A Reason To Kill, page 19
“I’ve been anticipating and I could only scare together five days—less than a week. God how I’ve missed you.” William’s hand slipped beneath the table and his fingers squeezed the other man’s upper thigh.
“Behave lad.” James carefully removed William’s hand and lifted it up to set it firmly on the table. “This isn’t New York, Luv. Mustn’t provoke a riot.” His coy smile, an attempt to soften the reprimand, hid his true feelings. James viewed the next five days and nights, as a ‘work week’ so he wasn’t in a hurry for ‘Monday morning’ to commence.
“How is my precious wife?”
“Still swimming in the booze. They keep locking her away, but she breaks out. My old man’s really pissed off at you. Thought he’d have a stroke when you asked for a divorce. Catholics don’t get divorced. A Connors’ especially.”
“Really, how long does Raymond expect me to play nanny? Our marriage ended sometime back.” He lightly patted William’s hand where it rested on the tabletop. “In the early years, Shelia’s occasionally hopping in bed with O’Neill was only fair. Bit of a tradeoff.” The handsome face took on an angry scowl. “That bastard Devlin was another story.”
“Dad has never guessed about that. If he’d a hint.” William shrugged. “I almost wished you’d told him. The way John sucks up to the bastard you’d think.”
“Never. Those two butt buddies?”
William found a bit of humor in the ridiculous idea. He let out a low sharp laugh. “Not a chance. That wasn’t what I meant. Devlin, I don’t know about, but I think John has trouble getting it up since he broke off it with Andrea. Wish I knew what caused that? God, she’s a piece of work, her and Devlin were made for each other. Dad’s been rather keen on the idea they should get married. Make nice background footage for John’s campaign. And it might keep Devlin away from your wife.”
“I do love Shelia and damn I tried. It was no easy thing competing with a memory of a stud like Mike O’Neill. It’s a rough trip, lad, when you love a woman but the sex turns you off. Still, we were managing if it hadn’t been for that fucker, Devlin. When I found out about him.” James shrugged and the golden head shook in disgust.
“You should have told me sooner.” William gripped James’ hand as if to comfort him but James pulled his hand away.
“Behave.” He said and added, “How could I complain about Shelia’s trysts when I was indulging myself with her brother?”
“I wouldn’t say that was quite the same thing.” William frowned, indignant that James had put their relationship on the same level as his married sister’s affair. “You and I were a couple before you married Shelia.”
“Of course, darling.” James smiled as he provided the lie his companion needed to hear. William believed their relationship was a marriage. William didn’t realize that James considered him just one of his thriving stable of male lovers. The waiter was delivering their main course and James wiggled his chair a bit away as if to prepare for the repast.
~~~
Neither noticed the man who had started into the room, spied them, and stepped back behind the draped French door. Thomas Devlin watched William Connors caress James Beechen’s hand. Though Beechen removed the hand, he made a kissy face at Connors. Devlin’s surprise was replaced by a nasty urge.
If either Connors or Beechen had been alone, he would have continued on to that table, offered to buy a setup, maybe even forced the one to share dinner with him. He considered still doing that. He contemplated the uncomfortable situation he could create by walking up to that table. No, sometimes it was wiser to know things about people that they didn’t know you knew.
He glanced at his watch and decided it was still early, in less than half an hour he could be in Bray. Seamus could throw together something to feed him and he would sleep a lot better knowing there wasn’t an off chance of bumping into the lovers by mistake. It wouldn’t be the first hotel room he paid for that he didn’t use. He backed slowly away from the door then turned and headed for the exit.
He let a soft chuckle erupt from his throat as he stepped into the coolness outside and requested from the doorman that his rental car be brought round.
Chapter 35
Ireland, 1981
Thomas Devlin, a bit surprised how well and long he’d slept, exited the guestroom when the sun was already pouring through the open windows. He discovered his younger nephew parked on the settee in the hallway.
“Been waitin’ for you to rise.” Colin complained. “Told I shouldn’t wake you.”
Dogging his uncle steps down the stairway, Colin babbled away. “Seamus mailed some new electronic games back from the States. You can help me master ‘em. We’ll have a grand time.”
