The Baron at Bishops Avenue

by Jason Blacker

  Lorcan looked over at Niall. Niall put his hand on Oran's forearm. Oran looked at the hand distastefully. Niall removed it. Oran took another long sip of whisky and helped himself to more.

  "There must be other ways to impress upon the Baron the urgency of our needs," said Niall.

  Oran looked over at his friend who still hadn't said much. Padraig nodded at him.

  "There might be," he said. "This Baron of yours, he's married right? Got children then?"

  Niall took a turn to squint as Oran was looking at him. Niall nodded slowly, unsurely.

  "He's married, yes. But he doesn't have any children."

  "That makes it easier. Him not having children. Still the best method is to have him disappear."

  "But we don't want that," said Niall.

  "Then you let us talk to the wife," said Oran.

  Niall shook his head and squinted some more.

  "But it's got nothing to do with her."

  "It's always got something to do with her. You're just not hearing me clear. The way me and Padraig talk to her be a little different to how you might talk to her."

  "You're suggesting that you make his wife disappear?" asked Niall, with incredulity in his voice.

  "No, that wouldn't be right. She hadn't done nothing wrong. No sir, we just bruise the flower a little. That'll make your Baron reconsider your offer."

  Lorcan shook his head. Niall looked down.

  "No, I'm afraid that's even more unacceptable than the first option. You must have a third possibility. Niall promised me that you two were comfortable with fixing these sorts of problems. Besides it's better to have him alive for our future business purposes."

  Oran looked back at Padraig and then he sipped on his whisky.

  "Well, I suppose there is a third option. Though it'll cost you more for there be more difficulties in it."

  "I'm listening," said Lorcan.

  "My brother and me go and speak to this Baron of yours. We rough him a little. But like I said, we take more risk that way. A man like him might bring the full force of the law up against us. And there's one other little thing."

  "What's that?" asked Lorcan.

  "My brother sometimes gets a little carried away. He takes a lot of pride in his work."

  Lorcan sighed and looked at Niall.

  "And how much do you want for this option?" Lorcan asked.

  "That'll cost you five thousand quid. Two more than the first option. But like I says, it's only because there'll be more heat at our feet. If you want my opinion I'd recommend you does the first option and save yourself two thousand quid."

  "I don't care much for any of the options frankly," said Lorcan.

  "I can understand that," said Oran. "Life's simple if you just stick to the straight path. But that isn't what you've done is it?"

  Lorcan gave Oran a stern look, but it had no bite to back it up. Oran had tangled with tougher men. Tougher of tongue and of leather. Oran finished up his whisky, and was about to pour himself another. Lorcan grabbed the bottle and brought it to himself. He looked at Oran and smiled falsely.

  "I thank you for joining us. I think Niall and I need to talk about the options. Niall will be in contact with you once we've made our decision."

  Oran and Padraig stood up. Oran nodded at Lorcan and then looked at his brother. They didn't say anything as they turned and left. Lorcan followed them out with his eyes. Then he turned and looked at Niall.

  "You trust these men?" he asked.

  Niall nodded at him.

  "I've used them before. They're discreet so long as the money is there. They've helped break up the rabble rousers at the distillery on occasion. Never had a problem with them yet."

  Lorcan looked down at his tumbler. It was nearly empty so he gave it two more fingers' worth.

  "I just don't like any of these options," he said, looking back up at Niall.

  "There is one last option, though you'll not like it."

  "And what's that?"

  "We could give the Baron his five pound a bottle that he's asking for," said Niall.

  Lorcan looked at Niall as if he'd just lost his mind.

  "I won't do that. Just a few months ago the Baron was content with his pound per bottle. Now that he sees the volume we're doing and the American prohibition he wants to grab five times as much. I won't stand for it. Not only is the Baron wanting five pound, but the docks on this side and the American side are taking five pound combined and Quinn won't pay more than fifteen pound a bottle. That leaves us only five pound a bottle if you care to do the math."

  "I'm well aware of the math, Lorcan, but this is another option whether we like it or not."

