Running on Empty (25 page)

‘Fuck you’

‘Charming’ he responded, getting back to his cleaning.

Pat checked his watch.

‘Right, it’s time to get to our positions. Everyone got their phones, charged I hope?’

They nodded. He turned to Shay and Dan.

‘You know what to do lads. The keys are in the tractor. I’d suggest the fork in the road, where it leads to O’Hara’s farm, is the best place. They won’t know if you’re from here or there, and that might lessen their suspicion. I’ll be spotting from the wind turbines in the other field. Hopefully Grainne will have an ID on the cars by then. Robbie, you position yourself in the fairy fort near the shore. It’s the only piece of elevated ground around. It’ll make a good vantage point. Grainne, I want you to take Tom on that high powered sewing machine of yours. Head out by Dromore West. If they’re coming from Knock, they’ll be approaching from the other direction. Find a nice little quiet lane there and park up. Let me know if you get the car details. I’ll be in contact when it’s all over. I’ll call you GF if it’s safe to return. Only come back here if I call you GF, ok? Otherwise, turn that bike of yours around and head for somewhere far away, Dublin maybe’.

He turned to Tom.

‘This Lowanski guy, describe him’.

‘He’s about five ten, grey tight cropped hair, and built like a brick outhouse, why?’

‘Oh, just wondering’ answered Pat.

‘By the way, I meant to tell you, about Lowanski?

I think he and a couple of his cronies roughed up your friend Sally. She’s ok, a bit the worse for wear, but ok. I have some friends keeping an eye on her now. No more harm will come to her. Anyway, you two better get moving. You’ve work to do and so have we. Hopefully we’ll meet up soon, but if not, watch your back’.

Pat turned and headed out through the open door, the rest following behind. Grainne donned her motorcycle helmet, threw her rucksack over her shoulders and her leg over the powerful machine, gesturing to Tom to climb aboard as she kicked the engine into life. As they powered along the lane, Tom glanced back towards the old cottage and surrounding area. The sight he saw appeared slightly bizarre, as his uncle made his way across the fields towards the windmills, a ladder in one hand, and a sniper rifle in the other. When they reached the road, they took a left, heading towards Dromore West.

Jesus, she doesn’t half shift this thing,
thought Tom, hanging onto Grainne’s waist as they sped along the road. The bar where he’d met his uncle the previous night passed by in a blur. Within minutes they reached Dromore West, and took another left. Two miles out, they turned off the road onto a single lane track heading up into the Ox Mountains. The lane was only about six feet wide, but still she didn’t drop her speed, until they pulled to a sharp stop.

‘This’ll do’, she said, climbing off and removing her helmet.

Tom dis-mounted, his legs slightly unsteady. She had driven so fast, Tom reckoned Pat was still walking towards the windmills with that ladder he was carrying. She removed her tobacco and lighter from her jacket, rolled a cigarette and lit up, before passing them to Tom.

‘It’s going to piss buckets’ she said absently, looking to the sky.

‘Huh?’

‘Oh, I mean it’s going to rain heavily pretty soon’.

Tom looked to the leaden sky, not really sure what he was supposed to be looking for. Then suddenly, without warning, the heavens opened, and giant freezing droplets of rain began cascading down. Grainne quickly scanned the area.

‘Look, there’s a shed over there. Let’s go’ she shouted, pointing to an old stone, tin roofed ruin. They ran.

On reaching the door, Tom frowned. It was secured with a rusty chain and an even more decrepit lock. He was about to remark this fact to Grainne, but before he got the chance, she had already kicked the door in and was making her way inside.

‘Maybe we shouldn’t be in here’ he said dubiously.

Grainne gave Tom a look as if he was some form of simpleton.

‘Needs must’ she answered.

Tom scanned the old house. It looked as if the person who had lived here fifty or sixty years ago, had just rose from the chair by the old table that stood against one wall, walked out the door, locked it, and never returned.

‘Who lived here?’ Tom wondered.

‘Who knows’ answered Grainne, ‘who cares’.

‘No but I mean, why would they just up and go, leaving all their worldly possessions behind?’ Tom asked.

Grainne scanned the room.

‘Worldly possessions? Not exactly a treasure trove of priceless artifacts, are they?’

Tom had to agree. Peeling paint on the walls, a Sacred Heart picture hanging out of its broken frame, a few blackened pots and pans, and assorted chipped and grubby crockery. Nobody was going to make a fortune having a garage sale of these items.

‘Anyway’ she continued, ‘maybe they up and left for the good old USA. Maybe their offspring are at this moment heading towards the old cottage of Pats, hoping to top you’.

Tom frowned. Grainne realized she was being a bit flippant.

‘Sorry Tom, the mouth tends to engage before the brain sometimes. I’d say what probably happened here was what happens most times in these situations. Elderly bachelor or spinster living alone passes away, and their niece or nephew or whoever’s next of kin get willed the place and just locks it up and forgets about it’.

‘Why are there so many old ruins of houses still standing’ he continued. ‘Why does nobody seem to knock the old places down when they become uninhabited?’

‘Why bother? She counters. ‘It’d take time and effort to demolish these old places, plus the fact that they sometimes end up being used for cattle, or storage, or whatever. And besides, give them a hundred years or so, and the elements will do the demolishing for you’.

Grainne began searching the old cottage, coming back with a few broken pieces of timber, and some paper. She went outside, dipped a rag into the petrol tank of her motorbike, and returned. She then began setting a fire in the old grate, using the petrol sodden rag to help it ignite. Within minutes there was a crackling fire burning in the hearth.

