by Eoin Dempsey
“That’s enough of that,” Mick said, the tears welling in his own eyes now. “It’s time to move on. Everyone has a past. That’s what we are, but it’s our future that counts more, what we aspire to be. That’s all we can control.”
They stood there for a few more minutes, drinking their pints, only a few words exchanged. Mick looked at his watch, knew it was time to leave. “I gotta go, brother.” The urge to tell him about Tony, to ask for his help was like a wild animal unleashed inside him, tearing him to pieces. He put the empty pint glass on the bar. Pat opened his arms and hugged him.
“I love you, Mick,” he said. It was the first time either of them had said it.
“And I love you too, Pat. This isn’t your fault. None of it is.”
Pat nodded his head, bringing his gaze down to the floor to hide the tears bulging through.
“I’ll see you soon, all right?” Mick said. “Tell Pam and the kids I love them too.”
“Aye, of course,” Pat said and watched his brother push through the crowd and out of the pub.
Forty-five minutes later, Mick was at Melissa’s front door after the quickest shower, change and taxi ride he could remember. The sensation of seeing her as she answered the door was like an oasis in the desert of his despair. He held her tight for several seconds before drawing back to kiss her again.
“How’s Jason?”
“He’s doing fine. He’s upstairs if you want to see him.”
“Will he come down for dinner?”
“Aye, of course.” She looked concerned. “Are you OK? You don’t look so good.”
“I’m fine.” He pushed past her and inside the house. “I’ll wait a few minutes before I see him, give him some time.” Nerves raced electric in his veins and though he’d only walked from the taxi to the house, he was panting. “What’s for dinner?” he asked in a conscious effort to draw attention away from himself.
“Are you sure, you’re OK?” Melissa asked again.
“Yeah, of course. I’m just feeling a little off.” Cold sweat swam down the skin on his back.
She led him into the kitchen where she’d lit candles and laid out pretty ornate place settings, the good china. This was somewhere place settings, china and candles were still important. She went to the fridge and got him a beer. Time ticked out loud in his mind. He had to meet Tony in ninety minutes. Dinner would be ready in ten. Pushing past the sliding glass doors, he walked out into the tiny back garden. She stayed in the kitchen, happy to leave him alone while she finished the dinner. He sat on the step, staring into the evening sky, trying not to drown in the immense fear that was overtaking him. Melissa called him inside when dinner was ready and he was sitting down when Jason came to the table.
“Hi Jason, how are you doing?” Mick asked.
“I’m doing all right.”
He took a seat beside Mick.
“How d’you feel about the big move next week?”
“I’m gonna miss my friends.”
“You’ll make more, and it’s not forever,” his mother interjected.
They ate for several minutes, Mick barely noticing the words coming out of his mouth as he made conversation. Each word felt lost as soon as he said it. Jason spoke too, even laughing as Mick made a joke. Jason helped him clear the dishes away after they’d finished. They were at the sink together, Mick washing and Jason drying when Mick asked him the question.
“What do you think of me coming to Dublin with you?” His eyes flicked up to the clock on the wall as he waited for the answer. He had forty-five minutes.
Jason didn’t look at him as he answered. “If you want to come with us, I can’t stop you. Mam seems to want you to come.”
“Jason, I….” The words stopped, the fears within him choking them back. They finished the washing up in silence and joined Melissa on the couch. Mick poured her a glass of red wine, taking water himself. They talked about the move, the house they’d chosen to rent in Sandymount and where Mick might live himself. They weren’t selling this house, just renting it. They could still come back. Mick tried to convince himself that he’d get through this, that he wasn’t going to die before he made it to Dublin with them. The desire to tell her was so strong that it almost overtook him and he knew that if he stayed any longer he would. He got up, making an excuse about being tired and kissed her before he went to the door. There was no ceremony about his leaving, just a smile, and a promise to see them soon and then he was alone in the driveway once more, the taxi he’d called already waiting for him. He had twenty minutes. He heard the door opening. Jason ran out.
“What is it, son?” It was the first time he’d referred to him as that. “Is everything all right?”
“What are you trying to do to us?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Why are you coming to Dublin? We were fine before you came.”
Mick reached a hand out toward him, six feet from where he was standing. “I want to be with your mother, with both of you.” The contradiction between what he was about to do and the words forming in his throat clouded his mind, and he began to question everything within him. “I want to make up for the time we lost, to be there for you. I need you, both of you. My whole life’s been destroyed by a war I never wanted any part of, that dragged me in. There’s not a day that goes past that I don’t wish we’d never gone on that march, or that I’d stayed in France with your mother, that I’d chosen her love over what I thought was my duty at the time.”
No one else could stop Tony and the mass murder he had planned, but this was his son, and the woman he’d loved all his adult life. They were here, waiting for him, all he had to do was stay, to let the Troubles take their course. He’d live and he’d live well, away from all this. What duty had he left on this personal crusade that even Sean had forsaken? More deaths would come whether he prevented this or not. But their blood wouldn’t be on his hands. The blow he’d been dreaming of taking against the violence, against the death and misery of this useless conflict, was waiting to be dealt. Real redemption awaited him, after all these years of darkness, guilt and pain. Jason was staring at him and Mick stepped forward and took him in his arms. Jason spread his arms around him and Mick held him there, the tears starting to come.
