The Scrapper (7 page)

Teddy jumped from the passenger seat in the front of the car and helped Angie put her shopping bags into the boot. After seeing Simon and Angie safe into the back seat he climbed back into the front beside Sparrow. Williams looked every inch the businessman to Sparrow as he eyed him in the rear-view mirror.

‘Home, Mr Williams?’ Sparrow asked. Simon was waving out the window at his mother-in-law and didn’t turn around. ‘Home, Sparrow, like a good man, and don’t spare the horses!’

Angie leaned forward and poked Sparrow in the neck. ‘Take it easy, you, there’s china in them bags in the boot,’ she warned.

Slowly the Jaguar pulled away from the flats and headed for Snuggstown. Ten minutes later they passed the Fairy Well which marked the city boundary with Snuggstown. Sparrow smiled towards the Fairy Well and said aloud, ‘Hello, fairies!’ as he did every time he passed the well. Years ago his mother had told him that if he didn’t say hello to the fairies every time he passed them they would not be good to him. And like all good Irish Catholics, Sparrow was superstitious. Simon smiled and Angie looked to heaven. The car was quiet; there was no conversation.

To break the silence, Sparrow spoke to Simon. ‘I see the Falcon has opened up again, boss!’

‘The Falcon? The Falcon Inn? When?’ Simon asked with a frown on his face.

‘Last night, a new owner. A northern fella. The word is he’s IRA,’ Sparrow said.

Teddy wasn’t convinced. ‘IRA, me bollix! Some stone-thrower opens a pub and every gobshite in the area is callin’ him IRA!’

‘Last night?’ It was as if Simon hadn’t even heard Teddy speak. ‘I didn’t hear anything about that.’

Angie now joined the conversation and as always was the antagoniser. ‘They shouldn’t do that without consulting you, love. No fuckin’ respect, that’s what that is. No fuckin’ respect.’

There was silence in the car for a few moments.

‘Sparrow!’ Simon said.

Sparrow looked in his mirror at Simon. Simon’s expression had completely changed. It had got darker. ‘Yeh, boss?’

‘Take a right at the dairy. I’ll go up and introduce myself to this – new owner!’

In a reflex action that comes from years of boxing, Sparrow’s stomach muscles tightened and tiny beads of perspiration popped out behind his ears. He had what his mother would have called ‘a foreboding’.

The unmarked detectives’ car was parked outside the Harcourt Hotel. Detective Michael Malone sat in the passenger seat, with his wage packet on his lap, reading his pay slip. He frowned when he read the amount of tax deducted this week.

‘The bastards!’ he exclaimed, not caring that somebody had to pay his wages. He was alone and speaking to himself. He wondered what was delaying Kieran, and glanced out the passenger window just in time to see him leave the Garda Headquarters across the street.

Kieran made his way over. He had a broad grin on his face. When he climbed into the driver’s seat there was an air of excitement about him.

‘So, what’s up?’ Michael asked.

Kieran half-turned in the seat to face Michael. ‘Good news and bad news,’ Kieran announced. He saw the puzzled look on Michael’s face. ‘I’ve been transferred to the Special Task Force. I’ve just had a chat inside and they told me I’m taking over as Detective Sergeant of the Serious Crime Squad in Snuggstown.’

Michael’s mouth opened. ‘God almighty, Kieran! That is bad news.’

‘No, Michael, that’s the good news!’ Kieran smiled broadly.

‘So, what’s the bad news?’

Kieran leaned conspiratorially towards Michael. Instinctively Michael leaned towards Kieran. Kieran gave Michael a little poke with his finger on the shoulder. ‘The bad news is you’re coming with me!’

‘No way!’

‘Sorry!’

‘No bloody way, Kieran – you didn’t!’

‘I did, Michael, believe me I did! From Monday on, you and I are gonna be real coppers.’

Kieran started the car and began to drive. Two hundred yards down the road he slapped the steering wheel. ‘The Series Crime Squad! Yes!’ Kieran was ecstatic.

Michael Malone stared sheepishly out the passenger window. ‘Oh hell!’ he muttered.

