Conna in Crisis & The Marriage of Ulick (8 page)

‘Back to the fucking drawing board; we’re not giving up that easily.’

Jody turned the boat around and headed back to base.

*

M
adame found Director Crat in an angry mood. He waved a printout of an email from the Commissioner.

‘I asked him for a thousand troops and he’s only prepared to increase my present squad to twenty: he has no idea of the problems I have here. Says we have to cultivate the good will of our subjects.’

She clucked sympathetically. ‘I trust you will appeal to the Council, Director?’

‘I most certainly will.’

She smiled to herself—not for the first time. Where did he expect to billet a thousand troops in such a small town? And what about the cost?

She changed the subject.

‘Director, what are you going to do about the court verdict?’

‘I’ve lodged an appeal with the High Court and asked the Commissioner to issue a directive transferring the power to implement Directives to me. These matters have nothing to do with the Courts; the imbecile judges don’t understand the purpose and fairness of our carefully drawn up Directives.’

‘What are you going to do about Joyc?’

‘He’s the kingpin; he’s got to be removed. I’ve issued a summons charging him with violation of Public Order Directive 78643. There’s a mandatory minimum sentence of thirty days in jail. That will take care of him for a while.’

He paused. ‘Have you found an excuse to close down the restaurant run by his mistress?’

‘I’m still working on it, Director: I can’t compare prices with other restaurants in the town because there aren’t any.’

‘There are many restaurants in Galway city.’

‘That is true Director, but we cannot bring Galway into the reckoning just yet.’

‘I will ask the Commissioner to extend our area of responsibility.’

*

U
naware he was scheduled to don a yellow suit with arrows painted on it; Ulick joined Ozzy for a quiet drink in Paulo’s. They were surrounded by unhappy farmers looking at the miserable amounts now being received.

“We’re getting less now than from the CAP and we have to beg for it.” one complained loudly.

‘He’s got twenty troops to back him up,’ another added.

‘Much good that will do him; the locals refused them accommodation. They are being put up in the army barracks in Galway.’

When Paulo served their drinks, Ulick leaned towards him and lowered his voice.

‘I hear we have a monster in the lake.’

‘Shush,’ Paulo cautioned, ’not yet.’

‘Is there any chance we’ll have him before the annual march?’

Paulo temporised. ’I hope so. Is it true you are hiring the Gulliver model for the day?’

‘Yes. Martin Sandys is arranging transport for us. We’ll need eight strong men to move him along: he’s nearly sixty feet tall.’

‘Will you follow the usual route?’

‘We will that; assemble at the Maam Cross end and march through the town to the carnival field beside Ned’s line. O’Duffy’s carnival is coming again this year.’

Martin Sandys joined them.

‘Thanks for all your help with the funeral.’

‘It was a well deserved tribute to a great lady,’ Paulo replied.

‘That’s what friends are for.’ Ulick remarked. ‘What are you drinking?’

‘The drinks are on me, Paulo,’ he announced turning to Ulick.

‘How are we going to get that little hoor out of our town?’

‘It’s not going to be easy; he has the might of Brussels behind him.’

‘There has to be a way, Ulick.’

‘I agree, but we haven’t found it yet.’

‘I do hear,’ Martin grinned wickedly, ‘That you’re a regular visitor at the Haven.’

Ulick was unfazed, but not prepared to give any information. He merely smiled. ‘I have to look after my clients.’

‘Some fucking clients,’ Martin remarked.

‘I do hear they’re nuns,’ Paulo remarked.

‘Some fucking nuns,’ Martin grinned.

With that, Madame entered, stood at the far end of the bar and addressed Paulo.

‘Barman, be good enough to serve me a large whiskey with water.’

Paulo did as ordered.

She cast her eyes towards Ulick and Martin but they rested on Ozzy who was petrified. She marched towards him, her usual iron expression softening into a smile.

‘Ozzy, you haven’t come for your stipend?’

Not knowing what to do, he smiled innocently.

They were interrupted by the noisy entrance of Crat, waving a poster in his right hand.

‘Is Joyc here?’ he demanded angrily.

Madame turned back to Ozzy; he was gone.

‘Where is Ozzy?’ she demanded while Crat approached Ulick.

