Born & Bred

by Peter Murphy

  He’d go around by Kilternan to Stepaside, past Ticknock and over to Ballycullen. He liked the view along the way and it would kill some time until the priest was ready.

  He’d just have another smoke first—to steady his nerves. He thought about having a few tokes but he didn’t want to be stoned when he saw the priest. That would fuck up everything.

  *

  The car that Maguire was bundled into took the same route and stopped, not far from Ticknock, just below the top of Two Rock Mountain.

  He was dragged from the car and thrown to the ground that was covered in sheep shit. He didn’t care and rolled away like he was trying to roll all the way down to the city.

  “Get that little fucker back here.”

  The ruddy-faced man was in no mood for delay with them parked on the side of the road in broad daylight, though the rain was getting heavier and there was no one else around. Still, he knew, in Ireland, there was always someone seeing what they’d be better off not seeing.

  He waited until they caught the rolling Maguire and propped him against a rock, out of view of the road. They held him by the hair and twisted his face around.

  The ruddy-faced man knelt when he got there and looked into Maguire’s frightened face. “What you need to tell us is: what the fuck you were doing?”

  “I was just waiting for my friend who was over at a football match. That’s all. I wasn’t up to anything. I swear to you’se.”

  The ruddy-faced man waited while somebody whacked Maguire a few times before continuing. “Do you have any fucking idea who you are dealing with?”

  “You’re not the Guards?” was all he got from the terrified Maguire.

  “No, we’re not the fucking Guards. We’re the men that the fucking Guards are afraid of. Understand?”

  Maguire nodded as his eyes grew wider.

  “So just fucking tell me what you were doing and we will happily go on our way and leave you, mostly intact.”

  He nodded to the man who was holding Maguire’s hair and he whacked him a few more times. Only harder.

  “No. Wait. I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

  “There’s a good lad. Now who sent you?”

  “Anto Flanagan.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. He just asked me to do him a favor. I had no idea what it was about.”

  The ruddy-faced man nodded to the man again and he slapped Maguire a little more, and a little harder.

  “Wait.” Maguire was on the verge of collapsing altogether and even pissed himself a little. “He asked me to pick up a bag from Danny Boyle. I didn’t know what was in it—I swear to you’se.”

  “Well you tell Anto-fucking-Flanagan something from me. Tell him we want to have a chat with him and it would be better if he came to us. If I have to send one of these boys,” he nodded to the men who stood around watching, “they might not bring him in alive. Understand?”

  He nodded again and they all got back in the car, except Maguire who sat in his pee-damp trousers and cried on the side of the cold, damp mountain with nothing but sheep to keep him company.

  On the way back to the city, the ruddy-faced man had them stop at a pub in Taylorsgrange as he had arranged. The other car was waiting for them and the lads had already gone inside.

  The ruddy-faced man had arranged for the Special Branch to meet up with them there, too. Later.

  He had given them the morning off and was more than happy for them to follow him around for the rest of the afternoon, once everything had been taken care of. He shook the beads of mist from his coat and stepped inside.

  “Did you look after things for me?” he asked the big man while everyone else was busy ordering pints amidst the throng of locals, fresh from Mass with an evangelical thirst on them.

  “I did.”

  “And what’s that?” The ruddy-faced man nodded at the duffle bag on the floor beside them.

  “It’s just some cigarettes and a few bottles of gin.”

  “What are they doing here?”

  “They were in the bag, already.”

  “Well, they’re not yours, then?”

  “No. I was going to hock them.”

  “How much do want for them?”

  They stared at each other for a minute.

  “I’ll take fifty.”

  “Good man. And here’s another hundred for looking after things so well.”

  The big man pocketed his fee as the ruddy-faced man put the duffle bag under his chair. He would drop it off at the Boyle’s house when everything calmed down. They weren’t thieves, at least not with the ordinary man.

  *

  Anto found him when he passed almost an hour later. By then Maguire was soaked and reeked of piss and sheep shit. Anto didn’t want to let him into the car but he had to. He had to find out what had happened and Maguire told him everything on the way back.

  After he had dropped him off, Anto drove over to the church and parked. The rain had eased off and it was becoming a little clearer. There was no way Danny Boyle had anything to do with it. He was probably spilling his guts right now and it wouldn’t be long before they all came looking for him.

  Anto had a decision to make. He knew it was all the Driller’s doing, now, and he knew he could do fuck-all about it. He’d have to go to the Guards but he’d get the priest to come with him.

  *

  When Jacinta heard the news she wasn’t as upset as she thought she might be. Jerry had called and told her what happened. They were letting him go but they wanted to hold Danny a bit longer. They seemed to think that he might have something to tell them about what was going on.

  Jerry asked her to go and tell Fr. Reilly—and to ask him if he wouldn’t mind letting the Bishop know. They’d call Davies, too, but maybe the Bishop could get the Guards to release Danny so he wouldn’t have to spend the night.

