The Scrapper (13 page)

EILEENKNEWTHE GARDAÍ WERE JUST DOING THEIR JOB. She knew they didn’t mean to be an intrusion, and that they were there for her protection. But they
were
an intrusion. They sat there every day in her sitting room, which meant that her downstairs living was basically confined to the kitchen. Not that she wished to do anything hugely important in the sitting room, it was just the fact that they were there. For instance, she was now dressing young Mickey each morning in the kitchen, where before this would have been done in the sitting room. Obviously, at his age, Eileen didn’t have to physically dress Mickey. But he had a habit of sleeping every night in the underwear he wore that day, and unless she stood guard over him as he dressed and handed him clean underwear, the same underwear would remain on him all the next day.

She tossed Mickey’s soiled underwear into the wash basket and then opened the kitchen press drawer and took
out a bag of potatoes which she carried over to the sink. Time to begin lunch. Although he was fully dressed Mickey still sat at the table. As Eileen began to run water on the potatoes she glanced over her shoulder at him.

‘Aren’t you going out?’ she asked.

Mickey simply shook his head. He’s broody this morning, Eileen thought, so she just left him to his own thoughts and returned to the potatoes – and to her thoughts of Sparrow. She wondered would this whole business ever end.

As if Mickey read her thoughts he asked, ‘D’yeh think will Daddy be home today?’

‘I don’t know, Mickey, I just don’t know,’ Eileen replied wistfully.

‘Well, if Daddy’s not here tonight, then who’s going to be Sam The Black?’ Mickey asked.

The tradition of Sam The Black goes back many, many years. Nobody is quite sure of its origin and it may even precede the tradition of Christmas. What happened in stories of olden times was that a dark-haired man should cross the lintel of the house on the stroke of one minute after midnight carrying a nugget of gold; this would bring luck to the house for the next year. A rural version was that the man of the house would leave before midnight and return just after midnight with something dug from the ground. He would knock three times on the door and it would be opened by the youngest female in the house. On entering, the man would present the exhumed object to the oldest female in the house and the entire family would celebrate the good fortune of an expected bumper harvest. As it evolved, it became the practise that a dark-haired man holding a lump
of coal should be the first to knock at the family home immediately after midnight at the New Year.

Eileen’s mother Dolly entered the kitchen just as the boy mentioned Sam The Black. Pinching his cheek, she said, ‘Your Grandad, Mickey, Lord rest him, never missed a New Year’s Eve. He was my Sam The Black!’ She made her way towards the kettle.

‘Daddy is our Sam The Black, Mammy, isn’t he?’ Mickey said.

Eileen simply turned and smiled at him.

‘I bet yeh he comes home tonight, Mammy,’ Mickey announced.

‘Don’t expect that, love.’

‘I bet yeh he does, Mammy, I bet yeh!’

‘Mickey, now stop. Daddy will be home when he can come home, but he won’t be home tonight.’

‘I bet yeh he does, Mam, I bet yeh, I bet yeh, I bet yeh.’ Mickey was getting wildly carried away now.

Eileen dropped everything and took Mickey by the shoulders. She shook him in frustrated anger. ‘Mickey, Daddy’s not coming home tonight. Do you understand that, son, he’s not coming home.’ Eileen had tears in her eyes, and so had Mickey. It suddenly dawned on Eileen what she was doing. She stopped abruptly and hugged him tightly.

Dolly gently separated them. ‘Now, son, off with yeh – out yeh go and play.’

‘See yeh later, Ma,’ the boy called as he left the kitchen.

Eileen had gone back to the sink but she wasn’t washing anything. She just stood bent over it, sobbing.

Dolly placed her hand on her daughter’s shoulder. ‘It’s not the child’s fault, love.’

‘I know, Mammy, I didn’t mean to snap at him.’ Eileen burst into tears. Her mother held her tightly, but the tears flowed and her voice came in big sobs that made it difficult for her to breathe. ‘It’s so desperate, Mammy. I’m angry with Sparrow but I love him. I just want him home, safe, and an end to all this.’

Dolly pulled her daughter’s head down onto her shoulder, allowing her to snuggle into her mother’s neck. ‘There, there, there, I know exactly how you feel, love. Sure I loved your father, and he was a bollix as well!’

