Born & Bred (36 page)

“Steady now. Steady.”

Danny didn’t care. He had been saved, and not just from the cell. He was being given a whole new life and he couldn’t wait to get out and start living it.

The two detectives were waiting by the desk as he signed some papers and retrieved his belongings. They had taken his belt and his shoes.

“Remember, Boyle, that you’re still a material witness and we would like you to remain available in the case that we need to interview you again,” the younger one remarked in a matter-of-fact way.

“Yeah,” the taciturn one joined in. “Don’t go pulling a disappearing act on us. Otherwise we might start thinking the worst of you.”

“Now, Gentlemen,” Davies stepped between them, like a wedge. “His Grace, the Bishop, has personally vouched for Mr. Boyle’s character. So unless you have the required evidence to lay charges, I suggest you go on about your day and let my client go about his.”

He stepped past them and held the door open for Danny and stood with his arm raised like he was pointing the way. Outside, the sun was shining and the world smelled fresh and clean to Danny.

*

Bart and Nora sat by the small altar and watched with tears in their eyes. They even got to touch each other’s fingers. A cold, tingly feeling that stirred old memories.

“Do you need my hanky?” she asked.

“What would I need that for? I just got a bit of dust in my eye. It wouldn’t hurt for them to give this place a good cleaning once in a while.”

“I think it gives the place a nice feel. I like the way smells linger. You can almost smell last Sunday’s crowd.”

“Don’t remind me. Do you think it might be time to get on with ourselves?”

“Not yet,
a stór
. We agreed that I would wait until Danny was safe and sound and I am not going anywhere until then. Sit where you are and say a few prayers for yourself; I am sure you need them.”

Bart sat back. There was no way he could budge her until she was ready. Everything was looked after, but he’d never be able to convince her of that. He lowered his head and let his mind roam free. They’d be a while yet.

*

Anto came to his epiphany sitting alone in his car while he was waiting for the priest. He wasn’t sure at first, but it all became clearer as he watched Danny’s mother cross the street and go up to the priest’s door.

Boyle had been fucking him all along—right up the arse—the little bollocks. That was the thanks he got for not coming down hard when his instincts warned him. That was what he got for even thinking of putting other people first. A mistake that wouldn’t happen again. He started the car and headed back into the city.

When the money was pouring in he had bought a place down near Portmarnock—for when he wanted to retire from the business. Where he could look out his front window and watch the sea until he got bored and found something else to do.

No one knew about it and he could hide out there while he figured out what he was going to do with Danny Boyle—the little fucker who had ratted him out.

He’d be let out in a day or two; his family would use all of their connections.

Anto could wait. Then he’d give Boyle a little lesson in loyalty—just like he did the dog.

Only that made him feel bad, but what else could he do? He didn’t have Danny’s connections. His family had nothing and he’d been left to fend for himself. Fighting back was the only way he could survive.

He’d have to vanish afterwards, though. There was no way he could make it look like someone else had done it. They’d know it was him, but he’d be gone by then. He knew a guy with a boat, not far from his hideout. He could be in England before anybody figured it out.

They’d come after him but he’d have a head start. He knew a few guys from the business. They’d help him out—for a price. They’d help him get to Holland. From there he could vanish and go anywhere he liked. As long as he stayed away from any place there might be Irish—he’d be fine.

He’d started putting the pieces together while he waited. It might take a little while to get a clear shot at Danny. He stopped to call Maguire and told him to keep an eye out for Danny until he heard back.

Maguire was hesitant until Anto offered to pay. Maguire was always a whore but he could trust him. He was too stupid to fuck it up.

*

The Driller was already in hiding in a safe house in Tallaght. No one knew about it so he could lie low there for a while. He’d left a shooter there before—hidden behind the chimney, in the attic. No one would go looking for it there.

There was nothing for it—he had to take Anto out. He couldn’t have him leaking to the police. He’d be done for twenty years when they put all the pieces of his past back together. It bothered him, too. That’s why he had started toking up. It was the only way he could function anymore.