  "And I don't like it. Five pound a bottle is not much for the risk we're taking. If the authorities found out we could be shut down. You know that. We can sell it legally for almost half the five pound we're getting. I much preferred our share being nine pound. That made better business sense."

  Niall took a long drink and filled up his tumbler.

  "I much preferred it too. As your accountant, it made much better business sense. If I can speak openly with you, Lorcan, as your friend and your business manager."

  Lorcan nodded as he took a long sip of his whisky. The chatter in the pub was loud but they did not have to lean in to hear each other.

  "I think we should save ourselves the two thousand pounds and have this issue taken care of once and for all."

  Lorcan grimaced and shook his head wearily.

  "Just hear me out."

  "Fine."

  "It's less messy that way. If we try and rough him up, or God forbid his wife, which I find quite distasteful, we'll always be worried about him plotting against us."

  Lorcan looked down into his tumbler, perhaps hoping it was a crystal ball with a better solution to his problems. None showed themselves.

  "I say we save ourselves some money and put an end to the problem altogether. There's less chance of having Oran and his brother mixed up with the police at some stage and we'll be removed from it. I know that our man can do this efficiently, effectively and quietly. There'll never be any suspicion shone on us whatsoever."

  Lorcan looked up from his tumbler and sighed. He shook his head slowly.

  "That sounds all very well, but our Baron has been a key piece in getting these shipments of whisky across the pond. It's not the dock workers we need be worried about, but the government's control over the harbor. The next Lord to come into that position might not be as understanding of our situation."

  Niall smiled.

  "I've looked into this. In the event that anything happens to the Baron, the person most likely to be ushered into not only the harbor's portfolio but also the Lord Chancellor's position is likely to be Lord Sinjin Paussage."

  "That doesn't mean anything to me," said Lorcan.

  "What it means," said Niall, "is that we couldn't hope for a more influential Lord to pick up where the Baron leaves off."

  "How so?"

  "Paussage is a man of many indiscretions not the least of which are a thirst for whisky and philandering. We couldn't hope for a more fallible man."

  Niall grinned and licked his lips. The taste of victory was seeming almost as sweet as the taste of whisky. Lorcan looked at him a long time before speaking.

  "It's still risky," he said.

  "As is business generally," answered Niall.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Kilburn London

  "YOU know they've been rounding up innocent people all day these past two days," said Aidan, hardly containing the anger in his voice.

  He was drinking a Guinness and he was making quick work of it. Opposite him was Cooney. Cooney nodded and sipped on a Smithwick's cream ale.

  The pub was another Irish pub called The Green Emerald. It was just a few blocks away from The Loyal Beagle. It was dingier and smaller. More cramped and musty. The beer was cheaper and the crowd poorer and rougher around the edges. Mostly made up of immigrant Irish workers, Catholic to t
he man. They had come over to find work and for a better opportunity at the docks. They sent money home each week and each night they'd be at the pub. Sundays they'd be at church repenting for their sins of the week.

  It was a raucous place and you had to talk loudly to be heard around a table, but nobody took any notice unless you spilled a man's drink. Then it was fighting words, and if the words didn't help then the knuckles sought to be heard over the clamor. But tonight was a quieter night. The mood was far more somber, and not just at the table where Cooney and his lads sat. For word had made its way quickly to The Green Emerald that England was taking a hardline regarding Bloody Sunday.

  Cooney nodded at his drink, though it was for Aidan.

  "Everybody knows that, lad," he said.

  Cooney was on his second ale. There'd be more to come tonight. There was a lot of thinking that needed to be thought and a lot of decisions that needed to be made. They'd been sent over here to do something about the Englishman's inability to buckle under pressure. The methods were up to him and his men. This is what they were going to have to hash out.

  "Then what are we going to do about it?" asked Aidan.

  "That's what we're here to decide," said Cooney.

  He looked around the table somberly. He only had his most trusted men with him. Aidan Boyle, Tadgh Ahearn, Cathal McClery, Jarlath Payne and Daire Nolan. Daire Nolan was grinning at one of the waitresses at the next table. She was a short Irish lass with red hair and green eyes the color of emeralds. Perhaps that's why she'd been hired. She had caught his eye and he had caught hers.