  She took it all in stride but wanted to go over to the church to tell Nora. She’d just have to wait until after the late Mass as she didn’t want everybody listening while they were talking. People were always sticking their noses in where they weren’t wanted.

  Other than that, Jerry said they had a good time, only Danny went and lost the presents he was bringing for her but he’d make it up to her when he got home. He sounded so calm and assured – like it was all predetermined.

  She took her time getting ready and by the time she got there the church was empty with only one car parked outside. She didn’t pay it any mind and went inside to have her chat with Nora.

  *

  The Driller was waiting, too, for the call from the big man. He should have called already.

  They were going to meet and make the swap—the gun with Danny’s prints for the packages from London. He knew better than to ask why they wanted the gun, and besides, it had fuck-all to do with him. They wanted Anto and he was more than happy to give him to them.

  It wasn’t like he hadn’t given Anto fair warning. If the dumb fucker had been smarter he would have taken it and disappeared by now, as disappeared as he could get.

  But Anto was one of those guys who thought he was bigger than he really was. They were all just pawns and the sooner they realized that, the better.

  When the phone finally rang he waited for the third ring before answering. He didn’t want to seem too eager.

  It wasn’t the big man but it was somebody who knew what was going on.

  “I have your packages,” was all the information he would divulge.

  “Does the big fella know about this?”

  “Yeah. He was the one that asked me to call you. But if you don’t want to meet, you can wait until he gets back.”

  “Is he away, then?”

  “He got called out on another matter—you know how it is.”

  His accent was Belfast and that was comforting. He didn’t want any of the Dublin crowd to know what was going down, even though the gun was probably going back to them. He couldn’t afford to cut them in, too. There was enou
gh to send to Derry and a cut for the Boys in Belfast, and enough for him to go to America and vanish like thousands had before him.

  “Okay. Where do you want to meet?”

  *

  He wished it was somewhere else. This was where he’d met the ruddy-faced man. He would have preferred somewhere more neutral but it wasn’t up to him. And he didn’t want to seem skittish–that would give everything away.

  They kept him waiting but he was used to that. And when they arrived there were three of them. They stood around him on all sides and told him to finish his drink, that there was a car waiting outside and that they didn’t have all day.

  He finished his drink and went along with them because there was no point trying to do anything else. They were the type that would have killed him where he stood and never given it a second thought. He knew the sort—they were just like him. “So where are we off to, then?”

  The ruddy-faced man was waiting in the car with a duffle bag on the floor between his knees.

  “Is that what you were looking for?”

  The Driller thought it over. There was no point in lying to them. They were straight from the Devil and could tell lies from truth. It was second nature to them. He was a bit like that himself.

  “It is.”

  “And what the fuck would you want with a bag full of drugs?”

  “I was going to sell them and send the money home, you know, for the lads.”

  “And you didn’t think that you should have cleared it with me first?”

  “It all happened so fast. I only just heard that Flanagan was expecting a shipment and I had to arrange everything on the fly. You know how it is?”

  The ruddy-faced man seemed to be considering it.

  “I do,” he finally answered. “Did you get the other thing we talked about?”

  “I did.”

  “Well. Hand it over.”

  “Hand me the duffle bag first.”

  The ruddy-faced man laughed and the other’s joined in. “You’re not in the position to be making demands. Now hand the fucking gun over before I let the boys beat it out of you.”

  The Driller reached inside of his coat and slowly pulled the gun out, still wrapped in a plastic bag.

  “Now get the fuck out of my car and don’t ever let me see your face around here again. I’m putting out the word on you: shoot to kill. Understand?”

  CHAPTER 18

  When Deirdre’s mother heard the news it all made sense. She knew her husband had been to see the Guards but she hadn’t put all the pieces together, until now.

  She was shocked. How could he do such a thing to that poor, unfortunate Boyle who had more than enough on his plate? She never believed that Danny would have gotten involved unless he had to. Flanagan had probably reeled him in slowly and Danny had no one to help him out. The last thing he needed was a neighbor bearing false witness against him.

  She knew that her husband would never approve of Deirdre having anything to do with Danny again, but that was no reason to go out and have the boy locked up. She knew he was still upset about the night Flanagan followed Deirdre home and he had a point there, but he had no right to take that out on Danny. Sometimes, her husband could act without thinking. They all could.

  She never told him that she had heard him and she hadn’t mentioned it to her daughter, yet. Instead, she baked a few scones and announced that she was going to pay a visit to Mrs. Boyle—to show her a little bit of neighborly kindness after all she had been through.

  Her husband was dead set against it so she ignored him but agreed that Deirdre should come with her.

  They left him fuming in his chair and headed out in closed ranks with their arms entwined.

  “So did you ever get to say anything to Danny?”

  “Yes, Mother, I did.”

  “And?”

  “And he was very happy about it.”

  “I’m sure he was, but what about you? How did you feel about doing it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, child. Give me some credit. I know what happened the night in the church.”

  “But you never said.”