“He sent them?”
“ ‘Course. He always mails things from the States. He says customs is a pain. If the blokes are worried about the packages they can dissect them in the mailrooms. That way they gotta put ‘em back together.” The boyish laughter was infectious and Devlin joined in.
“I’m inclined to agree with Seamus’ logic. Got any hot tea hiding around here? We’ll try your games after that.”
“Tucker will fix breakfast,” Colin said. “I waited to eat with you.”
“Colin!” Seamus O’Donnell barked. “Why aren’t you dressed? A bathrobe is no way to greet a guest.”
“Ya just don’t want me hanging on you! I’ll stay locked in my room!” And Colin ran back up the stairs apparently intending to do just that.
Devlin, taken back by the boy’s unexpected outburst, came to the Colin’s defense. “Why the big issue? The robe didn’t bother me.”
“Sure, the lad’s got to learn some manners. Never know when we’re likely to get real company. Fresh tea in the dining room,” O’Donnell offered and led the way.
O’Donnell took a seat across from Devlin and tried to excuse the unpleasantness. “Don’t let the lad upset you.” And to the young male who served them he said, “Tuck, take a tray up to Colin. He’s in his room sulking. But tell him if he’d rather eat with Tom he has to do like I say and get dressed.” Then he poured Devlin’s tea himself and explained. “You broke up a wretched scene last night. Best you did.” He shrugged. “I was sorely pissed off at both of them.”
“If you’re anything like their father,” Devlin said with curt nod. “I probably saved their skulls. Where in hell did you go so early?”
O’Donnell ignored that question. Instead a frown settled on his face. “Suppose a lot of the lads’ nasty habits are my fault. I’ve always let them do pretty much as they please. Then I over-react when they do something that could hurt them. You can’t imagine how it was after you deserted me.” Devlin thought O’Donnell must have seen the guilt flash across Devlin’s face for he quickly continued, “Remember what it was like with three teenage lads tending to them babes? Sure, Tom, your sister knew something we didn’t.” The following laugh was short and nasty. “Remember how Sean thought every corner was his personal toilet and Colin filled nappies so fast, we developed our own disposables—we tossed ‘em out.”
Devlin snickered in disgust at the memory. “Place stunk so bad, Jack Walsh refused to allow us entrance to the pub through the house door. Claimed the pub smelled like a privy every time we opened that door.”
~~~
My luck changed when one day Jack Walsh couldn’t take it anymore.
Sean had pushed Colin out of the highchair and I smacked him so hard, sure, I thought I killed him. Jacky heard the screaming and opened the house door himself. Found the three of us huddled on the floor with me squalling louder than the weans. Next thing I knew he brought Mary Walsh, God bless her. Jacky’s wife made life tolerable and the boys and I survived.” His smile was sad with old memories. He didn’t tell Devlin that was the day Emanon O’Neill died.
Tom Devlin was already winging his way to the states, when Seamus O’Donnell said a final goodbye to his best friend. The wretched tears had dried on his face causing the skin to itch, but he was afraid to wipe it less the tears start again. For three days and nights he’d been in and out of that hospital room. He ran the gambit of cursing to praying but nothing helped. Emanon O’Neill died.
~~~
Emanon had been ranting for weeks over the arrival of the British Army again on Irish shores. Even at the tender age of nineteen, he knew and tried to convince Seamus, the hope of their country depended on its own people. He swore the coming of the British Army would only make a bad situation worse. And it had been an army bullet that ended Emanon’s life. He hadn’t died a rebel soldier fighting for a cause. He’d been shot down accidentally.
~~~
O’Donnell, suffering from all the hate and anger that can fill a young man when he confronts the injustice of life, came home. He found the wretched girl; he paid a fair wage to, curled on the couch watching the telly. His three-year-old nephew Sean was wiggling the highchair to amuse the infant Colin. The place stunk like an outhouse. There were dirty dishes still in the sink and soiled clothes overflowing the hamper. This paid help was no better than the lasses who came on their own.
His feeble hold on his emotional control snapped. He commenced cursing and sobbing, the babes screaming, and the bitch fled.
