And Blue Skies From Pain (22 page)
Read And Blue Skies From Pain Online
Authors: Stina Leicht
Three men stared at him from their self-appointed stations in Frankie’s sitting room. One leaned against the defaced James Bond poster—the word “wanker” scrawled just above his head. Blinking, Liam recognized him from the night before—the sullen one with the bushy mustache and the long sideburns.
What is his name? Davy?
There was something about the man Liam didn’t like. The second, a balding man with bushy black eyebrows and a red face, had taken up a guard’s stance by the closed front door with his arms folded across his chest. The last of the lot, and most worrying, looked to be in his late thirties, had military bearing and wore an oversized military olive-drab anorak. He occupied Frankie’s one and only kitchen chair with the back turned to front. His arms rested on the chair back, and he peered over them with hard brown eyes. His straight brown hair was cut in a conservative style that would’ve been typical for a constable or a BA officer.
Or someone who wished to invoke authority,
Liam thought.
What is his name? Davy?
There was something about the man Liam didn’t like. The second, a balding man with bushy black eyebrows and a red face, had taken up a guard’s stance by the closed front door with his arms folded across his chest. The last of the lot, and most worrying, looked to be in his late thirties, had military bearing and wore an oversized military olive-drab anorak. He occupied Frankie’s one and only kitchen chair with the back turned to front. His arms rested on the chair back, and he peered over them with hard brown eyes. His straight brown hair was cut in a conservative style that would’ve been typical for a constable or a BA officer.
Or someone who wished to invoke authority,
Liam thought.
“
Maidin mhaith. Tá tú go maith?
” the man in the chair asked in fair Irish in spite of the Munster accent.
Good morning. Are you well?
Maidin mhaith. Tá tú go maith?
” the man in the chair asked in fair Irish in spite of the Munster accent.
Good morning. Are you well?
Liam moved to check his watch. The man guarding the front door suddenly reached for something lethal strapped to the small of his back.
Freezing in place, Liam said, “Only looking for the time, mate.” He was surprised at how calm his voice sounded. Keeping the empty hand in the air where the man could see it, he slowly turned the arm so he could read the dial strapped to the inside of his wrist. The low, fierce ache of a hangover lurked in the depths of his brain. He could feel it making ready for just the right instant to strike. It was going to be a bad one. He could tell.
“Afternoon, more like.” Questions flashed through his bruised brain.
Who the fuck are these bastards? Paramilitaries not BAs. Right. Frankie is Provisional. Provos then. Aye, Provos. Calm yourself. Frankie doesn’t keep company with any other sort. Right. So, where the fuck is Frankie? Or do I have it all wrong, and they’re Loyalists, and they’ve done for him?
As if in answer, a cabinet door thumped.
Who the fuck are these bastards? Paramilitaries not BAs. Right. Frankie is Provisional. Provos then. Aye, Provos. Calm yourself. Frankie doesn’t keep company with any other sort. Right. So, where the fuck is Frankie? Or do I have it all wrong, and they’re Loyalists, and they’ve done for him?
As if in answer, a cabinet door thumped.
“Will you have coffee, Liam?” Frankie asked from the kitchen. The casual and friendly tone seemed a wee bit overdone.
Why am I surprised? Of course, Frankie fucking rang his mates.
Nonetheless, Liam thought he sensed tension under Frankie’s demeanor, but it was tough to be certain as both the sofa back and a half wall blocked his view of the kitchen. “I’ll have the tea, if you can spare it.”
Nonetheless, Liam thought he sensed tension under Frankie’s demeanor, but it was tough to be certain as both the sofa back and a half wall blocked his view of the kitchen. “I’ll have the tea, if you can spare it.”
“Afraid not, mate,” Frankie said. “Ma always said a good Republican wouldn’t have anything to do with that shite.”
“Oh, aye? In that case, I’ll have the coffee then,” Liam said. His heart was still galloping with an enthusiasm that was sure to give his anxiety away. The knowledge that nerves wouldn’t give the right impression under the circumstances didn’t help. The hangover, done lurking, took up arms and started to work. He winced as it clawed away at the tender insides of his skull. Massaging his temples didn’t do much good.
The man in the chair said, “I understand there was quite a party last night.”
“Hope you’ll not mind my asking, but who the fuck are you?” Liam asked.
The man occupying Frankie’s cheap kitchen chair placed his hands on his thighs. The stiffness in the action reminded Liam of his former unit lieutenant. Liam couldn’t shake the familiar anticipation of a dressing down. Éamon hadn’t been much for drunken antics—not that it had prevented a fucking thing.
“Ah, there now. I’ve been rude, haven’t I? Can’t be having that. Not if we’re to be having a polite chat, you and I. I’m Séamus. And you’re Liam Kelly, wheelman. Formerly of Éamon Walsh’s unit.”