  “Why would I? We all make mistakes and you’ve had enough people talking at you about it, led by himself.” She sniffed and flicked her head back toward their house as they walked across the road.

  *

  Jacinta was surprised and embarrassed: she hadn’t got to her housekeeping, with all that was going on, and the place was a bit of a mess. Deirdre’s mother told her not to worry about it as they had only come over for a cup of tea in the kitchen, just to be with her, and have a nice, pleasant little chat. Deirdre’s mother also insisted that Deirdre would make the tea for them, if Mrs. Boyle didn’t mind. Which she didn’t and they both sat around the fire that Jacinta poked and prodded back into life.

  The kitchen warmed quickly as the three women sat down to tea.

  Jacinta got a little weepy as she explained that Danny was still being held—for his own protection, of course, and because he might be able to help the Guards with their inquiries. That was how the solicitor had explained it to her, and Deirdre and her mother nodded in total agreement.

  “What I don’t understand,” Jacinta continued through the hanky she had wiped her eyes with, “is how someone could be so mean and spiteful to Danny. Especially now that he is trying so hard to change. And Jerry, too, who never did a bit of harm to anybody.”

  Deirdre’s mother reached out to console her and glanced at her daughter who rose and poured more tea to create a diversion. When they all settled down again she took Jacinta’s hands in hers.

  “We just want you to know that not everyone thinks badly about Danny. Isn’t that right, Deirdre?”

  Deirdre didn’t look Jacinta in the face. She’d probably heard what Jacinta had said about her being “the one that had first led her poor Danny astray.” Nothing that salacious could remain secret in their neighborhood. Instead, she just nodded. “That’s right, Mrs. Boyle. Especially now that Danny is . . . trying.”

  “Well that’s very nice of you to say,” Jacinta reached over and gave Deirdre’s hand a squeeze. Jacinta wasn’t sure if she had forgiven her for what happened in the church. She just hoped that she wasn’t going to make a big thing of it with Danny. She still hadn’t decided how she really felt about her.

  “I’ll be sure and tell Danny that you said that. It’ll do him good—after all the poor lad has been through.

  “Well,” she cradled her cup in her hand and smiled into the fire. “Because you’ve both been so nice, why don’t you, and your mother and father, come to my sister’s wedding? She won’t mind, and we are having the reception in the Yellow House. They do a nice spread there and we can have a whole room to ourselves. Will you come? Danny would be delighted if you did.”

  *

  “How are you going to explain this to Father?” Deirdre giggled as they recrossed the street and headed back toward their house, on a bit of a hill, between the trees.

  “He will be the one explaining, when I get home.” Her mother had her jaw stuck out like a steam engine and huffed and puffed all the way. “When we get home he can sit down before me and explain what was going through his head to pile all that misery on that poor woman? She has enough to deal with, God love her.”

  They both knew of Jacinta’s past but they never discussed it even though everyone else did. Her mother took pride from that. So did Deirdre.

  Her father, too, was usually above it all. But lately he had become preoccupied with the “goings on.” He was spending a lot of time down in the pub and came home with stories that he could have left there. He said it was important for him, being the leader of the neighborhood watch and all, but her mother wasn’t having any of that. She always got outraged when she saw someone suffering. She’d even forget herself, and her propriety.

  He was sitting on the couch when they got in and tried to make a joke about checking their purses—since they had been over to the
Boyles and all—but her mother froze him with a stare.

  “Have you any idea what you have done to that poor unfortunate woman? She’s beside herself with tears over there. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

  Deirdre excused herself and went to her room but she could still hear from there. It was better than having to watch her father having all the air let out of him. She wouldn’t add to his humiliation.

  She wouldn’t take from it either and would go along with whatever her mother decided.

  They usually ignored him, like he wasn’t there. Or if they did talk to him, they’d be very stinting.

  But this time it was going to be different. This time her mother was going to demand her pound of flesh.

  “I was only doing what I thought was the right thing . . . for our daughter.”

  “I see. And did it ever occur to you to discuss it with me before you went around lying about the neighbors.”

  “I wasn’t lying. There was something happening. I’m sure of it.”

  “There was. A bitter old man was taking out his spite on a poor, unfortunate young lad who, God love him, has had more than enough trouble in his life.”

  “Oh? Like Danny Boyle is some sweet little angel who would never put a foot wrong? Don’t you remember? Don’t you remember what he did to our Deirdre?”

  Deirdre held her breath. She had no idea what her mother would say to that. They really should tell him the truth—but not tonight.

  “He did nothing to Deirdre that he didn’t do to himself. Can’t you see that? They both made a mistake and while Deirdre got a second chance—what happened to Danny Boyle? Who was looking out for him?”

  “He’s not my concern. Let his own father worry about him. I’ve got enough to worry about with my daughters growing up with no morals.”

  Her mother paused. She was probably trying to maintain some composure but she couldn’t.

  “May God forgive you for saying such a thing. A decent man would be proud to have my two girls as daughters.”

  She stomped out of the room and Deirdre could hear her sob as she came up the stairs.