Fintan McCullagh, formerly of Belfast, was proud to be the new publican at the Falcon Inn pub. Built in the mid-1970s it was situated right in the middle of the west side of Snuggstown – the toughest side. Since it had opened its doors, the pub had had fifteen owners. Most went into the venture with a keen interest and came out with a nervous breakdown. Without doubt the Falcon Inn had been the
roughest, toughest pub in Snuggstown. Fintan knew all this, but was undeterred, having lived in Belfast through riots, bombings and internment. He was not a man who scared easy. He had a sharp Northern Ireland accent. He had already heard the rumours that he was fronting the pub for the IRA, and frankly he did little to deter them. In fact, he used his accent to good effect.

The previous night had been his opening and the beginnings of a fight had broken out. But it hadn’t reached the punch stage by the time Fintan arrived on the scene. He looked at the two men involved and simply said, ‘Are ye havin’ a wee problem here, gentlemen?’ The two stared at each other and then at Fintan, and slowly shook their heads. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘’Cause I don’t like wee problems, you see. When I come up against a wee problem I have to find a solution. Messy business, don’t you know. Enjoy your drink, gentlemen.’ The two men finished their drinks; there was no fight. When they were leaving, Fintan took them to one side. ‘Thank you for your custom, but don’t come back,’ he warned them. He could tell by the looks on their faces that they wouldn’t.

So if the people of Snuggstown West had decided that Fintan was connected with the IRA, and that kept peace in his pub, then so be it.

Fintan was taking advantage of the fact that it was early evening and the pub only had about five or six customers. He was standing at the end of the bar, musing over a crossword puzzle. About forty years of age, he had silvery blond hair tied in a ponytail. Behind him an open fire blazed away, throwing an orange flicker across one side of his face and body. The heat was gorgeous.

There was just one barman on duty, PJ Duff, a local lad. PJ couldn’t believe his luck when the pub just around the corner from his home had reopened and he had secured a job as a barman. PJ hadn’t had a steady job for three years. He was thrilled with the position, and enthusiastic too. Even though the bar was not busy, PJ was working his way along the shelves polishing the bottles. He was that kind of man – he couldn’t sit still and would always find something to do. Fintan took another sip from his coffee cup and spoke a crossword clue aloud.

‘Backing in to a railway. Mmm.’ He was so engrossed that he barely noticed when the four people entered the lounge. The other customers noticed, however, and all but two of them left abruptly. Simon Williams, his wife Angie and the Morgan boys settled themselves at the bar. PJ wiped his hands and turned to the customers.

‘What’ll it be …’ PJ froze in mid-sentence. He glanced over at Fintan. But Fintan didn’t even look up from his newspaper.

PJ went back to his customers. ‘Hello, Mr Williams, what can I get yeh?’ PJ’s hands were shaking now.

‘Em, three pints of Budweiser and a glass of Guinness, son,’ Simon ordered.

‘With blackcurrant!’ Angie added.

‘Eh, the Guinness with blackcurrant, son,’ Simon confirmed.

PJ quickly began to get the drinks. The shaking in his hands was still there and he was perspiring with nervousness. Again he glanced at Fintan who seemed to be still engrossed in his crossword.

Simon, thanks to PJ’s glances, now knew who the boss
was. He looked down the bar at Fintan as he lit a slim cigar. Taking a long, slow draw from the cigar he turned to Bubbles Morgan. ‘Bubbles, go out and tell Sparrow to come in, we could do with a laugh. This place is fuckin’ dead.’ Bubbles nodded and left quickly.

Now Fintan looked up. His eyes met Simon’s eyes. Both men stared at each other, expressionless. It was Simon who looked away as the barman placed the last of the drinks on the counter.

‘That looks like a nice pint, son, well done!’

Again PJ glanced at Fintan. Fintan had turned and was walking to the CD jukebox. He inserted a coin. He flipped through the albums, mulling over his decision.

PJ, more nervous than ever now, looked at Simon, his voice trembling. ‘Seven-eighty!’

‘Ten, twenty, thirty! How do you play this game?’ Teddy asked sarcastically.

PJ glanced nervously towards Fintan. Fintan had his back to everyone. ‘The … eh … drink, that’s the price of the drink. Seven pounds and eighty pence.’

‘Well, now, that’s nice to know, isn’t it, Mr Williams?’ Teddy said as he lifted his pint and took a swig.

