by Peter Murphy
There was always somebody, somewhere, out to get him and everything he did had to be considered with that in mind. He’d been that way as long as he could remember. There was always someone wanting to fight him; jackasses trying to prove themselves. Or the irate older brothers of those he had previously disproven. Sometimes their parents got involved, too, pointing long bony fingers at him and threatening him with banishment to Borstal, or to Hell.
His father got involved, too, when complaints reached the house, taking his leather belt to his errant son while his mother whisked his sisters away.
The last time, when he was almost eighteen, Anto snapped and grabbed the belt and took it away from him. There was nowhere else to go after that. He moved out and got a place on his own in Ranelagh. He found work where he could, when he could. It was only a matter of time before he drifted into the business and found he had a talent for it and quickly established himself.
Fear. That’s how he got where he was. People were afraid of him, and, when the cops were snooping around, no one would speak out against him publicly. He could stay hidden in the dark cloaks he’d spun around himself, but there were those that he feared—those who killed on principal, or for prejudice, or price. He should never have gotten involved with the Driller; he never really trusted him. He got him for his reputation and his willingness to do the dirtiest jobs without complaint or comment. He was just a gun for hire and now others were making him a better offer.
The Driller had given him fair warning with his comments about the gun.
After looking at it from all sides, Anto knew he couldn’t outbid them. Guys like him were getting pushed out. It used to be just a bunch of “heads” who’d go over to England to get some stuff. It made sense to bring enough back to make the trip worthwhile. But then more and more people got into it and they had to get organized. That’s when the problems began. They had to set up territories and, in time, protect them from heavies who wanted to muscle in. It wasn’t long before they started to hire guys who had been involved with the Boys, now cooling their heels, hiding out in plain view.
When these packages were sold off, he would retire. He’d set the Driller up, too, so the fucker would leave him alone. He was bringing in some heroin this time—not that Danny knew. He probably thought it was the usual run for hash. Anto almost felt bad about that, but when it was over, when he was ready to get out, he’d give the gun to Danny and they could all let bygones be bygones.
But first, he’d rattle Danny’s cage a bit, just to keep him honest. Then he’d go to the Gardens and retrieve it. He’d hidden it there, buried beneath the fifth tree on the left. He’d put it there at night when there was no one around. It was freaky. He felt like he was being watched all the time.
That feeling was growing, too, and the only person who knew it was there, besides him, was the Driller.
*
When they got to her bus stop, Miriam asked if she’d be okay getting home on her own.
Deirdre found that so nice, that Miriam was concerned. They had been at a poetry reading near Parnell Square. Deirdre didn’t know anybody there but Miriam knew them all and introduced her like she was proud of her—almost like a big sister—boasting about her to everyone.
After the reading, the crowd talked about the deaths of Steven Biko, Andreas Baader, and Hamida Djandoubi like they knew them personally, jostling with each other to seem more informed. Miriam was in among them, augmenting the conversations she approved of and quickly excusing herself from those she didn’t. Deirdre admired that about her but could never see herself like that—being able to act so confident and assured.
It was such a contrast to the Miriam she knew in private. That Miriam had so many doubts about herself as a woman and sometimes seemed to be looking to Deirdre for advice or approval. She was really pretty for a woman her age who had been through all that she had been through. When she smiled, everyone around her noticed. She didn’t seem to know that about herself even though she was very smart with everything else. But sometimes she fussed a bit.
“I’ll be fine from here. Will you be okay?”
“Well,” Miriam hesitated and Deirdre thought that she was about to blush. “I was actually going to go back and talk with someone.”
“Oh?”
“It’s not like that. He’s American and I need to go back and get in touch with that part of me. Sometimes I miss it.”
“America?”
“Yes, and the person I was there.”
“A Nun?”
“No, though it had its advantages. I never had to worry about how I looked back then. What I really miss is being an active part of what was going on in the world.”
Deirdre wanted to know more but she could tell that Miriam was anxious to get back. She had heard snippets of stories about the gang she referred to, and, in particular, a Fr. Melchor whom she had gone to visit in Rome.
“Can’t you go back?”
“Back? To America? There’s no point anymore. Our little gang of conspirators was broken up and scattered to the four winds.”
“Go on then. Go back to your American, I’ll be fine. The bus will be along in a few minutes.”
“Are you sure? I could wait.”
“Go on before someone else steals him.”
“If only it was like that.” Miriam smiled wistfully.
“I am sure you will enamor him.”
“Don’t be silly.” Miriam pursed her lips the way nuns did.
“I’ve seen you do it before.”
“When?” Miriam’s pursing was wrinkling at the corners where a smile was struggling through.
“Lots of times. Only I can’t remember this exact minute. But there were a few.”
“Oh. It’s a few, now? So why is it that none of them ever calls or writes, young Miss-Know-It-All? It’s God’s curse upon me. I’m just like Cain, wandering the wilderness.”
