallogly lent back on the creaking wooden chair, his hands behind his head, looking up at the ceiling. He tried again.

  “I’m just saying it is time to get your act together, ok? If I can’t speak to you, then who can?” he said.

  “I’ll see you around,” I said, making for the door.

  Gallogly jumped in front of me, blocking my way.

  “Con, your son thinks his dad has deserted him, he’s an angry kid, Rose has had trouble with him. Don’t you ever think of them, don’t you want to see them?” he said.

  I pinched Gallogly’s windpipe between the thumb and forefinger of my right hand, not squeezing hard, but enough to let him feel it.

  “Listen to me, Jack, and then let me walk away. I know you won’t understand, but you don’t need to see somebody to keep them real in your life. They mean even more to me now than they ever did before,” I said.

  “Yeah, before what? Before you went crazy? Jesus, Con, the army should be giving you more therapy, you can’t go on like this,” Gallogly squeaked between my fingers.

  I laughed at him, up close into his black beard.

  “Wrong again, Jack, this is the only way it can go on, any other way and we all end up fucked!” I
said. “And don’t tell me about the army, an asshole like you who ducked out hasn’t earned the right, get me?”

  Gallogly’s red face started to purple, but he didn’t lift his hands, he was still a tough bastard, wouldn’t give me the satisfaction.

  His iPhone jumped again and the door opened. Broken nose held it open for an older guy, maybe in his 50’s, well-fitted suit, designer spectacles, a careful haircut and healthy, cared for skin. Smaller than me, maybe 5′ 10″, a lean body beneath the suit. I supposed he could have been an accountant.

  Broken nose didn’t move, just kept looking his dirty look. The suit moved past him.

  “Hello, Mr Maknazpy, I’m Archer Duffin, pleased to meet you”, he said, with his hand stretched out to shake mine. Gallogly and I looked at each other, then we laughed.

  “Hello Mr Duffin, I’ll just take my hand from Mr Gallogly’s throat so we can shake,” I said.

  Gallogly slapped me on the back.

  “Just fooling around, Mr Duffin, boys from the ‘Hood, you know? Ok, Eddie, see we’re not disturbed,’ Gallogly said.

  Gallogly pulled the three chairs into a close circle. I looked at the door as Eddie closed it, making my mind up whether to stay or go.

  Gallogly had to regain control, and rubbed his windpipe to restore his voice.

  “Come on, Con, let’s sit down now Mr Duffin is here and we can get things fixed up,” he said, easing me onto a seat between the two of them.

  “What’s on your mind, Jack, I have to be somewhere,” I said.

  “Sure, sure, Con, the thing is I have been hurt about what happened to us,” Gallogly said. “You and Ferdy went off to fight and you’re right, I stayed behind. It’s no secret I have become a pretty wealthy guy while you were away.”

  He couldn’t resist the self-satisfied smirk. Duffin nodded, matching Gallogly’s smugness.

  “When I was younger, I always thought all I needed was money, but now I have it, I know it is not enough. I feel guilty, Con. I want to do something for you and Ferdy,” Gallogly said.

  “Ferdy was blown to pieces six months ago, Jack, and there’s nothing you can do for me,” I said.

  Duffin looked to Gallogly, expecting him to clinch whatever deal they had in mind. He wasn’t Gallogly’s accountant. Jack Gallogly would never address anyone he was paying as “Mister”.

  Gallogly rubbed his throat some more. His musky scent filled the room.

  “It’s not just you, Con,” he said. “Ferdy’s family back in Ireland have had more bad news. His old man passed away recently, I don’t suppose you heard, did you?”

  He knew I had been living in no man’s land for the last six months.

  “No, I didn’t. What happened to him, had he been ill?” I said.

  Gallogly and Duffin exchanged glances.

  “It’s not good, Con, not good at all,” Gallogly said. “Mr McErlane took his own life. Poor Mrs McErlane found him with a shotgun in his mouth.”

  He paused for effect, then turned to the suit.

  “You see, Mr Duffin,” he said, “The McErlane’s came over here in the 80’s and Ferdy was born here. The family moved back to Ireland when Ferdy was about 15 or 16, but Ferdy came back himself when he was 19, and ended up joining the army, the 69th, with Con here.”

  Duffin studied me closely, waiting for me to react. I browsed my memories of Mr McErlane, the loving father, everything I couldn’t be to my own son. I guessed he couldn’t bear Ferdy’s death, their golden boy, no matter what trouble followed him to their door.

  Gallogly let it sink in before continuing,

  “The thing is, Con, on top of everything else, there are some rumors, bad things, that Ferdy’s mom has had to cope with, the poor woman”

  So this was it, this was why Gallogly had sent for me.

  Duffin took the reins, adjusting the already perfect knot of his turquoise silk necktie, cleared his throat before speaking.

  “As you know, of course, Ferdia McErlane was making good money in Iraq as a Security Consultant, for a Turkish company, we believe. He was sending most of it home to the family. When he died, the company also paid a very significant sum to the family. What we hear is that his father, Mr McErlane, invested the major portion of this, maybe $100k, in a Turkish property deal. We believe that, a short time before Mr McErlane senior’s death, it was discovered that the land deal was bogus. There was no property, the money was lost.”

