Chapter Four
Few people turned up at
the requiem mass the next morning and I guessed that only a small handful of
them had even heard of Marie, let alone met her. I’d sent a message to Pat
Mulholland through the parish priest, but he didn’t come either, which was a
pity. I could’ve done with a few pointed words in his ears.
Surprisingly,
Penny Hamilton was there, hiding at the back of the church and trying not to
look out of place, which is no mean trick for someone in her line of business.
She was dressed like a high school kid on a first date, fancy but not over the
top in a flowery dress beneath a pink coat. Hardly the sort of thing for a requiem
mass, but it looked pretty good to me. I approached her after the service, when
the priest had hobbled away and we were both left standing in drizzly rain in
the churchyard. She smiled apprehensively.
“I’m
glad you came, Penny. I didn’t think you were a closet Catholic.”
“You
know perfectly well I’m not.” She glanced around, eyes searching. Strange to
see a kid of her age frightened of being in a churchyard in full daylight. “I
was feeling a bit uneasy about it, but it seemed right to come. You know what I
mean?”
In
truth I didn’t know, but I let it pass. Across her shoulder I saw a
graffiti-splashed wall sporting the words PROVISIONAL IRA—WE WILL WIN. A
republican flag was painted underneath, flanked by pictures of two hooded
mobsters in battle fatigues.
I put
a hand lightly to her arm. “Mrs Gidley…” I paused to consider what I wanted to
say about Penny’s employer.
“Big
Tessie? What about her?”
“Tessie?
Is that her name? She didn’t know Marie was a Catholic. Or… at least… she said
she didn’t.”
Penny
blinked, like something had suddenly bugged her. She took a step back, breaking
the contact between us. “You mean you talked to her about your family being
Catholics? God, you’re green about the gills, Henry Bodine!”
“You
think I should have figured out that people like the Gidleys eat Catholics for
breakfast?” I tried to look subdued.
She
fingered her shoulder bag nervously. “Tessie Gidley knew the form anyway, the
lying bastard. She knew which side of the fence your sister got her religion.
The real name’s a dead giveaway. You won’t find many prods in Ireland called Marie.”
“So
why did they take her on?”
“Because
she was good. One of the best.” She took a moment to compose her words. “The
Gidleys would take on any girl if she was good. They made money out of it and
they paid well. There’s another agency in the Falls Road, run by Catholics, but
they don’t pay nearly as well and Marie needed the money.”
“Because
she was pregnant?”
“And
to pay the rent.” She shrugged. “Did you go and see Pat Mulholland?”
“Not
yet, I thought he would come to the mass. Maybe I’ll see him later this
morning.” I felt an urge to hesitate, get the words clear in my head before I
let them out. Instead, I ran straight on. “Look, I’m flying back to the States
tomorrow. I’m taking Marie’s body now it’s released for burial. Could we meet
again this evening, just to talk? Have dinner, maybe?”
She
blushed and replied in a confused voice. “Have dinner with you? Are you
kidding? After what you had to say about strippers?” She laughed
self-consciously, but broke off when she saw that I was deadly serious. “You’re
not kidding, are you? You really are
asking me for a date.”
“A
date? Well, call it what you will. I need to talk to you some more about Marie.
How about you come to the hotel and have dinner with me. Say, about eight
o’clock?”
After
a long pause with her eyes half closed, she flicked open her lids. “Okay.
You’re quite sure you want me to come?”
“I
asked, didn’t I? Yeah, I want you to come.” I enjoyed the feel of the words on
my lips but I couldn’t explain why, not even to myself.
“Right.
Eight o’clock, then. Which hotel?”
I told
her where I was staying. She nodded, smiled and backed away. I could have sworn
that blush still lingered on her face as she hurried out into the busy street.
I didn’t think emotions like that came easily to girls in her sort of trade,
but I must have been wrong. Inwardly, I warmed to her.
On the
third attempt, I found a cabbie willing to drive me to the Divis Flats. The
first one pointedly sneered something about Fenian bastards, the second simply
ignored me and the third wanted a premium payment. In advance. I should have
got the message that this was going to be no fun ride, but still I wasn’t prepared
for the reality of the Divis Flats. Neither could I figure out why they call
them flats when they’re actually high rise apartments.
The
locals called it ‘the Divis’, which was a simple name for a complex place.