Although it was bitterly cold outside and there was still a light covering of snow on the ground, Kieran’s two little daughters were kicking a football on the patio. Typical, he thought, why won’t they play football on the patio in the summer? Kids! He was sitting at the dining table with his feet on a footstool watching them. His thoughts were miles away. He had a mug of coffee on the table in front of him and slowly he was running his finger around the rim of the cup. Moya joined him with her mug of coffee and noticed the movement. She smiled to herself. She looked at his face and saw how dark and troubled it was. She gently placed her hand on his moving finger. He looked at his finger as if seeing it for the first time.

‘I see you picked up some bad habits.’ Moya smiled at him. Kieran smiled back.

‘Yes, I wonder where I got that from?’ He took a
mouthful of coffee and the two of them watched the children play.

‘What’s wrong?’ Moya asked.

Kieran answered while still looking at the children. ‘I’ve just been thinking about Sparrow. Fifteen years ago he had the world at his feet. I can remember it vividly. I’d been with you that night and I was driving back to Cavan. I was listening to the fight on the radio. He was tiny, bursting with energy and action. I remember the commentator said he seemed to glide across the ring. I’d seen him box here in Ireland, well not actually in reality, but on TV. I saw him out-pace, out-manoeuvre and out-box opponent after opponent.’

Moya looked at Kieran. ‘Was he really that good?’

‘He was. The best I’ve ever seen.’ Kieran took another sip from his mug. Out on the patio, Claire was trying to teach Mary how to ‘head’ a ball. Claire would toss the ball in the air and the sight of Mary with her eyes clenched shut and her hands outstretched, nowhere near the ball when it came down, made both Kieran and Moya chuckle.

‘How can a man, just an inch from heaven, end up so badly?’ Kieran mused.

‘Yes, it’s hard to believe. It’s really strange if he had that kind of talent,’ Moya agreed.

‘Oh, he had the talent, Moya. Maybe he just didn’t get the breaks? I mean look at us, Moya. Sparrow has a wife, I have a wife. And Sparrow has a good wife – she’s a great woman, Moya, I really mean that, she’s a really good sort. And his kid shows all the signs of a good rearing. And yet he’s on his knees and we’re doing well. How come?’

‘I hope you’re not on a guilt trip here, Kieran?’

‘No, no.’ Kieran laughed. ‘Everything we have we deserve, Moya. God knows, we’ve both worked hard for it. There’s just that something in his eyes. I saw it that night in the bedroom with his kid. And again when I talked to him; I see it every time I talk to him. A look of resignation. It’s as if he believes this is what he was always meant to be, and no more. Ah, I don’t know, Moya, I’m just rambling aloud, love.’ Kieran stretched his arm across the table, took Moya’s hand and squeezed it.

‘I take it we’re not going out to celebrate New Year’s Eve tonight then?’ Moya asked, already knowing the answer.

‘No, love, not this year. Tonight I have work to do.’ Kieran bit down on his bottom lip.

Moya squeezed his hand. ‘Do you think you might be able to put a sparkle back in an ex-boxer’s eyes?’ she asked.

Slowly Kieran turned and looked at his wife. ‘It’s a nice thought.’

Moya lifted Kieran’s hand to her lips and kissed it. ‘Yes, Kieran, it is a nice thought.’

Sparrow had let himself in with his own key. They made a big thing about this, giving you your own key to the gym. It was presented to you only if you had done something special, acquired some honour for the club. Sparrow was special. He must be, he thought now, as he sat on a bench alone in the empty club, staring at the largest portrait on the
wall, staring at himself in his heyday. Usually he hated this portrait. Day after day working out in the gym he would have to pass it on his way from the locker room. He always made a great effort to pass by without even a glance at it. It was as if he felt the honour was undeserved.

Today he didn’t feel like that. He stared proudly at the portrait. For the first time since PJ Duff’s murder, Sparrow, in the quiet of the club, felt at peace. Having moved out of his previous accommodation in Simon Williams’s shed, Sparrow had had to resort once again to back alleys and doorways. He’d had little sleep and was very tired. Specks of dust were dancing in the sun’s rays. One of the rays shone across half of his face and its warmth made him feel sleepy. Suddenly he heard the door rattle; the handle was tried and a key slid into the lock. Sparrow crouched behind a locker. The lock clicked and the door opened slowly. Sparrow could hear feet shuffling and the door being closed and locked again from the inside. The shuffle got louder as it moved in his direction. Slowly he peeped out. It was Froggy, of course. Sparrow stepped forward into the rays of the sun and opened his arms wide.

‘Froggy! Happy New Year!’ Sparrow called.