  I pictured the scene, nearly 30 years ago, when Ferdy would jump up from our game of soldiers and run to hug and kiss his old man when he dragged himself into their neat apartment after another crushing day on the building site. I think I must have been jealous of their blood bond, but I didn’t know then that decay was inevitable with time, so that even their paradise was fragile, and reduced now to this vacuum of death and despair. At least my own son wouldn’t have to relinquish my brainwash.

  “What is it you’re here for, exactly, Mr Duffin? You’re not Jack’s accountant, who is the ‘we’ you keep talking about?” I said.

  Gallogly moved in his seat, and rubbed his throat. Duffin gave a slight nod of his head.

  “Well, I’m not here in any official capacity, I’m just here to help,” Duffin said. “Ex Officio, I’m part of a group that helps the Irish in the United States, in times of trouble. We’re not a secret society or anything like that, nothing sinister. We’ve been helping behind the scenes for 150 years, we have well connected people of goodwill, who do what they can, in a charitable way. We have supported many vets like yourself, here in New York and up in Boston.”

  Every fibre in Duffin’s body oozed money and privilege. I knew Jack Gallogly would defer to no man, unless the man had the power that comes with wealth or influence, power that Gallogly craved a slice of. I had known as soon as I had seen him that I wouldn’t like Duffin.

  “Everybody seems to think I need help, but I’m doing fine here,” I said. “I can think for myself now and I’m keeping out of trouble. That’s all I need, right now.”

  “Well,” Duffin said, “we’re really thinking about Mrs McErlane. We know you were very close to the family. We’ve told her someone from New York will go over to Ireland. She asked if we could send Cornelius, she said she would love to see you again.”

  She was the only person left in the world who would call me Cornelius.

  Now it was Gallogly’s turn, “She said she would understand if you didn’t want to see her again, Con, but she said to tell you she didn’t blame you for Ferdy’s death.”

  “What am I supposed to do about it, anyway,” I said, “isn’t there a police department over there?”

  Duffin again, “We just need someone to go over and find out what the word on the street is. The police there aren’t interested and aren’t going to get involved. With the family’s history in their Irish Troubles, you wouldn’t blame them, but if you just get the basic facts, we can use our influence over here to force a follow up. The Irish still have some influence in New York and down in Washington. We know how to get results over there, the bastards are afraid of us, but we just need to know which lever to push.”

  I wavered, but the new Con Maknazpy, the one that choked emotional attachments, was still in command.

  “I’d like to help, guys, I really would, but I’m not your man, not now. No more heroics for me, I don’t need it anymore. Can’t you just speak to somebody over there?” I said.

  Gallogly again, “Mrs McErlane asked for you, Con, just you. There are private family matters involved here, she said you are family.”

  He knew how to get under my skin.

  “Anyway,” he said, “there’s another reason why you are the only man.” He paused for effect. “There’s the Turkish connection. That guy that saved you and Ferdy in Baghdad, he’s a big shot in the Turkish police now, isn’t he?”

  Gallogly was a cute bastard, he had always known how to work my mojo. Mehmet Kaffa was a Turkish intelligence officer in Iraq, an “advisor”. He had saved my neck, literall
y, seconds before my head was to roll for an al-Zarqawi video. I said nothing, too many pictures scrambling to escape in my skull.

  “If there’s something to this property scam, maybe he could take it up on his side,” Gallogly said. “He saved Ferdy’s life too that time. You used to keep in touch with him, didn’t you, Con?”

  Cagney looked down at me as I struggled with my emotions. The very thing that caged my torment, that kept me hostage, was their weapon against me now. I knew I could never look Ferdy’s mother in the face again, see her tears, taste her pain. I had promised her I would keep him safe. She had been a surrogate mother to me. She would read the treachery in my eyes when I mimicked her grief for the lost hero.

  Duffin now, “You’ll get all the support you need from us, Con. We’ll take care of all expenses, and there’ll be $10k on a credit card for your use. We don’t want it back, more if you need it, no questions asked.”

  Gallogly took over again, “Your Rose could sure use that money, Con. You are too proud to take any help from me, but Rose could use that to get young Con back on the right path, before it’s too late for him. That makes sense, doesn’t it? All you have to do is visit your best friend’s mother, the woman who gave you back your childhood when it all went wrong for your own parents.”

  I had spent my whole life doing what I thought would please other people. The nightmare of war had been my escape route. I couldn’t breathe in that old existence anymore, but even Cagney was rooting for me to break now.

  “$10,000? Do I have to kill somebody?” I said.

  “The opposite, Con, you’ll be saving a life, saving Mrs McErlane’s life from poverty and disgrace,” Gallogly said. “She doesn’t deserve that, she was too good to us all. It wouldn’t be happening if Ferdy hadn’t been killed. We owe it to him.”

  I stifled a sneer. None of them knew the authentic Ferdia McErlane, the one that mutated into a different animal when he was gifted the power of life and death over the helpless. That’s what would really destroy his mother’s life, when I couldn’t carry the lie.

  “I suppose I do owe it to her, I suppose I do at that,” I said, already angling how I would duck this obligation.