“Maybe they’re just a little bit intimidated by you.”
“Me? How am I intimidating? I’m just an ex-nun that gets lonely.”
“Maybe they think you are some type of scarlet woman.”
Miriam walked away laughing at that and waved back over her shoulder.
When the bus came, Deirdre sat downstairs near the driver, where the conductor stood when he wasn’t collecting fares. The upper deck would fill up with drunks—spilled out from the bars as they closed. Mostly young fellas full of drunken bravado, making lewd comments about her as they passed. It did no good to try to stare them down with disdain; that only encouraged them, so she rummaged in her bag for her book so they could all see that she was reading and they might ignore her. That was why she never saw Anto get on. He went upstairs as she turned her page and she didn’t see him until after she had got off and was halfway down the lane that led directly to her house. She knew somebody was walking behind her but she wasn’t too concerned. She was almost there. She could see the porch light and the front door.
“Slow down there, Deirdre, so we can have a little chat about that boyfriend of yours.”
She turned as he emerged from the shadows. His cigarette glowing in front of him. She wanted to turn again and march quickly up to her door.
“I’m not going to do you any harm. I just want you to tell Danny something from me. Tell him that I was just asking after him. Right?” He grinned and sauntered away.
It always bothered her that he had such poise and arrogance—like he owned the place.
He wasn’t ugly the way he should be if the world was the way it was supposed to be.
But he was menacing and looked like the type that enjoyed being that way.
That was another unfairness. Bad people always looked like they were enjoying themselves while the people who were trying to be good always looked a bit miserable—like it was a struggle. That made sense when she considered that the wrong thing was usually easier. People were forgetting to stop and think about that, jumping on to any bandwagon without knowing where it was going to end up. “
It’s not where things start,” Miriam often reminded her. “It’s where they finish.”
She wanted to believe that there was still more good in the world than bad. She wanted to believe in a God that was more like a parent who let you fall down a few times so that you could learn to walk properly, like her mother.
Her father, though, was more like the God in the Bible.
Perhaps that was why Catholics had clung to Mary, even when they were being persecuted.
They did their share of persecuting, too, and that was something she often wondered about. What was the difference between being misguided and just plain being bad? In Anto’s case there was no discussion. He was definitely just pure black-hearted badness.
But he couldn’t have started out that way. Nobody did. She knew him when he played football and wondered what had happened along the way that made him the way he was. Probably something like what happened to Danny—only there was no one around to help him.
Then she thought about why he had followed her and why he spoke to her. Was Danny still working for him? Or was Anto just trying to imply that he was? Or was he trying to get him to go back by letting him know he could get to her anytime he wanted?
She watched him walk away and wished that something terrible would happen to him—that he’d be hit by a bus or something. That is the problem in fighting evil, she decided as she reached the front gate. Can you do it without becoming evil, too?
“Was that little bollocks bothering you?” Her father stepped out of the shadows where he might have been watching them all along. “What did he want with you, anyway?”
*
He didn’t believe her but he kept his thoughts to himself for a few days. He knew no good would come from confronting her. Deirdre always seemed angry at him lately. Like he was the cause of all the problems in the world—including the ones that women caused.
He blamed it all on her seeing the ex-nun, although he never did follow through on the boarding school. They missed the enrollment and by Christmas she was behaving like an angel again, doing so well at school and helping out around the house. He had peace for a while and that’s what had lured him off his guard.
He had been busy, too, with the Watchers. How could he keep an eye on his own house when he was busy keeping an eye on everyone else’s? That’s what happens when you put others first, he consoled himself as he seethed behind his paper. Deirdre and her mother had both insisted that she was not getting involved with Danny, but they were not telling him the whole story. He said nothing but they had all eaten the rest of their dinners in silence.
He said nothing because he couldn’t prove it, and Deirdre and her mother would demand proof. But why else was that little drug-fucker talking to his daughter? It had to have something to do with Danny and drugs and by-fuck was he going to put an end to it, once and for all. He just needed to find out what Anto and Danny were up to.
It didn’t take long. A few nights later he was sitting in the local when Jerry Boyle walked in and sat a few stools down from him. He had told Jerry that he held no grudge over what had happened before, but Jerry was still a bit leery around him.
“Come here beside me, Boyle, and I’ll get this round.”
Jerry joined him eagerly, and, after a few pints, boasted about how Danny was taking him to a football match in London, in a few weeks.
That was all he needed to hear. He could figure the rest of it himself. One of the lads had mentioned something about being amazed how young fellas were able to get tickets and go over—like it was for free. It was Maguire that had said that to him, a decent enough old skin but cursed with the spawn of the Devil for children. They were always getting into trouble. That’s why it stuck in his head.
“And are you going, too?”
“I am,” Jerry beamed back at him like the fecking eejit that he was.
CHAPTER 16
“Do you really think you should be telling everybody that Danny is taking you over to the game?” Jacinta asked as she placed his dinner on the table in front of him.