Froggy was dressed in his old trench coat, under which he was wearing his boxing shorts and a tee-shirt. He beamed when he saw Sparrow.

‘Spawoo,’ he called and shuffled across the floor. He embraced Sparrow in a huge bear-hug.

Sparrow squeezed him tightly.

‘Oh, that hurts,’ Froggy moaned.

Sparrow stood back. ‘Froggy, are you still sore?’

‘Yes, Spawoo, no box today … please.’

Sparrow laughed. ‘Ah okay, Froggy. No box today.’

Froggy sat down on the bench and Sparrow joined him. He slapped Froggy on the knee. He really was glad of the company.

‘You waiting for bad men come back, Spawoo?’ Froggy asked.

‘Well, kind of, Froggy,’ Sparrow answered, and leaned back against the wall crossing his arms.

Froggy mimicked the motion and pose. ‘I wait with yeh, Spawoo. We box them.’

Sparrow looked into Froggy’s frowning face. ‘God, I wish I had your heart, Froggy.’

‘You can have it, Spawoo.’

Sparrow laughed again, and hugged Froggy.

‘Oooo, Spawoo hurt me,’ Froggy moaned.

When Kieran Clancy entered the room all eight uniformed officers present became alert. He had picked the eight carefully. Seven were officers that, on Michael Malone’s recommendation, Kieran knew were safe. The eighth man had been Kieran’s own choice, and one that had totally stumped Michael. It was Sergeant Muldoon.

Kieran sat at his desk, and the men stood around the room, facing him. The younger ones looked eager and excited. The group had been given the title: The Serious Crime Squad Task Force. That was enough to get their blood rushing. Except for Muldoon, who looked decidedly
bored. Until Kieran announced what the purpose of the meeting was.

‘Gentlemen, I’m sure you’re all wondering why I’ve gathered you here today,’ Kieran began, thinking to himself: Isn’t that a line from a movie somewhere?’ Michael must have had the same thought because they looked at each other and Michael frowned. Kieran went on.

‘Tonight we have a very serious task on our hands. We will lay the trap once and for all to rid Snuggstown of Simon Williams.’

Sergeant Muldoon sat up so straight it was as if someone had shoved a ramrod up his arse. His eyes widened with interest.

Kieran went into the details of the operation. ‘Any questions?’ he asked when he had finished. There were none. ‘Right! If you all hang on here we have coffee on the way – we don’t do things by halves in the Serious Crime Squad.’ Kieran smirked at the group and they laughed.

Muldoon stood and slowly began to make his way to the door.

‘Something wrong, Sergeant Muldoon?’ Kieran called out to him.

A little startled, Muldoon pointed to the door. ‘I’m just going out for a piddle.’

Kieran smiled and waved his hand. ‘Okay, you don’t need permission for that. We’re not at school.’ Kieran smiled and Muldoon nervously smiled back. He left the room and went straight to the toilet where he did indeed have a piddle. When he re-emerged from the Gents, there was lots of chatter coming from the Serious Crime Squad room, but instead of going back, the Sergeant went towards his own
desk. There were a couple of officers in the open-plan office, but nobody paid any attention to him. He sat down at his telephone, punched for a line and began to dial a number. The phone rang twice. There was a click, then a female voice answered. ‘Hello?’

Muldoon opened his mouth to speak when the phone was snatched out of his hand. He went to stand but was restrained in his seat by a large hand on his shoulder. Commissioner Ned Connolly spoke into the mouthpiece of the phone.

‘Hello! And a very Happy New Year; is that Mary O’Brien?’

‘No, I’m afraid you’ve got the wrong number, this is Williams Wholesale Depot – sorry!’

‘That’s all right, a Happy New Year to you anyway,’ Commissioner Connolly said, and he replaced the phone in its cradle. He still had his hand on Muldoon’s shoulder. The officers who had been pretending lack of interest were now standing behind Sergeant Muldoon. They were waiting for the Commissioner to take his hand off Muldoon’s shoulder so they could formally arrest him. The Commissioner kept his hand there. Slowly he squeezed it tighter and tighter until his thumb was digging firmly into Muldoon’s neck muscle. When the pain was visible enough in Muldoon’s face, Commissioner Connolly leaned down and said:

‘And a very Happy New Year to you, Sergeant Muldoon!’ Muldoon was arrested and taken to a police station thirty miles away where he would be held for questioning for twelve hours.