‘Absolutely! It’s nice to keep abreast of the cost of living,’ Simon replied, and he handed the glass of Guinness to Angie, who was getting excited, lusting for a fight.

Fintan now turned around and walked in behind the bar. He went up to the group.

PJ looked at him. ‘I’m sorry, Mr McCullagh, it’s …’

Fintan put his hand on the young man’s shoulder. ‘That’s fine, son, don’t worry about it! You get yourself a cup of coffee and I’ll look after the bar. Go on now, son, have a
wee break.’ Fintan straightened up a few bottles and wandered up to Simon’s group.

‘Good evening, gentlemen,’ he said. ‘Welcome to the Falcon Inn –
my
pub!’

Teddy shifted uncomfortably. Simon, mid-mouthful, stared over the rim of his glass. Then he placed his glass on the bar and smacked his lips. ‘Thank you. And you’re welcome to Snuggstown –
my
town!’ Simon smiled.

Fintan smiled back. ‘How’s the drink – all right?’

Simon stared at him and waited a couple of seconds before answering. ‘It’s fine. In fact it’s quite nice.’

‘Then, perhaps you might pay for it!’ Fintan said this without changing the smile on his face.

Teddy now became aggressive. ‘This is Simon Williams. Mr Williams pays for nothin’ in Snuggstown, never mind four poxy drinks.’

Although Teddy’s voice was angry, Fintan didn’t take his eyes off Simon. With an incredibly swift movement he picked up the four glasses and put them down behind the counter. He then simply walked away. As he did, he said over his shoulder, ‘Good night now, gentlemen. And Merry Christmas!’

Teddy was speechless. Simon placed a restraining hand on him. Simon stared at the back of Fintan who was back at the CD machine finishing his selection.

‘Easy, Teddy boy! Not here. Not now!’ Simon muttered.

The door of the lounge opened and Sparrow and Bubbles came in. They were laughing. Sparrow immediately took in the Mexican stand-off, and his laugh stopped. ‘Oh fuck,’ he gasped under his breath. ‘Shit!’

Simon addressed himself to the young barman. ‘PJ – PJ Duff, isn’t it?’

The young man looked up from his coffee and nodded slowly.

‘Give me up those drinks, like a good man,’ Simon ordered.

PJ glanced over his shoulder at Fintan. Fintan did not turn around but his broad Northern Ireland accent boomed out, ‘Stay where you are, son. Drink your coffee.’

‘Come on, son, you don’t want to listen to that shit. Do the right thing, son,’ Simon ordered again.

PJ wanted to simply burst into tears. He felt like a rope in a tug-of-war. ‘Ah Jaysus, Mr Williams. I only work here,’ he implored.

‘Not for fuckin’ long, yeh little bollix.’ Teddy was glaring at PJ now.

Simon slid off the stool and slowly walked the ten or so paces to where Fintan was standing with his back to the group. Simon addressed the man’s back. When he spoke his voice was calm – but you’d know it was a voice that meant business. ‘I’ll be back, pal. Be fuckin’ assured, I’ll be back!’

Fintan pressed the final button on his CD machine selection, and just before the jaunty Christmas music blared out he turned to face Simon. ‘Good,’ he said, ‘next time bring money.’

The two men again stared at each other for some seconds, then Simon turned and walked out, followed by Angie and Teddy.

Angie, disappointed that there wasn’t going to be a bust up, was goading Simon. ‘The cheeky bastard, no
respect – who does he think he is?’ She stopped at the doorway, turned and screamed at Fintan. ‘Stick your drink up your arse!’ and left haughtily.

Kieran Clancy had not expected a brass band and party balloons to greet him on his arrival at Snuggstown police station to take over as the new head of the Serious Crime Squad. But he had expected to be greeted in a civil manner. Instead, when he presented himself at the reception desk in the station he was met coldly by a ruddy-faced, country sergeant, who needed either to diet or change the size of his uniform. This was Sergeant Toddy Muldoon. After fifteen years in Snuggstown, Muldoon had things very much his own way. He liked to gamble and was a drinker. Still, this did not affect his standard of living, which was surprisingly high. Few knew how he managed this on a sergeant’s salary, and those who did know were not saying. Kieran introduced himself as the new head of the Serious Crime Squad and asked where his office was. He expected to get more than the jerk of a thumb and a simple two-word reply: ‘Down there.’