He fully expected her to return with the law, child welfare, or worse. Instead Mary Walsh came and set the house and children to rights. And somehow Seamus O’Donnell pushed aside the loss of Emanon O’Neill and got on with his life.
~~~
And now, years later, he grinned across at boys’ maternal uncle and assured, “Don’t worry, Colin will put his britches on shortly. If nothing else, he’ll get bored with his room.”
Devlin said, “It was lousy, leaving you like that. But I was shit-scared Seamus. Liam O’Neill was worried about keeping Rory Hanlon alive on the inside and the RUC wasn’t about to forget my involvement with Hanlon. When Emanon came up with the plan to get me stateside, I grabbed it. Then when Emanon got shot by the Army and me a witness, his old man told me the sooner I left the better.”
“And he was right. None of it was your fault, lad. And what the hell.” O’Donnell chuckled. “I got Mary Walsh she was a big improvement over the likes of you.”
The young man called Tucker had returned toting platters of eggs, sausages, and fried potatoes. Tucker was followed by a pouting but dressed Colin. “Well? Park it lad,” was all O’Donnell said before he turned his attention to severing the food.
Colin took the chair on Devlin’s right side and the man put his arm across the boy’s shoulders. “You’ll show me those new games after breakfast Coli, I’ve a hankering to try them out.”
“Kid will whip the pants off you,” O’Donnell warned. “He tries to sucker me into teaching him then makes me look like an idiot when he beats me every time.”
“I’ll take my chances.” Devlin ruffled the boy’s hair before settling into enjoying the simple meal. Suddenly he seemed to realize. “We are one short. Where’s Sean?”
“Trying to stay out of my way. Took the boat out yesterday. Never told Tucker. Never checked the petrol. They ran out of fuel. Didn’t find them until almost dark. Just finished bringing the damn boat in a few minutes before you got here last night.”
“Guess if I was Sean, I’d make myself scarce too.” Devlin grinned. “My business in the North isn’t until tomorrow. I’ll take the boys around with me today. Might as well get better acquainted.”
~~~
Early the next morning, Thomas Devlin swung the rented car down the drive and on to a gravel road following it through the rolling green fields dotted with stone fences until it connected with Airport Road. Traffic was light this morning but still he moved along rather slowly. He had plenty of time and was enjoying the view and continuing peace of mind he felt. He was content now that he’d chosen to spend this time with the O’Donnells. Some of the guilt had been eased from his conscience by the unplanned conversation with Seamus.
In their encounters over the years neither had been able to bring themselves to discuss those last few days before Emanon died. Devlin knew he’d been wrong in deserting his dead sister’s two little sons. Why have I always felt the boys more Seamus’ responsibility than mine? In truth they weren’t. Well, things all worked out for the best. Maybe I could take the boys for time. Especially Sean. He could go to high school in the States—he might like that.
He grinned now as he remembered what Seamus had said. Mary Walsh would definitely have been an improvement over a sloppy teenage fellow.
He rolled down the window and drew deeply on the lush fresh breeze. In his memory he pictured the frightened youth he’d once been when he drove this same road, in the opposite direction, with a three-year-old Deirdre O’Neill wiggling beside him.
Emanon was dying. Mr. O’Neill had been certain the RUC would pick Tom up again. The Northern Irish police were furious because the British Army was attempting to disarm them. Those lads would have liked nothing better than to use Tom’s testimony against the British soldiers who shot his friend. A teenage Devlin was scared to leave but too terrified to stay.
“Take the lass to her daddy,” Liam O’Neill ordered him. “Dede will be a good girl.” The man patted the ginger hair of his granddaughter. “Michael will meet you at the New York airport.”
Now Devlin smiled as he remembered. Sure, but it was that little tike who took this coward’s hand.
He was terrified the morning he stepped off that plane in New York. Scared to the point he could smell his own sweat and his hands were trembling. Supposedly he was meeting a brother—a fellow he’d never met before. He felt a sharp gas pain in his chest as he noticed the custom officers waiting to confront him.