“And why wouldn’t I?” Jerry looked up from his paper.
Jacinta had heard it down at the shops. Everybody was commenting on it and some of the comments were a little bit snide. Not that that surprised her; they were just chewing on the gossip and spitting out any new juice they could find in it. Still, sometimes she wished he could keep things a bit more private.
“Because not everybody thinks well of our Danny.”
“Feck the begrudgers. Let them have a look at their own children—drunks and whores the lot of them. At least Danny is trying to turn over a new leaf. That’s probably what has them upset now.”
“I know. You’re probably right.” But she still wasn’t happy about it. And neither was Nora. She had made that very clear to Jacinta. In fact she was against the whole thing.
“I had a call from Martin today.”
“What time was it where he was calling from?”
“I’m not sure. It’s five hours, but I can’t remember which way.”
“What did he have to say for himself?” Jerry had gotten over the whole thing with the will and was feeling very magnanimous toward the world in general, even toward his brother-in-law.
“Well I’d been saving this so I could tell you when the time was right.”
“What have you done now?” He was joking, only he wasn’t sure if she could tell. They still, after all the years, and all that happened, hadn’t worked that one out.
“Martin is after making all the arrangements for Danny to move to Canada—at least until all this drugs stuff is over.”
“And when were you going to get around to fecking telling me, the boy’s one and only father? Or do you agree with my mother—that I’m not fit to look after my own son?”
He didn’t mean to sound like was getting a bit riled but she seemed like she didn’t notice and answered in the same calm voice.
“Nora wouldn’t say that about you anymore. She’s changed. She also said that she’s okay with Danny going to Canada. She wasn’t at first but now she has come around to the idea. She thinks it’s what’s best for him.”
He stared at her simple, open face and remembered the way she looked at him the first time they talked. He couldn’t help himself and rose and took her into his arms. He was losing her to the darkness again and soon she’d be packed back off to the hospital.
All of this business with Danny was too much for her. She’d always been simple from the beginning—from the day he first went into the tea shop where she worked. He had gone on his own, his university scarf draping down one side and his breath, beery.
**
“What can I get you?” she had asked as he hovered near the counter, letting everyone go before him.
“I’m grand, actually. It’s you I’ve come to see.”
“What for?”
“What time do you get off work?”
“Not for a few hours yet. Why?”
He looked around to make sure no one was listening. “‘Cos I wanted to ask you something.”
She looked like she already knew what he was going to say but was still anxious to hear it.
“Would you ever consider going out with me sometime?”
“I might. Where do you want to go?”
“We could go to the pictures.”
They went to see Rebel without a Cause and she cried at the end when poor old Plato got himself killed. He even got to put his arm around her and when her sniveling turned to shivering, gave her his scarf. She kept it and still had it somewhere.
He also remembered something else: the night at the dance and the fumbling and the stumbling in the lane out back. He had to coax her with glasses of Babycham and his educated assurance that no one ever gets pregnant the first time.
He also remembered the sinking feeling in his stomach the day she told him she was.
“What are we going to do?”
Jerry had no idea but wanted to sound like he did. He did
n’t really love her but he did feel responsible.
“We’ll be fine; just let me figure out how to deal with it.”
“Deal with it? What do you mean by that Jerry? You’re not thinking of sending me off to England?”
“No, of course I wasn’t,” Jerry lied and tried to think. It didn’t matter which way he decided; he’d have to tell his parents. He had no money of his own.
His father had blustered and fumed for a while until he was sure there’d be no taint of scandal. Other than that, he wasn’t too concerned. His son was a damn fool and Jacinta was no smarter—they’d make a grand match for each other.
After all, it was, as his mother crisply remarked, not unheard of for a young woman to throw herself at a young man when the chance came to climb up a few rungs.
After the shock, they were quite pragmatic and began to make plans for a wedding, even meeting with Jacinta’s parents and suppressing any feelings they might have had that it was her fault—for trapping him.
“A wedding?” Jerry had nodded along with them as any faint hope he had of shipping Jacinta off to England, so that he could go on with his life, floated away.
“Of course, a wedding,” his mother snorted. “Having bastards might be good enough for kings and popes but it’s not good enough for this family.”
“You’ll find,” his father confided in him a few nights later, in the pub, “that one woman is very much like another. And I’m sure from their point of view the same is true about men. There’s no reasons why you and your wife cannot go on and be as happy as the next pair.”
***
“And when, exactly, was it that you were talking with my mother?” He held her away at arm’s length so he could see her eyes.
“I talk to her every day, down in the church, by the side altar.”
He could see she was cracked, again, but sending Danny to Canada was as good as anything he had come up with. He hadn’t heard back from the ruddy-faced man and it might be for the better if Danny was out of the way for a while. But he also thought about going to see Fr. Reilly to ask if he should be worried about Jacinta and her chats with his mother. There was probably nothing to worry about, but still he did.