The Sergeant looked him up and down, then turned
back to his desk. Following the direction of the Sergeant’s thumb Kieran found himself in a long corridor. He walked the corridor slowly, checking the tiny lettering on each door. Needless to say, right at the bottom he found the door he was looking for. By the time he had found it, Simon Williams had already been informed of Kieran’s arrival.

The lettering read ‘SERIOUS CRIME SQUAD’. Kieran smiled and opened the door. The room seemed reasonably well equipped. There were four desks, two computer consoles, and four phones, one on each desk. Two filing cabinets stood with their backs to the wall, on which there was a huge map of Snuggstown. Only one of the desks was occupied. Michael Malone had been in the office since eight o’clock that morning. Although he hadn’t been keen to join the Serious Crime Squad in Snuggstown, once Michael applied himself to any task he applied himself one hundred percent. He was sitting at the computer console running the mouse over some files; he looked up and smiled when he saw Kieran.

‘Good morning, boss!’ Michael played with the word ‘boss’.

‘Good morning, Michael. So, what do you think of our new office?’

‘Oh wonderful, boss, it beats all those plush carpets and smoked-salmon sandwiches we had up in Dublin Castle. And the lads outside, gosh I thought I’d never make it to the office; they had me in stitches laughing. You should see the welcome I got!’

‘Yes, I had a fairly chilly reception myself. Anyway, let’s get to work. Round up the rest of the squad and we’ll have a meeting.’

‘I did,’ Michael announced with a smile.

‘You did what?’

‘I got the squad together.’

Kieran looked around the room as if expecting them to pop out of cupboards. ‘So, where are they?’

‘Well, now that you’ve arrived, the entire squad is here. We’re it!’

‘We’re the squad! The whole Serious Crime Squad for the whole of Snuggstown?’

‘Yes. Great, isn’t it?’ Michael was not smiling now.

Kieran’s face took on a look of bitter disappointment. He paced the room. There was little Michael could do but watch him. Suddenly Kieran stopped. He loosened his tie, opened his top shirt-button, and smiled at Michael.

‘Well, Michael, if we’re it, then we’re it! Let’s get the hell out of here and find a coffee shop somewhere so we can talk.’

Fifteen minutes later the two detectives were sitting across the table from each other in the Coffee Hop in Snuggstown village. The place had been called the Coffee Hop for twelve years. When it opened fifteen years ago it was called the Coffee Shop, but three years later the ‘S’ on the sign outside fell off. By the time the owner got around to thinking about replacing it, the place was known throughout Snuggstown as the Coffee Hop, so he simply left it that way. Kieran stirred his frothy, milky coffee slowly.

‘So, did you find out anything this morning?’ he asked Michael.

‘Everyone I talked to just gave me a frosty reception. Some of them just stared at me as if I had suddenly dropped from outer space. Eventually I dug into their files, they
couldn’t stop me doing that, and I managed to come across this file here, it’s the Serious Crime Squad Active Cases file.’ Michael placed a red Twinlock file-cover on the table.

‘Well, that’s a start,’ said Kieran, and he took a bite of his cream cake. Wiping the icing sugar and a little bit of jam from his lips he urged Michael on. ‘So tell me, what exactly are they investigating at the moment?’

Michael opened the file. ‘Nothing.’

‘What do you mean – nothing?’

‘Nothing,’ Michael repeated, this time slowly, ‘as in NOT A THING.’

Kieran stared at Michael with a blank expression on his face. ‘Are you telling me there’s no serious crime happening in Snuggstown?’ Kieran asked Michael as if it were Michael’s fault that there was nothing in the file.

‘I’m not telling you anything of the sort. I’m telling you that the Active File says that nothing is being investigated. Of course serious crime is happening in Snuggstown. But Simon Williams is the King in Snuggstown. He runs it with an iron fist. He runs the drugs, the protection, the lot. He keeps his head down and his nose clean, and that’s that!’

‘And who’s investigating Simon Williams’s activities?’

‘Investigate Simple Simon?’ Michael began to laugh.

‘Wait a minute! Surely if someone is paying protection, someone is out there breaking legs. Or are you telling me that doesn’t happen?’