It was the only way he could go out and not be fiddling with the gun in his pocket every time someone walked toward him. He’d nearly pulled the trigger on a bunch of kids on Halloween. They’d jumped out and scared the shite out of him. Fortunately they thought the gun was fake and just laughed at him as they ran off. They had no idea how close he had come to blasting a few of them.

It let him drive, too, without twitching and turning his head toward every noise.

Though he still turned his head to look down side streets and around corners. He could take in a whole street with just one glance. He’d always been like that, even as a kid. That’s what made him so good at what he did.

Except, he didn’t want to do it anymore. He wanted to get out and start up again as someone new. Someone with a different past that would shift and change depending on who he was talking to. It would be easy in America. He could get to start over.

He just had one more thing to do and then he’d take the ruddy-faced man’s advice and vanish.

Anto was predictable. He did everything in a very dramatic fashion. It had worked for him in keeping everyone in line but now it was going to be his undoing. The Driller just had to keep his ear to the ground. Anto would never go after Boyle himself; he’d hire somebody to do that for him.

He’d be in hiding, too. Probably in that place he had up near Portmarnock. The Driller had never been but he knew about it. He could keep secrets, as long as it suited him.

Maguire! He’d know if there was a hit called. He was like the old women in the post office—the ones that listened in on everyone’s calls. You just had to know how to get him talking. And when he was open for business.

Maguire feared him more than Anto. Everyone did. He’d shot his first at sixteen. He still remembered it. He’d been all juiced up on indignity. The Army had broken up the “Free Bogside” and the Brits were harassing everybody. He fired from a distance, the rifle almost breaking his shoulder. He fired more to frighten them rather than hit any of them. They were all so small at the other end of his sights.

The shot echoed around the flats, even after he dropped the gun down the shaft and ran for the stairs. They would be running for cover and he had a few minutes to get down to his flat and hide inside. If you hung about they might start firing back and that would turn the whole place into a war zone. He was just sending them a warning shot—to remind them they were in the Bogside. Free or not, their type wasn’t wanted.

By the time he stripped off to his underwear, and dove under his covers, he knew one of them had been hit. It was even on the news. He was a young black guy, from Brixton. He had probably only joined for a chance to get ahead in life but he had no right to come marching through the Bogside like he owned it. He should have known that, growing up in Brixton.

He did feel bad when he heard that Brixton had died. He had been hoping all night, and not just for his own sake. He was hoping that Brixton would make it through, even if he shouldn’t have been where he was.

The second one was the execution of someone who was telling tales out of school. He had begged for his life but he died anyway. Orders were orders and the Driller had a growing reputation to live up to. In time, he got his name for kneecapping. That was when they wanted to send a warning without actually killing someone even though most of them would have preferred to be killed. Walking around without kneecaps made you into a leper. No one wanted anything more to do with you after that.

Sometimes, when he toked too much, they all came back to haunt him. When they started to show up, even when he wasn’t high, he got worried and moved to Dublin, for the rest. But he got bored and the rest, as they say, was history.

Maguire knew it well, Anto used to retell it every time he was laying down the law—his version of it.

The Driller caught up with Maguire behind the Classic, where no one ever bothered to look. He was reluctant at first but soon saw sense. He agreed to keep an eye on Boyle for a hundred and a bonus if he heard anything of Anto.

The Driller could trust Maguire. He was terrified of him.

*

After the Driller pulled away, Maguire stood in the shadows and smiled. He was making money hand-over-fist.

And he was getting rid of them all; Anto, Boyle, and the Driller. Then he could take over and run things properly. He’d be a lot more careful, though. His trip to the mountains had left a deep impression on him. He still nearly shit whenever he thought about it.

That was Anto’s mistake. He got too big, too fast, and started to bump shoulders with the type of people it was better to avoid. Maguire wouldn’t make that mistake.