A chipped white mug appeared from over the back of the sofa. The nutty scent of coffee steam flooded Liam’s nose.
“Here you are,” Frankie said. “It’s black. The milk has gone over. And there’s no sugar. Davy had the last of it.”
“Mind if I sit up?” Liam asked Séamus, unwilling to make any sudden moves without giving one and all a warning.
“Go on,” Séamus said.
Liam righted himself, and regretted it at once. When he could bring himself to move once more he shoved the sheet and blanket to his hips, exposing his bare chest. It was a bit cool for that, but he wanted one and all aware that he was unarmed and had every intention of keeping himself that way—at least for the moment. He gingerly turned to retrieve the mug from Frankie. “Can we get to the point? My head is a wee bit worse for wear. And I’m certain Frankie has better things in mind for his afternoon.”
“Liam, these are friends,” Frankie said.
“Oh, aye? Good friends, are they?” Liam asked. The headache was now doing a lively slam-dance to the drum beat of his racing heart. His skin tingled with the cold, and he wanted to be sick.
“Very good friends,” Frankie said. “Relax, will you? They’re not here to put the hurt on you.”
“You’re sure about that, are you?” Liam asked, warming his hands on the hot mug.
“I am,” Frankie said. “Liam, I—I told them about Malone. The Kesh too.”
Liam inwardly winced. “What did you say, exactly?”
“Níal Healy told me,” Frankie said, his voice growing less confident. “You know, about the ones that got killed. After—after the hidings. Christ, Liam. I saw that myself a time or two. At Malone. Everyone in the cage knew. And Níal… well… he said you were the best wheelman he’s ever seen. Said nothing could stop you. Not BAs. Not barricades. Nothing. You’d slip through like it was magic.”
“And how is it you know Níal Healy so well that he tells you shite about me?”
“Come on, Liam,” Frankie said. “We’ve all been searching for you. We’ve been worried sick, so we have.”
“Have you now?” Liam asked. “So, you save me from a rompering just to hand me over to a punishment squad? Is that it?”
“No one wants that,” Frankie said.
“Isn’t that nice? We’re all not wanting anyone hurt,” Liam said, not liking the sound of the situation. “So, what is it you do want?”
“HQ want to know what happened at the farm,” Séamus said.
“What farm?” Liam asked.
“Don’t play me. It won’t go well for you,” Séamus said.
Frankie cleared his throat.
Séamus sighed. “Éamon Walsh’s farm. HQ want a report. You’re for giving them what they want, aye?”
Taking a sip of bitter coffee, Liam settled his back against the sofa. He let the bald man with the gun interpret that how he would. Rough wool upholstery scratched his bare skin. With the hangover it was bloody torture, but he ignored it. Frankie’s coffee tasted fucking awful.
Fucking Nescafé.
Liam wasn’t sure he was going to keep it down.
At least it’s warm,
he thought. The post-adrenaline shakes were setting in. He rested the hot mug on his thigh so Séamus wouldn’t notice the tremors in the foul liquid. “Éamon Walsh was an informer.”
Fucking Nescafé.
Liam wasn’t sure he was going to keep it down.
At least it’s warm,
he thought. The post-adrenaline shakes were setting in. He rested the hot mug on his thigh so Séamus wouldn’t notice the tremors in the foul liquid. “Éamon Walsh was an informer.”
“What?!” Frankie rushed around the sofa. “What are you saying?”
“I said, Éamon Walsh was a fucking tout.”
Séamus’s eyes narrowed. “There was an informer, all right. But it wasn’t Éamon.”
“Oh, aye. They told you about Oran, did they?” Liam asked, letting his anger slip. “Oran was fucked. Wasn’t shite he could do. That cunt Éamon fed him to fucking MI5 to save his own fucking neck.”
“And how do you know this?” Séamus asked.
“Oran told me before I fucking shot him,” Liam said. “And then the fucking MI5 fuck posing as a fucking Peeler confirmed it before I did for him. How else?”
Séamus frowned.
Frankie said, “You’d believe a—”
“Don’t!” Liam stood up. The coffee sloshed on the blankets and his jeans. The pain inside his head stepped it up a few more notches. He didn’t want to shout anymore for fear of making it worse. He lowered his voice. “Don’t you fucking say one word against Oran. I won’t stand for it.”
Frankie’s face went a little pale, but he held Liam’s gaze. Liam felt a little shiver of surprise, and his estimation of Frankie went up a wee bit.
“But Oran was a tout,” Frankie said. “You said—”
“Aye. I did. And he paid for it. I shot him. Because it was the best I could do for him. Because there wasn’t enough left of him worth sending home after Éamon was done giving him a seeing to. Because if I didn’t, Éamon would’ve done the same to me. All to cover his fucking lying arse.”