Michael had closed the file now and placed it on the seat beside him. He began to tuck into his own cake. ‘There were two murders in Snuggstown last month,’ Michael announced with crumbs falling from his mouth.

‘So what’s happening with those cases?’

‘The Serious Crime Squad didn’t get them.’

‘What?’ Kieran was aghast. ‘Why not?’

‘Well, when I asked, I was told they were drug-related and that the Drug Squad would handle it. There have been no arrests!’ Michael said this in a low voice, as if it were a secret.

Kieran covered his face with his hands. The enormity of what he had taken on sank in. After a couple of moments he slowly took his hands away.

‘Well, Detective Malone, we’ll put a stop to all that! The next serious crime that comes in, drug-related or not, we get it!’ Kieran banged his fist on the table as he said this, drawing the attention of the Coffee Hop customers.

Michael leaned across the table and placed his hand on Kieran’s arm. ‘You know, Kieran, I wasn’t looking forward to this job, but now you know what? The bastards in this station are a bit too smug for my liking.’

‘Now you’re talking, Michael, now you’re talking!’

With Eileen and Mickey already in bed, Sparrow had dozed off on the couch. The ringing of the telephone jarred him awake. It was one of those confused awakenings. At first he couldn’t remember where he was. Then he realised he was at home. Next he was wondering what the sound was. Then he realised it was the telephone, but couldn’t remember where the telephone was. As he rose from the armchair he discovered his right leg had gone to sleep and he fell down
onto one knee. The result of all this was, that by the time he got to the telephone, he was out of breath and Eileen was standing at the top of the stairs. Eileen looked at her watch; it was a quarter to midnight. A telephone call at this hour of the night usually meant family problems. She hoped it wasn’t anything to do with her mother. Nervously she listened to Sparrow’s half of the conversation.

‘Hello? Yeh. I was asleep in the chair. What? But it’s nearly midnight. Right. Okay, right. Where? Right, ten minutes. I said all right!’ Sparrow hung up and picked up the keys of the car from the telephone table. As he did so he noticed Eileen coming down the stairs. He put his jacket on and smiled at her.

‘It’s okay, love, go on back to bed.’

But Eileen kept coming. ‘Who is it? Who was on the phone?’ she asked, concerned.

‘It’s nothing. It was Teddy. He wants the car!’

Even though she had just done so at the top of the stairs Eileen again looked at her watch. ‘At this hour? For what?’

‘I don’t fuckin’ know, love,’ Sparrow snapped, then he calmed down. ‘Look, I won’t be long.’ Sparrow had told Eileen of the events in the Falcon Inn on the previous Monday evening. He voiced his concerns that things were getting out of hand. To Eileen’s great relief he also, for the first time in six years, told her that he thought he might give up this job. She didn’t want to seem too enthusiastic in case he might change his mind just because he thought she was getting her way, the way men can do. So she had simply said, ‘Whatever yeh think yourself, love,’ but had that night prayed that the idea of giving up his job with Simon Williams would mature in Sparrow’s mind. Sparrow hadn’t been the
same since Tuesday night. He was uneasy – not frightened, but nervy.

Eileen smiled at him and said, ‘Go on. And if you get to a garage would yeh get me some milk and bread.’

Sparrow gave her a kiss on the side of the cheek and repeated the order. ‘Milk and bread, right! Go on back to bed, love, see yeh!’

Although Sparrow had told Teddy that he would be there in ten minutes it was actually twenty minutes before he arrived at the statue of the Madonna outside the Legion of Mary Hall, where the Morgan brothers were waiting. As usual, Teddy climbed into the front. Bubbles was moaning even as he climbed into the back.

‘I’m fuckin’ freezin’,’ he groaned.

‘You took your fuckin’ time,’ Teddy said aggressively.

Unfazed, Sparrow wiped his sleepy eyes. ‘Yeh well, I had to go to a garage. So, what’s up?’

‘Nothin’s up. Just drive!’ Teddy ordered.

‘Yeh, just drive!’ Bubbles repeated.

‘Drive to where?’ Sparrow asked, trying to sound as patronising as he could.

‘Magpie Grove,’ Teddy barked.

‘Yeh, Magpie Grove,’ Bubbles repeated.