‘The rain has stopped outside, but my jeans are soaked through, and I’d imagine everything you’re wearing is wet, so better get ‘em off and we’ll try and get dry’.

And with that, she began removing her jeans. Tom tried to avert his eyes, but couldn’t take them off her shapely legs.

‘Hey lover boy, this isn’t a peep show. Get your kit off before you catch phenomena. I don’t want uncle Pat to chew me out because I let you die when I was supposed to be protecting you’.

‘Uncle Pat, does that mean we’re cousins?’

‘Hell no, he’s not my real uncle. I just call him that because he helped look after me when my father died’.

It didn’t dawn on him as to why, but Tom felt definite relief on hearing this. He began to strip off, until he stood in just his underwear.

‘What the fuck are those’ exclaimed Grainne, pointing to his boxers.

Tom looked down. He hadn’t realized before, but printed on the shorts were multiple images of Santa and his reindeer, flying through the sky with a sleigh full of presents, and smiling children standing in the street.

‘Oh, these aren’t mine, they’re Pats’.

‘You’re wearing someone else’s underwear?’

‘Needs must’ he answered.

Grainne looked at him curiously, before removing the laptop from her rucksack, and powering up.

‘Shit, bad signal’ she exclaimed. ‘These thick stone walls are a pig for blocking out the signal sometimes. I’ll have to brave the elements and go outside. At least the rain has stopped’. And with that she stood up, still in her underwear, and walked out the door.

‘Hi Pat, it’s Grainne. Two Nissan Pathfinders, one silver, one navy. Reg numbers 11 SO 4335 and 11 SO 3433, collected thirty minutes ago, so you can expect visitors in maybe thirty minutes. Yes, fine here, no problems, good luck, talk soon’. Grainne sprinted back into the shack, clutching the laptop in one hand, and her cell phone in the other.

‘Jesus it’s cold’ she said as she crouched down by the fire, rubbing her hands together. As she squatted, their bare legs touched together briefly, sending a tingling sensation shooting through Tom’s spine.

‘Your pursuers should be there in thirty minutes or so, so half an hour before the shit hits the fan.

‘Why are they after you anyway, or don’t you want to elaborate?’

Tom sighed.

‘You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to’ she repeated.

‘No, it’s not a problem’ he answered. ‘You and the others are putting yourselves at risk to help me, so I think you deserve to know why. It’s a long story, which took place over a short space of time. Basically, I work… worked, for a government agency, desk work mostly. Last Monday, I was sent out on my first field trip. It was supposed to be routine, meeting a guy to gather information. I was kept out of the meeting itself, out of the loop, so to speak. However, through pure fluke, I witnessed my boss, Lowanski, in the company of his boss, a guy called Fielding, murder this contact by stabbing him in the back of the skull. I don’t know how they found out I’d seen this, but they did somehow. That evening, an attempt was made to kill me, but they killed my girlfriend Christine instead. I went on the run with nothing. A homeless girl, Sally, befriended me, and basically helped me to get away. The only person I could think of who would possibly be unknown to them was my uncle Pat here in Ireland. I’ve had no contact with him in the past, apart from when he came over for my father’s funeral a couple of weeks ago. And those, as they say, are the bones of my story’.

‘Christ’.

Grainne remained thoughtful for a few moments, mulling it over.

‘Do you know why they murdered the contact?’ she continued.

‘Not a clue. The only thing I can come up with is that there’s some sort of organization within the organization I worked for, an unofficial group working with a hidden agenda. Otherwise, why would they be after me to shut me up?’

‘And this girl Sally, the one that helped you, is she the one Pat was referring to that was badly beaten up?’

‘Yes, that’s her’.

‘Hell Tom, I don’t mean to be flippant, but you’re not having too much luck with the ladies lately, are you?’

Tom slowly shook his head, staring into the fire. He looked forlorn in the flickering light, thought Grainne. Seeing he was upset, she put a comforting arm around him, drawing him to her.

‘I’m sorry Tom. I’m sorry for the situation you find yourself in, and I’m sorry for upsetting you. I did warn you that my mouth engages before my brain sometimes’ she said softly.

As Tom lifted his head, and Grainne turned down to look at him, their lips brushed briefly. Tom felt his spine tingling once more as Grainne moved her lips back into contact with his, and they kissed. Suddenly, Tom pulled back.

He took hold of her arms, and looked her in the eyes.

‘Listen, you want to keep well clear of me’ he ordered.

‘Why?’

‘You said it yourself. As far as women are concerned, I’m a fucking Jonah’ he answered in a sad voice.

An awkward silence followed. Eventually, in order to break the quietness, Tom spoke.

‘So, when did your father pass away?’ he asked absently.

‘Oh, a long time ago. I was about a year old. I only know of him rather than knew him really’.

‘I take it the way Pat described him, he was a republican, right?’

‘Yeah, fighting for the cause’ she answered, a slight hint of sarcasm in her voice. ‘The funny thing was, he wasn’t even Irish’.

‘No?’

‘He was actually born in Paris’

‘Yeah, when?’

‘Nineteen fifty three. He was adopted, so I really can’t be sure what mixture of blood is flowing through my veins’.

‘What month?’

‘Huh?’

‘Do you know what month he was born?’

‘December, why?’

‘Oh, just curious. Do you know where he was adopted from, the orphanage?’

‘It was a place called ‘Fondation d’Auteuil’, why? You seem very interested in my father’.