Unexpectedly the grim faces of the custom officers broke into wide grins. The tiny ginger-haired girl had grabbed the gangling youth’s hand and was attempting to drag him as she strutted up to them, hollering, “Uncle Emanon look there’s my pa…” Her other small arm was waving in the direction of the man he needed to find. Right then Tom Devlin knew Deirdre O’Neill was one special kid.
There was something about bossy little girls that attracted him. Must be they reminded him of his sister and like Beth, now, he grinned, they were safe.
Often his adult relationships with women were not. Shelia Connors Beechen came into his mind as he thought about the Dublin hotel scene. Her brother and her husband making calf-eyes at each other. He laughed out loud.
He’d never really believed her when she told him. “How do you think it feels to know your own brother is crawling into your husband’s bed?”
“You’re crazy Shelia.” Devlin had silenced her whiskey smelling mouth by covering it with his. How wrong he’d been. He’d always considered William Connors was a closet fag. Getting it on with his brother-in-law? That stunk of incest. Raymond Connors would castrate them both if he knew. John knows…Nah, if John had a clue he would have known it. John trusted him to the point he confided problems he wouldn’t share with his family.
Shortly they would be planning their strategy for a senate seat for America’s sweetheart John Connors. William Connors no longer stood a chance of forcing Devlin out of the upcoming games. Then his brow creased and his pleasant mood fled as the border checkpoint loomed ahead requiring Devlin to slow his car and join the queue.
Chapter 36
Northern Ireland, 1981
Tomb-like silence outside the walls, made even a law-a-biding citizen feel a twinge of nervousness when confronting a prison. Knowing how he could have so easily been incarcerated beyond those walls all these many years sent a shiver through Thomas Devlin.
He was grateful that Liam O’Neill ordered him to wait with his auto. “I don’t care to have your damn Yankee trap rattling off in there. You wait outside. I’ll send the lad out and you get him far away from here.”
Yankee. God, how many times he wished he’d been born one. But then you wouldn’t be this Thomas Devlin—now would you lad? You’d lack all the history and emotional baggage that created such a bastard. A small tight grin creased his mouth. The cab of the car became too confining, so he threw open the door and stepped outside. He walked around to the front, leaned his butt against the hood and lit a cigarette.
“Get Rory far away. I don’t want to read his obituary in a week.” What drew that remark from O’Neill? The old man was clever, he had access to Republicans both in and out of jail, and he’d picked up on something.
Devlin thought about what he learned yesterday.
Moylan was back in Ireland. He would have to find out if the fool came on his own or if he was sent for and if so by whom? Jack Walsh knew of Moylan’s return but wasn’t taking credit for it. With Moylan’s knowledge of weaponry, he could have brought that plane down—but why? And for who? Was he still traveling under the cloak of Richard Quinn? If so, that was a waste of a good cover.
The gate swung open. He could see Liam O’Neill talking to someone—then gesturing towards his car. A lump formed in his throat as he felt a fresh onset of guilt. He’d never tried to contact Rory. Years had gone by—almost ten before he made any effort on his friend’s behalf.
Now Rory Hanlon was coming towards the car. In a crowd, he realized, he would never pick him out. The prison years had been cruel. The fair looking lad of Devlin’s memory had been transformed into a skinny wretched semblance of a man. His black hair was prematurely sprinkled with gray. Where it had blown softly about his ears now it hung on his shoulders lusterless and limp. A shuffle replaced the rapid stalk that once a younger Devlin had trouble keeping up with.
“Tom Devlin. Know ya in a minute lad.” One thing they hadn’t killed was Hanlon’s eyes, more mischievous than ever in the thin face half hidden beneath a thick black beard.
“Gave me somethin’ ta tend.” He admitted when Devlin remarked on the beard after they’d settled into the car. “Prison times hard on a young bloke. Mostly you spend it growing old. Glad them bastards believed you was clean. Couldn’t have stood it knowing that pint you bought me landed you in the same hole.” He rattled on—near starved for conversation. It surprised Devlin for the Rory Hanlon of their youth had been a lad of few wasted words. “Heard tell.” Came out like an apology. “They gave you quite a hammering.”