‘Magpie? Yeh could have bleedin’ walked there!’ Sparrow declared as he noisily let the handbrake off and pushed the lever into drive.

‘Just fuckin’ drive, will yeh?’ Teddy barked again.

‘Yeh! Fuckin’ drive,’ came from the back.

Somebody in Dublin Corporation must have invested great ingenuity into naming all the streets in one part of Snuggstown after birds. There was Flamingo Road, Toucan
Hill, Emu Grove and other very exotic names; however, there was no Sparrow nor Crow! In fact, Magpie Grove was the only street named after any bird that might be found in Ireland. These were the ways of the Corporation’s Planning Department. Within minutes the Jag was turning into the south end of Magpie Grove. Eighty percent of the residents in this street were unemployed. This left little money to be invested in their gardens. Still, they kept them as good as they could and most of them were not bad at all.

‘Take it slowly now!’ Teddy instructed as they drove down the street.

‘What are yeh lookin’ for?’ Sparrow asked.

‘Easy, go on. Easy!’ Teddy was engrossed in his task of trying to see door numbers in the dark.

‘I said, what are yeh lookin’ for?’ Sparrow asked again, as he knew a lot of people on Magpie Grove.

‘Just keep going,’ Teddy snapped and began counting out loud. ‘Twenty-two, twenty-four, twenty-six – hold it!’

Sparrow stopped the car. ‘So now what?’ he asked, but the question had barely left his lips when his indifferent manner changed to one of shock.

‘All right, Teddy, all clear,’ Bubbles called, looking out the back window.

‘Right, Bubbles, let’s get to work.’ Teddy pulled something woollen from his inside pocket. It was a balaclava. He pulled it over his face and began to climb out of the car.

‘What the fuck? Twenty-eight? That’s young PJ Duff’s place. Wait a minute!’ The plot dawned on Sparrow, and he grabbed Teddy’s sleeve. Teddy sat back into the car and looked at Sparrow. In the balaclava his face was terrifying.

‘You keep this car runnin’, d’yeh hear me?’ Teddy
ordered, jabbing a finger into Sparrow’s shoulder.

Sparrow tried to argue with him. ‘But wait a minute, Teddy, he has a wife and a young kid, for fuck’s sake.’

Teddy was out of the car now. Sparrow called after him, pleading, ‘He was only doin’ his job, for Christ’s sake!’

Teddy put his head back into the doorway of the car. ‘Yeh, and I’m only doin’ mine, and if you know what’s good for yeh, you’ll shut the fuck up and do yours.’

Sparrow had gone pale and his mouth was dry. When he spoke it felt like his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth. He shook his dazed head. ‘This is nothing to do with me. I’m not a getaway driver!’ Sparrow was starting to rant and his breath was coming in short bursts now. By this time Bubbles had joined Teddy at the side of the car.

Teddy leaned into the car again. ‘You’re whatever Mr Williams says you are. Now shut up, yeh whingin’ bastard.’ Teddy left the car and his form was replaced by Bubbles.

‘Yeh, bastard, and whingin’ too!’

The two men opened the gate of number twenty-eight. They strolled up the path like they were out for a casual walk. Sparrow began to bang the steering wheel with the palms of his hands.

‘Fuck! He’s only a kid. Fuck, fuck, fuck!’ He was beginning to crack.

‘This is great, Kieran,’ Moya exclaimed as she glanced around the luscious surroundings. She was right. The
Herbert Park Hotel in Dublin is one of the plushest and most luxurious. The restaurant, where Kieran and Moya were sitting now, was renowned for its food and wonderful service.

Moya continued. ‘I mean, when you said let’s go out for a midnight supper, I thought you were talking about something simple, I didn’t think you meant this.’ She hadn’t been expecting a treat like this tonight. Kieran smiled, enjoying Moya’s excitement and beginning to buzz himself with the sense of occasion. ‘Well, I started in my new promotion today and I kind of felt a bit special, so I wanted you to feel special too.’

Moya stretched her arm across the table and squeezed Kieran’s hand. ‘It’s beautiful.’ She smiled at him. The waiter arrived with two Caesar salads and placed them in front of the pair. Kieran raised his glass of wine, Moya raised hers, and they clinked.