  "Daire," said Cooney, looking at him.

  Tadgh inhaled on his cigarette and blew smoke at Daire. That got his attention. He waved it off and frowned at Tadgh.

  "What's the meaning, Taddy?"

  Taddy was a nickname that Tadgh didn't care for much. You could call him Tadgh or Tad. Hell, you could call him late for dinner, but don't call him Taddy unless you were ready to back it up with your knuckles. Daire was the kind willing to back up anything with a splash of violence. A charming, good-looking man of average height with black wavy hair and an easy smile. The same smile he'd wear dancing with an Irish lass or knocking an Englishman's teeth out of his mouth.

  Tadgh nodded over at Cooney with the cigarette still stuck in his mouth.

  "The boss is talking," he said.

  This assuaged Daire's flared temper. He looked over at Cooney.

  "Sorry, Paddy," he said, "just enjoying the view."

  "We can see that. But we didn't come out to look at the lasses," said Cooney. "We've got business to take care of."

  Daire nodded and took a long drink of his beer. Aidan looked hard at Daire, but Daire didn't notice. If there was one of them here up to giving Daire a go for it, it was Aidan. Other than Cooney that is.

  "Give us an idea of what you think, Dairey boy," said Aidan, trying to goad him.

  It wasn't hard to get on Daire's bad side, but nicknames weren't one of those ways. Daire smiled at Aidan. It was a genuine smile. He liked the man. He liked his conviction and his temper and his seriousness. More than that Daire liked the trust he could place in him.

  "I say we rip the Woolsack apart," he said, grinning at Aidan still.

  "The Woolsack?" asked Aidan, incredulous.

  Aidan looked around with his one eyebrow cocked.

  "The Woolsack. What the hell is the Woolsack?" he asked.

  "The Woolsack," said Cooney, "is the cushion the Lord Chancellor sits on."

  Aidan shook his head and frowned.

  "Dairey boy wants to rip apart the stupid cushion the Lord Chancellor sits on? Does he even know what we're here talking about?"

  "Indeed he does," said Cooney, "though his euphemism is a bit obtuse."

  "English, Paddy, please."

  "Daire is beating around the bush and being difficult about it," said Cooney.

  All the while Daire was grinning and having a grand old time with confusing Aidan.

  "I should knock some bloody sense into him is what I ought to do," said Aidan, still hot under the collar.

  "Yes, I should think so," said Daire.

  "Enough lads," said Cooney, "let's get on with it. Daire, what do you have in mind?"

  The redheaded waitress came by and stood closer than she needed at Daire's right side. He looked up at her. Her face was the color of fresh cream with soft almost imperceptible freckles.

  "Can I get you gentlemen anything else?" she asked, looking around.

  Before anyone else could chime in, Cooney ordered a round of the same. His tone informed her that she wasn't welcome to dillydally. She left.

  "I wanted to talk to her," said Daire, trying to inflect disappointment in his voice.

  "Listen, lad, if we get done here at a reasonable time you can do what the hell you like, I don't care. But you've got a lass on the isle you seem pretty sweet on and we've got business to conduct. Now let's get to it," said Cooney.

  "Fine," said Daire still smiling. He looked over at Aidan. "When I'm suggesting we should rip up the Woolsack, what I'm really saying is we should rip up the Lord Chancellor. This Baron Marphallow. Do you understand?"

  "Finally," said Aidan, "you're starting to make some sense. I knew there was a reason I liked you."

  Cooney shook his head.

  "And I suppose we'll just head on up Bishops Avenue and knock on his door in broad daylight and get on with it then?" asked Cooney.

  "Something like that. Look," said Daire. "I'm just the face for the organization, you're the brains."

  "You're being a smart arse," said Cooney, "and it's trying my patience."

  Cooney's eyes glinted cold and direct at Daire. He was liable to get up and punch him in the chops if Daire didn't get serious. And Daire knew it.

