The Parting Glass (45 page)

“First boat lands, you take it with Slim. Unload everything you can into the first truck. You do the last boat, too. Then you ride shotgun.”

Liam knew the plan was not to drive the first truck to the warehouse, which might be watched, but to a restaurant in Lakewood owned by somebody who owed McNulty a favor. The first truck had Finegan’s Fruit Company painted on the sides. The crates of “fruit” would reside in the restaurant’s defunct wine cellar overnight until they could be delivered to a variety of speakeasies. Two other businesses would get truckloads two and three, and finally a funeral parlor would be similarly blessed with a crop of brand-new and surprisingly heavy caskets from the fourth truck.

“Where are
you
going to be?” Liam asked.

“Delivering the money.” Jerry patted the inside of his coat. “Making sure we got everything we was paid for. I’ll be counting what you bring back, but they’ll have to come ashore to get their money. I’m not taking any chances on getting shanghaied.”

Jerry might not be the brightest of McNulty’s men, but Liam figured he was the most loyal. “Just watch your back,” Liam said.

“Yeah, I know.” Jerry peered into the darkness. “Okay, get going. Slim will take you out.”

The plan was to use a small motorized skiff to get out to the larger boats. Two others of McNulty’s men had brought them here just after dark. The moment Liam boarded the larger of the two, both were pushed out, and in a moment they were on their way. The crew of the Canadian boat started handing over the crates before they’d even finished tying the skiff to the cruiser. The men on board were silent and grim, and from the swift and efficient way they worked, Liam would have known they were pros, even if McNulty hadn’t dealt with them half a dozen times before. He was speeding back to shore before his back could begin to ache.

Jerry helped pull them in. He counted crates, using a crowbar to pry off lids on random samples to make sure they contained what they were supposed to. A couple of bottles were opened and sampled. By the time he’d finished with their load and okayed it for the truck, the second skiff was back.

Most of the next hour was spent going back and forth to the boats, loading and unloading, packing the crates of whiskey and scotch into containers appropriate for the businesses inscribed on each truck. The first truck was ready to leave for its destination, as was the second, but the men lingered to make sure there were no problems until the deal was complete. The first two boats had already left for their return voyage.

When it was time for the skiff’s final run out to the third boat, Liam went with Slim and silently unloaded the crates that were handed down to him. Then he motioned to a crew member. “You the fellow who’s collecting the money?”

“No.” The man turned, and in a moment the captain, silver-haired and stocky, came to the side.

“I’m the one you’re looking for.”

Liam figured a good percentage of the money must have been paid up front when McNulty made the deal. Now it was time to fork over the rest.

“My man’s on shore,” Liam said. “We’ll take you there and bring you right back.”

“Better not be any funny stuff. These guys’ll have guns pointed on you. Besides, McNulty ever wants another drop from Canada, you’ll pay up just the way you said.”

“I think the guy with the money is afraid of the water,” Liam said. “He’s a big fella, he’d float, but he’s not too sure of himself.”

“Let’s make it quick, before the rain starts.”

Liam couldn’t have agreed more. So far, things had gone without a hitch, but the longer this took, the more chance of trouble.

The captain climbed over the side into the skiff, and Slim set out for shore. Jerry was waiting where the ground was firm, and the captain jumped out and headed toward him the moment the boat made shallow water.

He addressed Jerry from several yards away. “You did your check?”

“I did.” Jerry reached into the inside of his jacket and pulled out a wad of bills. “Count it. S’all there.”

The captain grabbed the money and riffled through the bills. Liam had never seen so many in one place. His mouth was suddenly dry. He could think of a hundred things to do with all that money that didn’t include giving it to the Canadians.

“Looks okay.” The captain nodded in affirmation just as the heavens opened and the storm erupted overhead.

Jerry cursed, pulling his jacket over his head for protection. Around him, the other men were doing the same. “Slim’ll take you back out. Make it quick.”

The captain carefully pocketed the money, and the two men shook hands. The captain turned back toward the skiff.