Republican slogans were daubed everywhere on the walls, like tribal graffiti
designed to intimidate anyone who stepped over the reservation boundary. Wall
murals on an epic scale marked out the tribal hunting grounds with scenes of
powerful young braves in battle fatigues. By contrast, groups of surly,
sour-faced youths lounged about on the street corners, smoking incessantly,
eyes red with the effects of pot. The smell of it hung heavy in the air.
Pat
Mulholland lived with his mother on the second floor of a block that was just
as dingy as all the rest. I trod warily, constantly watching my back as I made
my way to the front door. It wasn’t the lumps of dog shit that made the place
smell bad, it was the atmosphere.
It was
Pat himself who opened the door to me. I recognised him from the photograph
even though he wasn’t exactly smiling when he saw me. His eyes held a wary
expression, which was hardly surprising as he didn’t know me from Adam. The
photograph had given me a clue to why Marie fell for him: what he lacked in
social niceties, he made up for in good looks—ruggedly handsome in a Harrison
Ford sort of way. Lean and clean-shaven, he stood about six foot tall in his
trainers, which were as worn and dirty as the rest of his clothes. His ragged
jeans and sweat shirt hung lifelessly from his slim frame.
Behind
him, in the dim interior of the apartment, I made out the elfin outlines of
dirty children crying, shouting, running bare-foot over naked floor boards.
“Yeah?”
Pat peered past me, taking in the watching faces behind a dozen twitching
window drapes. You didn’t need a degree in gun law to see that the only
security in the Divis lay in each inhabitant minding his own back.
I held
out a hand. “Hi, I’m Henry Bodine, Marie’s brother.”
“Yeah.
I heard about you.”
“You
did?”
“Word
gets around.” Pat sucked through his teeth and continued looking beyond me to
study the hostile world outside. “God save us, why the hell did you want to
come here of all places?”
“To
see you.”
He
ignored my hand and stepped back. “Shite. You’d better come inside, so you
had.”
I
followed him into the apartment but should have known better. Already I was
getting the creeps up my spine, and that was a warning I’d experienced in other
hostile places. A strong stench of unwashed bodies reached out as he showed me
into a small living room. Two women, one old and wrinkled and the other young,
fat and slovenly, were watching television. Both were smoking and a heavy grey
cloud hung in the air, fighting for supremacy over the body odours. The room
was unfurnished, except for a settee and the television. Even the floor was
bare. A faded drape was stretched across the window.
“Me
sister and me mammy.” Pat gestured towards them off-handedly. He seemed more
easy-going with the front door closed. Like a master in his own manor.
The
two women stared at me as if I was the beast from the Black Lagoon, eyes
narrowed into slits, mouths clamped tight. Neither moved nor spoke. I’d seen
the same sort of silent, hostile caution in Bosnia where a word out of place
could cost you your life.
“This
is Marie’s brother, so it is,” Pat explained and the tension eased marginally,
but no one moved. I was left standing just inside the door.
“Hi.”
I smiled awkwardly.
Still
neither of the women spoke.
Children
had been shouting in the background from the moment I entered the house,
presumably Pat’s sister’s kids. Now they began to spill into the room, the
unclean refuse of a family on its last legs.
I grabbed at Pat’s shirt sleeve. “I need to talk to you about Marie.
Is there anywhere we can be alone?”
He
took a half-finished butt from his pocket, stuffed it into his mouth and lit up.
“You’d better come through to the kitchen. Through here.”
The
closet-sized kitchen smelled of stale food as well as dirty people. Pat shut
the door behind us and we were as alone as we were ever going to be inside the
apartment.
I got
straight down to business. “Penny Hamilton gave me your address. I’m going back
home to the States tomorrow with Marie’s body. Did you get the message about
the requiem mass?”
“Yeah.
Couldn’t get away.” A dull look of resignation crept round the corners of his
mouth. “You know how it is.”
I
figured he was about Marie’s age, no more than early to mid-twenties. His black
hair was tousled, his sweat shirt ripped and dirty. And yet, despite the ragged
appearance, I detected something that set him apart from the crowd and I
couldn’t immediately pin point what it was. It wasn’t just the easy-going
Southern Irish lilt in his voice, nor the girl-grabbing good looks. It was a
personal ‘presence’, outwardly compelling at first glance and yet suspiciously
unreal if you knew what to look for.
“What
happened, Pat? Why was Marie killed?”
He
stared at me, open-mouthed as if I had accused him of my poor sister’s murder.