Séamus blinked.
“Well?” Liam asked. “Any more idiot questions?”
Frankie swallowed. “But—”
“That’s enough, Frankie,” Séamus said, reaching into his jacket pocket. “Why don’t you take Davy and Steven to the shop? You’ve need of milk and sugar, if there’s to be any more coffee. Pick up some tea too. Meanwhile, me and Liam here are going to have a quiet little chat. Alone.” He paused. “Why don’t you have a seat, Liam?”
Hesitating, Liam caught Frankie’s quick glance.
Be careful,
it seemed to say. Liam suppressed an urge to punch him.
Be careful,
Liam thought.
My arse! Why the fuck did I trust you, you gobshite?
He knew well enough, and Frankie hadn’t really done anything wrong. However, Liam had no patience for Séamus’s fucking questions. He needed to be away. He needed to know whether Father Murray was dead or not.
Be careful,
it seemed to say. Liam suppressed an urge to punch him.
Be careful,
Liam thought.
My arse! Why the fuck did I trust you, you gobshite?
He knew well enough, and Frankie hadn’t really done anything wrong. However, Liam had no patience for Séamus’s fucking questions. He needed to be away. He needed to know whether Father Murray was dead or not.
“And Frankie?” Séamus asked, reaching out with a hand full of folded bills. “Get us some cigarettes while you’re at it.”
Frankie took the money, nodded and left. The others exited behind him. Séamus waited until the door closed and the footsteps receded before continuing.
“Sit, son,” Séamus said. “You’re not in any trouble.”
Liam sat, wary.
“You’ve only confirmed a few things,” Séamus said. “HQ had their suspicions. Éamon was a bit too tidy when it came to it. The funds collected were never short, however.”
Collected? Isn’t it stolen, you mean?
“Everything accounted for. So HQ were willing to let it rest a while. That is, until we knew for sure. And we had our ways of finding out.”
Too neat. Too sloppy. Tell me something, old man, would you know an innocent man if you saw him? Or do the fucking British have you so paranoid you’d suspect your own arse?
“Why are you bothering with telling me fuck all?”
“Why are you bothering with telling me fuck all?”
“So you’ll understand all is forgiven.” Séamus rested an arm across the top of the chair back. “We want you back.”
“Fuck you.” The words burst out of his aching head before he knew it. His heart rammed his ribs, making him almost lose control of his stomach.
Séamus didn’t blink. “Are you not willing to listen to my proposal?”
Liam’s chest seized up on top of everything else. The room was suddenly too small. He wanted out of the flat. He had to get away from this man. Before he could bolt for the door, the memory of Father Murray’s voice whispered in his mind.
You have a choice.
You have a choice.
Liam forced his deepest wish past the guilt and through clenched teeth. “I’ve done my bit. I’m out.”
“You have done. There’s none can deny it,” Séamus said. “Suffered, you have. Made great sacrifices for the Cause. And you’re right, that should be the end of it. And normally, it would be. But this is different.”
“How is it different?”
“Ireland needs you, son.”
“No. Not me. Someone else.”
“The Brits are breathing down our necks. The streets are locked down with the barricades. We need a real driver. The best. Níal Healy swears you’ve some sort of power in you. Maybe he’s fucking mad. Maybe he isn’t. I don’t give a fuck. We need an edge. Now more than ever we need the best. That’s you.”
Liam thought,
The best, my arse. Save your fucking speeches for the new recruits who don’t know any better.
The best, my arse. Save your fucking speeches for the new recruits who don’t know any better.
“Your wife—”
“Don’t you fucking bring her into this.”
“We both know she worked for a free Ireland.”
“She wanted human rights for Catholics. Jobs. Housing. That’s what she wanted!”
“She wouldn’t want you to give up the fight after she—”
“I said fucking leave her out!”
Séamus sighed. “All right. I can see you’re tired. Take a holiday. A week or two. Get some rest. You’ve the need. Think it over. We’ll see to it no one will bother you. There’s no rush.”
“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Liam was finding it increasingly difficult to breathe.
Have to get the fuck out of here.
“Are you not listening? I said no!”
Have to get the fuck out of here.
“Are you not listening? I said no!”
“You’ll have whatever you need—”
“I need you to fuck away off!” Liam stood up. “I’m saying no!”
Séamus nodded. “Níal Healy said you might say that.”
“Fuck you! And fuck Níal too!”
Getting up from the chair, it became apparent that Séamus was a lot bigger than Liam had thought—more solid. Still, Liam was the taller, but the half a head difference in height didn’t seem to matter much to Séamus. He stared up with his cold eyes and nodded a second time.
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