Lights flashed from the road above them, and a voice bleated into the storm, “We got you surrounded. Hands up, and don’t move!”

“Shit!” Jerry spoke for them all.

Liam’s gaze jerked through the curtain of falling rain toward the lake. Out on the water he saw lights that hadn’t been there before. Two boats were closing in on the remaining Canadian vessel and the skiffs. The raid was coordinated. No one had simply happened upon them.

“Scatter!” Liam knew better than to stay and face the coast guard or the booze agents. Captured, he faced deportation or jail. If he was sent back to Ireland, he faced the gallows. Better to die here.

He dove headfirst into the scrub behind him, hoping that even though that put him temporarily closer to the men who wanted to arrest him, it also made him less of a target. The storm would provide some protection. Around him, he heard the others racing for parts unknown, the scuffling of feet, the muttering of oaths.

Shots were fired, and one bullet sprayed sand just in front of him. He crawled farther into the brush, finding his way one hand and knee at a time. He was moving as fast as he could, slipping and sliding, away from the gunshots and the agents who were brandishing lights, but he was sure he wasn’t moving fast enough. At some point he would have to crouch and run, hoping he wasn’t spotted until he could reach firmer ground and sprint to freedom.

Someone crashed through brush close to him, and for a moment he thought the chase was over and he was going to be forced to fight. Then he caught a glimpse of silver hair and broad shoulders and realized the Canadian captain was making his escape in the same direction. The man was so intent on finding his way through the brush and the pounding rain that he didn’t see Liam. Liam kept him in sight, letting the captain blaze the trail and brave a first hail of bullets if one came, but the man’s instincts were unerring. He zigged and zagged through the thickest cover. Yards and seconds to his rear, Liam followed in his footsteps.

Behind him, Liam heard shouts and scuffling. Overhead, lightning split the sky, followed immediately by a lion’s roar of thunder. More gunfire erupted, and he winced. He was armed, as were all McNulty’s gang, but he had no intention of turning fire on faceless men. He told himself that was simple humanity and nothing to do with the fact that one of those men might be his cousin. He pushed forward, keeping the captain in his sight and leaving the gunfire farther behind.

He didn’t know how far they’d gone when the captain slowed, then stopped. The shouts and the lights were well behind them now, but the rain was heavier, a solid black sheet. Through no particular plan or instinct, it seemed they had made a good stab at escape, although they weren’t yet out of danger.

The captain seemed to realize this, too. As Liam watched, the man paused a moment, then reached inside his jacket and stooped, both simultaneously. Then, as he watched, the captain straightened and started off through the thicket again. Intrigued, Liam planned to follow when the man had gained twenty yards, but shouts deterred him.

“We got you, mister. Don’t move, don’t even flinch.”

Liam took one step into deeper cover. He realized he was trembling, although from exertion, chill or reaction he couldn’t have said. He drew his gun and waited, but nobody appeared.

“Hands over your head. Look, Jake, we got a real rumrunner here.”

The captain was in custody, and Liam knew the chance that the men would come this way was excellent. He looked for a better place to hide. There was a depression just below the knob where he stood. A large tree had been uprooted and lay on its side across a shallow pit. He edged his way back to it and crawled silently and cautiously underneath, lying parallel to and beneath the trunk. Rain sluiced over him, and he knew the water surrounding him was probably rising. The hole was shallow enough that eventually it would fill completely. Before it did, of course, he would drown.

He wondered which would be worse, hanging or drowning? The rain drummed against the trunk of the tree and echoed all around him. From this hiding place, nothing else was audible, just the drumming and sloshing of Heaven’s floodgates draining into the sanctuary where he lay.

He wondered if Glen had been in on this raid, and how the Treasury agents had got their information. Somebody in McNulty’s confidence had talked, but whom? McNulty would never rest until he found out. And what if somehow McNulty discovered that Liam was a relative of Glen Donaghue’s? At that point Liam would be the prime suspect, even though he hadn’t even known about the haul until McNulty’s pep talk at the warehouse. But McNulty might think that Liam had wormed it out of someone, Jerry, perhaps, or someone else higher up than he was. Liam was doomed if McNulty ever discovered his connection to Glen.