  "Look boss," said Daire, trying placate Cooney, "we go in at night. In and out quickly. Just like that. Doesn't need to be complicated. Aidan and I can do it. No need for all of us to get involved. But we've got to cut the head off the serpent and the head is the Woolsack."

  Cooney looked around, seeking any other input the others might add.

  "I like it," said Tadgh.

  "Me too," said Cathal.

  Cooney looked at Jarlath.

  "I haven't heard nothing better yet," said Jarlath.

  "It's easy to like," said Cooney. "Doesn't mean it'll be easy to accomplish. Have any of you thought about the consequences?"

  "The way I see it," said Jarlath, "the consequences are already happening. They're sending soldiers to our country and rooting out anyone who ever knew someone with the IRM or Ceann Daoine."

  "What I'd sooner do," said Tadgh, "is blow up all the parliament buildings."

  Aidan looked over at him.

  "I take back every bad thing I ever said about you, Tad."

  He grinned at the tall thin man with the cigarette still stuck in his mouth. The Irish lass came by with a tray of six beers. She placed them all in the middle of the table. It was every man for himself. Though it wasn't hard to figure out who was drinking what. As she turned to leave, Daire grabbed her wrist. She looked down at his hand with a cross face until she realized who it belonged to. When her eyes met his she smiled at him.

  "What time do you get off, love?" he asked.

  She looked him up and down. She looked at his left hand which cradled his dying beer. She didn't see a wedding ring. She liked the look of that.

  "Midnight," she said.

  "I'll wait for you."

  She grinned and walked off with a slightly bigger bounce in her step.

  "After we're done with the Woolsack, we can get going on the parliament buildings," said Daire, with renewed confidence like a puffed up peacock. Daire picked up his mug of beer and raised it to those around him.

  "Sláinte chuig na fir, agus go mairfidh na mná go deo," he said.

  The rest of them picked up their mugs and clinked them with each other to the loud noise of "sláinte" in unison.

  "Getting back to busines
s," said Cooney. "I'm not interested in the parliament buildings. We have what should be a very simple task before us. And yet, and yet I fear it might be unrealistically simple."

  "I don't understand," said Jarlath, taking a large drink from his beer.

  "I don't think it's going to be as easy as just popping by his house, whether under cover of darkness or not, and putting an end to it. I'm sure that in light of the recent events in Ireland, the English are not sparing any expense in protecting their most important politicians. And I have a suspicion that this protection will be especially enforced for the Woolsack."

  The men nursed their beers and twiddled with their thoughts. Cooney had a point. The government was likely to start putting stricter security into place.

  "Well, we'll just have to take a look and see," said Aidan. "We'll just spend the next couple of nights looking at the lay of the land so to speak."

  "That's not a bad idea," said Tadgh.

  Daire and Jarlath nodded. Cooney nodded too, slowly, staring into his mug of beer. He took a long drink. The Green Emerald was getting busy and the beer was getting warm.

  "Not a bad idea lads, not a bad idea at all," he said. "Tadgh, Aidan and Daire will do the reconnaissance tomorrow. Me, Jarlath and Cathal will hold vigil over Wednesday."

  The men nodded somberly. The drank their beer and looked at the table.

  "Who wants this job?" asked Cooney after some time. "I'm only allowing two of you for it."

  He looked around the table at his men. He was expecting nods from each and everyone of them. That's exactly what he got. He nodded.

  "I'll take Tadgh."

  Tadgh grinned and put his cigarette out in the ashtray.

  "I thought you said it was a two man job?" asked Aidan.

  "Aye, I did, lad. And it's me and Tadgh."

  "That's not right," said Aidan.

  "Listen, lad, all of this lies squarely on my shoulders. I've got to be there to make sure it's done right."

  "You don't trust us to get the job done," said Aidan.

  Cooney grabbed his arm and looked him hard in the eye.

  "I trust you, lad. Just like you're my own brother. But they want me to make sure it gets done right. If it's about the money, I'll tell all of you," and Cooney looked around the table, "that we're all going to split the bonus."