“There’s something I have to do, for my father. For myself,” he whispered. “I can’t let it happen, not when I know that I can do something. I hope you’ll understand. I love you.”
He broke away from his son and turned to get into the taxi. Jason was still standing there as the taxi took him away, back to Bogside, and back to Tony. He had ten minutes.
Chapter 27
The car was waiting as Mick arrived. Mick opened the door with wet palms. Tony was smoking a cigarette, one hand on the wheel and turned to face him as he got in. Mick recognized the man in the back of the car as he got in. It was Martin Heggarty, the bomb-maker.
“Where the hell is Sean?” Tony snarled.
“I was hoping you’d be able to tell me. He wasn’t at work today, isn’t answering his phone.” He turned to Martin in the back seat. “How are you, Martin?”
“You two know each other?”
“We’ve worked together before,” Mick replied.
Tony slammed his fist down on the steering wheel. Curses flew from his mouth, mixing in the air with the swirling smoke in the confined space. He took a breath, his knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel as if choking the life out of it.
“Right, we can still do this. I’m going to need you more than ever, to make up for that bloody useless brother of mine,” he said turning to Mick, who nodded in reply. “Let’s get out of here for starters. We don’t have much time.”
He started the car and they sped through the narrow streets of Bogside, taking a small side road to avoid an army checkpoint ahead. No one spoke. Mick felt his heart hammering so hard in his chest he could almost see it coming through his skin. Martin’s face was stoic, bereft of any emotion as if carve
d from granite. It had been Martin who’d built the bomb Tony had used to kill the soldiers in March. That operation had pleased their IRA superiors, but Mick was certain this operation, whatever it was, hadn’t been approved. Could he use the IRA itself to stop this? Would they step in if he could somehow get a message to them? But with absolutely no details, what could he tell them? He would have to go along for the ride a while yet.
They drove for ten minutes, out to the Buncrana road, which led to the border with Donegal and the Republic of Ireland, just a few short miles away. The sun was darkening now, the light fading into night. After a few minutes, Tony leaned forward and flicked on the radio. The latest manufactured pop hit from England filled the otherwise soundless air in the car. Without any signal, Tony turned off down a side road to a secluded country house and pulled up alongside a white van parked outside. Tony opened the door and ordered the other two men out. Mick wondered how much Martin knew. He certainly wasn’t talking, not that he ever did. Tony walked around to the trunk of the car. He opened it up and pulled out three balaclavas, directing each man to put one on as he pulled on his own. The two men, their faces now hidden, followed him up to the small, unkempt house. Flecks of red paint were peeling off the door, like old skin hanging off an onion, and the windows were unwashed and gray. Tony pushed a key into the lock and led the others inside. The lights were off, but the muffled sound from inside told Mick they weren’t alone. Tony led them into the living room where he flicked on a light, instantly revealing the figure of a man in a blue jumpsuit, tied to a chair. The gag across his mouth was wrapped tight, forcing the flesh on his face back. He hadn’t been beaten or tortured, at least that Mick could make out. The man’s eyes brimmed over with terror as the three men came in, his manic breathing the only sound in the small room. Tony went to him, leaning down into his face until he was only inches away.
“All right, Terrence, I’m going to take off your gag now. Remember, we know where you live, and I’ll be taking one of these charming gentlemen with me to pay a visit to your family as soon as we leave here. If you say anything to anyone, especially any British soldiers or police you might happen to encounter, we’re going to start with your daughter, Tracy, then move onto young Thomas. We’ll save your wife, Jennifer for last. It’s amazing what two, otherwise completely civilized, motivated young men will do. The good news is there won’t be much left of your family to bury and you’ll be able to save on the price of coffins, stuff all the remains into one.”
Terrence’s hysteria spread from his eyes, his whole body bouncing up and down in the wooden chair. His own weight forced him over and Tony let out a laugh before reaching down to right him with strong arms.
“I’m going to untie the gag now. You’re not going to say anything, are you, Terry? I can call you Terry, can’t I?”
Terrence shook his head from side to side almost as if he was having a fit. Tears ran down his cheeks, dabbing the navy blue gag dark.
“I can’t call you Terry? Or do you mean you’re not going to say anything? I’m confused, Terry. Oh sorry, I mean, I’m confused, Terrence.”
Terrence seemed to be shouting under the gag, the words coming through as an incomprehensible muddle. Mick was standing frozen, not quite able to believe what he was seeing.
“Now, joking aside. I’m going to take off the gag. Don’t make a sound. Not one sound.”
Terrence nodded and Tony reached in and took it off. Terrence pulled massive breaths into his lungs. He looked in his mid-forties, balding, with a mustache. There was nothing remarkable about this man. Mick had no idea who he even was. If Mick could talk to him, find out who he was and why Tony wanted him, he might have some chance of stopping this.