He’d make different ones—like not noticing the car that was parked across the street.

It had been there while the Driller and Maguire were talking and waited until they were gone before starting up and drifting off into the night with four shadowy men inside.

CHAPTER 19

“Are you Grainne Fallon’s sister?”

She was standing at the bus stop, looking for all the world like a student as Martin passed. “It’s me, Martin Carroll—Danny’s uncle. I used to know your sister and Johnny.”

He almost didn’t recognize her. She had cut her hair to her shoulders and looked like a very serious young woman, bound and determined. He had remembered her as a gangly teen who followed Grainne around like a shadow, aping everything her older sister did. Martin always took time to talk with her but was always careful not to give her any reason to develop any type of feelings toward him.

It had happened with Grainne, before she met Johnny.

That was when Martin realized he was the way he was. And no matter how he tried to explain it, Grainne didn’t understand so they avoided each other after that.

Perhaps it was because he was back home, but he felt a need to explain himself to his past.

Or at least those parts of himself that he wanted to show. No one knew about him and David, but at the same time he wanted to address the wrongs of his past. He was getting into karma in a big way and wanted to do a bit of a cleanup.

That was one of the reasons that he had taken Danny for burgers and chips for old times, and it wasn’t long before he saw his nephew’s childhood face smiling back at him.

**

As far as his sisters were concerned, the jury was still out on Danny. Jacinta was assured of his innocence but the rest of his sisters were holding their verdicts—just waiting to see. “He seems like he is trying to mend his ways but you never know with the young ones of today.”

It was all so predictable and he wasn’t sure he could tolerate it anymore. But he had to be careful, too, and not speak his mind too openly—they’d say he had turned “American” and he had enough of a problem correcting them. “Canadian,” he’d explain and they’d just look at him like he was being a bit persnickety.

“What’s it really like?” Danny had been reading all the stuff the embassy sent him.

“What’s what like?”

“Toronto.”

“It’s great. You’ll love it.”

“Don’t you miss Ireland at all?”

Of course he did. Sometimes he’d dress as straight as he could and go to the Irish bars alone. David was upset at first until he realized it was just homesickness. It got to them all—sooner or later.

“Did you get all the paperwork in?”

“I did. I already told you that.”

Martin couldn’t help it and searched for any flickers, but his nephew was in earnest. He should support him in that. “How did you manage to get the clearance from the cops?”

“Davies. He asked them to provide it and when they got a bit stroppy, he just told them that he didn’t want to have to look into laying charges for them falsely arresting me.”

“You’re not going to be doing anything stupid like that when you get to Canada?”

Danny looked pained as he explained. “I won’t. I’ve learned my lesson. I want to go straight and start over.”

“Well you’re coming to the right place. We can get you a job no problem. There are a lot of Irish bars in Toronto and they are always looking for musicians. They even pay, too.”

“What kind of music, though? I don’t want to be playing shite like ‘When Irish Eyes are Smiling.’”

“They are going to make you sing it when you get off the plane.”

“You’re having me on, right?”

“It’s that or ‘Here I Am from Paddy’s Land.’”

“What kind of place are you bringing me to?”

“A place where you can make a new life for yourself. If you’re serious about it?”

“Trust me, Martin. I’ve never been more serious in my life.”

“I believe you.”

He did. Danny had fucked his life up so badly that even he could see it was time to straighten out. He wasn’t a bad kid—he was more the unfortunate kind. Sure he made some dumb-assed decisions, but he didn’t really get the direction he needed. None of them did. All they ever got were mixed messages. David used to joke that the Irish were the products of negative reinforcement—all of them.

“Do you, really?”

“I do, Danny, I never gave up on you.” Despite the way Danny felt about everybody else, Martin knew his opinion still really mattered to him.

Danny looked like he might cry for a moment so Martin changed the subject. He had to remember, men here still didn’t talk openly about their feelings.