‘Ozzy, who’s he?’ Ulick asked.

‘You saw him—he was standing right beside you.’ she accused.

Ulick shook his head. ‘You must be seeing things.’

‘No, I am not seeing things.’ She screamed.

Crat stood before Ulick and waved the poster in his face.

‘What is the meaning of this?’ he demanded.

Ulick took the poster; it was one of many, advertising the annual celebration march.

‘What’s your problem? We hold this march every year.’

‘You have not applied for my permission,’ he roared at him.

‘So, we have to have your permission?’

‘Yes.’

Ulick shrugged. ’Is that all? I’ll apply tomorrow.’

‘Too late. Under Directive 64859 your application should have been submitted to me in triplicate a month ago.’ He paused. ‘This march will not take place.’

Martin Sandys saw red.

‘Now you listen here to me Mr. Crap, Crat or whatever you call yourself. This march will take place as scheduled and you would be very unwise to try to prevent it.’

‘I will deploy my troops if I have to,’ he screamed.

‘You do that.’

He marched out of the bar followed by a very puzzled Madame.

*

M
aggot Murphy was extremely distressed when he arrived at Ulick’s office; so much so that, first of all, he was put sitting down and handed a whiskey. The heavily built youngish town butcher was normally well known for his wit and affability: not today.

‘Ulick,’ he began when his speech returned, ‘That bloody bitch—Madame Ass or whatever they call her—has closed me down. Says the premises are in breach of some bloody Directive or other. What am I going to do?’

‘Let me look into it, Maggot.’

He rang through to his secretary.

‘Get me a copy of the Directive under which Maggot was closed down—it will be on the Internet.’

*

T
oby Moore really enjoyed his work at the Haven. He supervised the six ground staff and paid their wages—in cash—every Friday at noon. On Thursdays they cleaned the pool; Friday mornings they trimmed the lawns and tidied up the grounds. Toby drove into Conna and collected the week’s groceries and drink list in Paulo’s. They left, as did Toby, at noon and did not return until Monday morning.

Some things puzzled him; that wouldn’t be difficult. On Mondays the house was very quiet; the ladies—he couldn’t call them nuns—were resting or, as they said themselves, meditating. They took turns to fly to London or Paris later in the week. They returned with lots of shopping bags. Oddly enough, he was allowed drive them to and from the airport, but his offer to do the Friday and Sunday runs was politely refused.

Living in the midst of so many beauties was a bit trying for a randy young man with his reputation. Ali, the tan coloured beautiful little Tunisian, he found particularly attractive, although he wouldn’t have refused any of them. She was in charge of the kitchen, always wearing very short dresses; was it just whenever he was around? It was obvious she liked him, making the coffee when he arrived in the mornings and, on occasion, inviting him to lunch.

One Wednesday afternoon when most of the others were away, he arrived back from Conna to find her swimming alone in the pool. He stood at the side admiring her; she swam close and looked up at him.

‘You’re beautiful, Ali,’ he breathed.

She smiled up at him. ‘Toby, fetch my towel.’

When she left the pool he put the towel around her and began to dry her back.

‘Take me upstairs,’ she grinned.

‘That I will.’ He lifted her up and carried her towards the stairs. Woofy, who was nodding off by the pool, raised her head and nodded understandingly.

Toby carried her down the long blue carpeted hallway to her luxuriously furnished bedroom overlooking the sea. She giggled happily, pulling down his head to kiss him.

At this time, Dandaboy, the other observer, left—in disgust. So, it seems nuns do after all.

Later, driving home, a very happy Toby realised that Ali told him she came from Tunisia, but that’s all she told him. However, she wanted to know all about him. When he was leaving she looked up at him with those big shining seductive eyes and said: ‘You will come again.’

‘That you may count on.’

*

A
fter careful consultation with Ulick, Battler submitted his “crap list” as he called it. Crat examined it thoroughly handed him another list.

‘Complete this list in triplicate and submit it to me one week from today.’

He then made out a voucher and put it on the table before his less than admiring subject. It was for 425 euro.

Battler picked it up.

‘What the fuck is this about? I spent my 500 euro.’

Crat didn’t even look up.