“Calm down, Terry. The calmer you are, the better it’ll be for your family. Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to make your usual delivery tonight, just as though nothing was out of the ordinary. My friend here’s going to take you, and then hold you until everything’s over. If you keep your head and do what we say, you’ll have an exciting story to tell your friends about your bravery in the face of republican thugs. If you don’t, you’ll be burying your entire family next week. Do you understand?”
Terrence nodded.
“I want to hear it, Terrence. Tell me.”
“I understand, just don’t hurt my family.”
“That’s entirely up to you.”
Tony turned away from Terrence, still sitting in the wooden chair.
“The kegs are out back, in the shed. I’ll need you two to move them. I’ll be out to help you in a minute. Take the real kegs out of the van and replace them with the ones in the shed. He knows what I’m talking about.” Tony pointed at Martin.
Mick followed Martin outside into the gritty air of the late evening, the leaves on the trees around the house whispering and shuffling in the summer wind. An old shed stood beside the house, an unlocked padlock hanging from the closed door. Martin pulled the door open to reveal about twelve steel beer kegs, stacked up one top of each other in two rows. Martin gestured toward them and picked one up. Mick did the same and followed him out to the van. They began unloading the van, packing the real kegs into the shed, no doubt to be sold later. Tony came out to join them and ten minutes later the van was empty. Without pausing, they reloaded the van with their kegs, packing them in. There seemed no difference between the kegs they’d taken out and the ones they’d loaded.
Neither Mick nor Martin had spoken since they’d arrived at the house. Tony broke the silence again, wiping beads of sweat from his brow.
“I’ll go get our boy inside. Martin, you OK to go down there with him?”
“Aye,” Martin answered.
Tony walked inside. Questions flashed through Mick’s mind - questions he didn’t dare ask.
“Where are you going with this lot?” he ventured.
Martin replied by flicking his eyes at him and then away. Tony reappeared with Terrence, who’d calmed down some.
“All right, Terry, business as usual, my friend here is going to accompany you. “Sorry pal,” he said to Martin. “You’re going to have to lose the balaclava, the other member of our gang not showing means we’re down to a skeleton crew.”
“That’s OK,” Martin muttered and took off the balaclava. “If this bastard rats me out, I’ll have his family killed.”
“It’s not going to come to that though, is it, Terry? Your family are getting out of this healthy, aren’t they?”
“Yes, please, please.”
“No need to beg. Just get into the van and do your job. Let us do ours.”
Tony took Martin aside and whispered something to him. Mick stared at Terrence, trying to figure from looking at him where the hell they were going. There were no markings on the van, nothing on his jumpsuit. He thought to look in the van for a list of merchants they were visiting, pubs or restaurants he delivered to. But as soon as the idea spawned in his mind, Martin came back and climbed into the passenger seat. Terrence got in beside him and started the van. Tony waved them off and the van was gone.
“Time for us to make a house call. Take the mask off before we get in the car.”
Mick didn’t reply, just did as he was told. Melissa and Jason came to him, but only as a ripple in the dark water of his mind and he focused on controlling the nerves boiling inside him. Tony led him over to the car and both men got in. There had to be something in those kegs other than the beer Mick had heard swishing around. Martin was a gifted bomb-maker, but turning kegs into bombs? It was unheard of. But then this was no ordinary operation.
Without knowing the destination, he was powerless. The van would probably arrive by the time Mick got to a phone, and besides, there was no one he could call to have a van stopped. The RUC wouldn’t do that because of an anonymous tip. He had to find out where it was going. Tony started the car and drove back toward the city. Again, the men traveled in silence, the pop music on the radio the only sound. They passed through an army checkpoint with no iss
ues and continued for the ten minutes it took to get back to the city. They went through Bogside and across the river into Waterside, before stopping at a house close to where Melissa lived. Republican sympathizers were scant on this side of the river. Tony went inside for two minutes before emerging with a black plastic bag bulging under the weight of the contents inside, sickening in its familiarity. He placed the bag in the trunk of the car and got back in the driver’s seat.
“Now we’re ready,” he said.
“For what? I’ve still no idea what’s going on.”
“You’re doing great, just hang in there.”
They drove south along the river for a few minutes, shadows joining to form the darkness that was now all around them. Tony turned off into an estate marked off by union jacks flying from the lampposts and red white and blue painted on the sidewalks. Without warning, he pulled off to the side and turned to Mick.
“Here we are. See that house?” He pointed to a red detached house at the end of the street. “That’s where our friend Terrence lives and that’s where we’re going to be for the next few hours, to make sure he keeps his word. Follow me and don’t put the balaclava on until I do.”
The street was empty except for some kids playing football against a wall a few hundred yards away. Many of the men marching in the parade the next day would be from the houses around them. Were they the targets? Was he going to hit the parade itself? Tony ambled beside him, black bag in hand until they came to the house. The lights were on in the front room and Mick could see a woman and teenage girl watching television through the window. Neither seemed to notice as they ducked around the side of the house. Mick followed as Tony climbed over the gate and then crouched down behind him as Tony inched toward the back garden. Tony moved as if he knew exactly where he was going, as if he’d practiced this before. He stopped as they reached the end of the back wall before it extended into the garden. The houses around them were quiet. Mick didn’t know if he wanted anyone to see them or not.