Liam told himself not to throw stones at a dead dog. There was no use worrying about something that was never going to happen. Only he and Father McSweeney knew the truth, and why would the Father tell anybody?

The water was rising. The night had been warm enough, but it had cooled as the storm moved in. Now the rain felt like melted snow sliding under his collar and seeping up his arms. He wondered how long he had lain here already and how much longer he should stay?

He closed his eyes and thought about the rumrunner captain who was now a guest of the United States government. What exactly had the man left in the woods below? As the water rose around him and the storm raged, Liam wondered if he would be able to find this place again. If he remained a free man, he planned to take a walk by the lake someday soon when the skies and the woods were clear.

chapter 29

N
iccolo was standing at an altar, staring up at the wooden beams crisscrossing a towering ceiling. One glorious stained glass window of Jesus blessing three small children illuminated the space where he stood. His voice boomed, and his hands were rock steady.

“And looking up to heaven, to you his almighty father, He gave you thanks and praise. He broke the bread, gave it to His disciples and said—”

A piercing shriek cut short the speech. He paused, attempting to turn around to find the source, but his limbs had grown heavy and his head refused to move. His heart began to pound faster, and his chest constricted. The downward pull of his alb and green chasuble seemed to drag him toward the floor, while the snakelike twining of his stole bound him in place. He could not catch his breath. He could not fight his way clear. Fear enveloped him as closely as his garments.

As he struggled to break free, he awoke to the sound of his alarm clock and the twisted length of a top sheet around his hips.

The moment he realized where he was,
who
he was, he ceased struggling.

Blindly he reached over the telephone, nearly knocking it from its cradle, and turned off the alarm. He had forgotten to reset it last night, and now he’d paid the price. He was breathing rapidly, and his heart was skittering. He forced open his eyes and stared at a very different ceiling. He had plastered this one himself, and not with any great expertise. He was better with plaster now, better at so many things, but he was a failure at the things at which he wanted most to succeed.

He was in no hurry to rise. There was little to get up for today. Meetings later in the morning. Tedious telephone calls. More people anxious to see the water stain that gave them faith in something beyond themselves. He had no Mass to celebrate, no confessions to hear, no pastoral calls, no meetings with church officials. He had been laicized; he was not a practicing priest. He was his own boss, lying in his own bed.

Without his wife beside him.

His eyes closed involuntarily. Megan was gone, and suddenly the hurly-burly rush of his life had slowed to nothing. Not that much had changed since her departure. The nonprofit organization in Indiana in which he’d put so much hope had agreed to help fund Brick, then their board had listed all its requirements, and he had walked away. Not just because they were petty and absurd, but because he would become an instant bureaucrat. And Niccolo knew that his real calling was to change lives, not to document the changes made by others.

So his own life had not been transformed since Megan left for Ireland. Brick continued to limp toward some imaginary finish line. The bootleggers’ tunnel continued to attract visitors. And Niccolo Andreani, who missed the active priesthood but had no regrets about leaving it, continued to dream he was celebrating Mass.

He felt a rush of loneliness as profound as any he’d felt while living in a Pittsburgh rectory. He wanted his wife beside him. He wanted children of his own. He wanted to know that the kids he worked with had every chance to grow and hone their talents. He wanted time to interact with them, to listen, to advise. He wanted to watch them graduate from high school and college and know that he’d done what he could to set them on the right road.

And now, every single dream was in danger.

The telephone rang, and for a moment he debated whether to answer. He did on the third ring, knowing that it might wake Rooney or Josh, or, more important, that it might be Megan. She had called home upon her arrival in Ireland so that he wouldn’t worry, but she hadn’t called since. Clearly Megan had no desire to talk long distance when they hadn’t been able to talk in the very same room.

Iggy was on the other end, and when they’d finished their conversation, Niccolo had a reason to get up and get dressed.