‘On Sunday last your were observed fishing on the lake where you caught four brown trout. I estimate their worth at 75 euro. Good day.’

He rose—infuriated. ‘Did your snivelling informer not tell you I donated those trout to the Clinic in Moycullen?’

‘That’s not relevant.’

‘One of these days you won’t be relevant.’

He made his way to Ulick’s office.

‘What are we going to do with that little bastard?’

He shook his head in dismay. ‘I don’t know.’

*

S
etanta wandered around the house; Ulick had travelled into Galway to see Frankie Carney. Ella was busily running her restaurant and home baking shop. He heard a noise outside. Looking out the window he observed a number of Crat’s troops closing in on the house. He didn’t like this.

‘Dan Dan,’ he called.

Dandaboy was there in an instant.

‘What we going to do?’ Setanta asked him.

‘We go for run in the country.’

‘How we going to get out of here?’ Setanta asked as the troops came closer.

Dandaboy smiled. ‘We go out back door; cross wooden bridge over river and head for Maam Cross. Come, we go.’

He opened the back door quietly, put his hand on Setanta’s back making him invisible. They passed through the closing cordon and crossed the rickety bridge over the river. Standing on the other side, looking back at the invaders about to enter the house, Dandaboy had a wicked thought; he took his hand off Setanta’s back and whistled to attract their attention.

They turned and charged towards the bridge. Four of them tried to cross together. By the time they reached the centre it was shaking violently—then it collapsed and, with loud shouts and some bad words, they disappeared into the rushing waters below.

Setanta was very impressed. ’That was a good one Dan Dan; hop up on my back and we’ll go for a chase in the country.’

Off they galloped. The troops weren’t giving up that easily. Racing to their cars they drove around to the main road and took off after them. At the same time they alerted some of their colleagues in Maam Cross to drive towards Conna, thus trapping Setanta. Their orders were not to come back without the wild animal.

Two miles from Conna—with three cars in hot pursuit—Dandaboy told Setanta to turn down a narrow—rocky, pot-holed—road that ran towards the lake. The cars had to slow down. Setanta raced along the grass margin, but he was getting tired. Dandaboy waved his tiny hand and a great fog descended on the area. Their pursuers had to stop and follow on foot. Directed by Dandaboy, Setanta headed across the bogs. He slowed to a walk.

‘That was a good one Dan Dan,’ He panted.

In the distance they could hear their pursuers using very bad words when they stumbled into bog holes.

Dandaboy grinned. ‘Let’s go home.’

*

U
nder the watchful eye of Madame, Maggot opened his shop. Taking his stick of chalk, he would normally write up his prices on the front window; this morning he wrote “Maggot’s ram is losing it—no longer held on a tight rein—all offerings gratefully accepted.” By the time his first customer, Ella, arrived, he had placed a box on the counter marked “Offerings.”

‘What can I get you Ella?’ he asked, watching Madame enter the shop.

‘Six nice lamb chops, Maggot, if you please and a bone for Setanta,’ she smiled.

He took a leg of lamb from the freezer.

‘Isn’t it great weather we’re having; we could do with a few tourists. I don’t know where they’re going, but they’re not coming to Connemara.’

He cut up the chops and weighed them. Then he added a large bone. Madame watched closely while Ella took out her purse.

‘How much, Maggot?’ she asked.

He grinned.

‘I’m no longer selling meat but, if you wish, you can put an offering in the box.’

Ella, aware Madame was standing behind her, was getting the picture. She took out a 10 euro note.’

‘Would this be enough?’ she asked holding her hand over the box.

‘Whatever you say, Ella,’ he handed over her parcel.

‘Jane will be over with the order for the restaurant shortly.’

‘That’s fine, I’ll look after her.’

She smiled and departed. He made a little note in his note book—I owe Ella 2 euro.

Madame marched forward and screamed at him.

‘What do you mean selling meat? I closed down these premises. Close immediately or I will call in the guards.’

He smiled at her. ’As you can see, if you still have that capacity, I no longer sell meat. So, your Directive doesn’t apply to these premises.’

She wasn’t for turning.

‘I say the Directive applies: I am the law here; close these premises immediately.’

Two more customers arrived; Battler Barry was one of them.