After a moment’s awkward silence, he cast his eyes to the floor, drew deeply on
his smoking butt and spoke slowly. “I don’t know why you’ve come here, Bodine,
but whatever it is you can lay off me. How the hell should I know why she was
killed? Christ, I wasn’t there, was I?”
I
stood my ground and soured up my voice. “Why was she in the taxi that evening?”
“She
was goin’ out to work. Didn’t they tell you that?”
I
gritted my teeth. Whatever Marie had been doing, she wasn’t on her way to any
legitimate job. She was there so she could strip off in front of lecherous old guys
with nothing better to do. “Come on now, Pat. Think. What really happened, and
who could have done it?”
“I
told you. I dunno. How should I feckin’ well know who did it or why they did
it? She was killed and I wasn’t there to see it, was I? Jesus! Don’t you think
I’ve spent hours wonderin’ who the feckin’ hell did it! Don’t you think I’ve
gone over it time and again to try to work out what the hell happened?”
“You
spoke to the police about it?”
“You’re
jokin’. You don’t talk to the police here in the Divis.” He snorted loudly.
“It’s more than your feckin’ life’s worth.”
I
tried to keep the astonishment from my voice. It wasn’t easy. “You didn’t go to
the police! And they didn’t come looking for you?”
“They
looked. They didn’t find me. Not yet.”
“You
mean… Marie was blown up and… shit! You didn’t even talk to anyone about it?”
Anger started to show through and I paused to bring my patience back under control.
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Shows
how feckin’ little you know about what’s happenin’ here.”
Change
the subject, I decided, while I still had some self-control. “What about this
stripping game? Why the hell was Marie going to places like the Blue Taboo
Club? Why was she doing that sort of job?”
“’Twas
her choice, so ’twas. Stupid feckin’ bitch.” His self-confidence was now
slipping away and he dragged at the glowing butt with a short, sharp hissing
sound.
I held
myself in check. “Okay. I get the picture. She needed a job. But wasn’t there
some other way to earn…”
That
was when he snapped, like a dry twig suddenly cracking underfoot. The
self-confidence he had displayed earlier evaporated in seconds. “For Chrissake!
She didn’t have to do it! We could’ve lived here with me mammy and saved the
rent money.” The butt had gone out and his hands shook as he tried to relight
it. “Me mammy said we could live here. We would’ve managed, so we would, but Marie
wouldn’t even consider coming to live in a dump like this.”
I
glanced about. “Doesn’t seem like your mother has much room to spare.”
“We
would’ve managed some way. But she wanted to rent some expensive place we
couldn’t afford. She said… she said she wouldn’t ever come and live in the
Divis whatever happened. She said it was a feckin’ shite-house.”
“Okay,
so she wanted a proper apartment.” The situation was beginning to get at me
again. I was fighting hard not to hit out at the bastard. “But… for Chrissake… how
much does an apartment cost to rent?”
“Costs
enough, so it does. Too feckin’ much.” He was holding back on something, I
could sense it. And I wanted to know what it was.
“You’re
saying she had to do it? You reckon
Marie had to go stripping to earn enough
money? Was that what it was all about? Earning enough to pay the rent?”
He
shrugged. “There was other expenses. But so what?” He had his smoking butt in
his mouth again and drew in deeply once more. Smoke streamed from between his
lips and his tension began to increase. “We just couldn’t afford to live, the
way things were. We were having trouble.” He paused reflectively. “We argued.”
“Go
on.” I clenched my fists.
“We’d
had arguments before. This time she told me… told me feckin’ straight she was
goin’ back to the strippin’ game. I told her I wouldn’t stand for it, so I did.
Told her only feckin’ whores did that sort of thing. Bitches and whores!”
Pain
shot through my hands as the fists tightened. “And what happened?”
“You
know feckin’ well what happened. Marie went straight out and got work with them
Gidleys. Proddy bastards!” He dropped his hands to his side and stared beyond
me, like he was seeking answers I couldn’t give him.
“But you
knew she was going to do it. She told you.”
“Didn’t
think she’d go through with it. But she did.” A brief silence followed. Then
his words picked up again as his mind ran riot. “Christ! She was droppin’ her
knickers in front of a bunch of feckin’ loyalist bastards. That’s what your
sister was doing, Bodine! Droppin’ her drawers at the Blue Taboo! In front of all
them feckin’ Prods. Playing the whore…”
“Okay,
buddy. Just calm it!” I could feel my patience wearing too thin. I knew for
sure now what he was not telling me. I could smell it in the smoke hovering
about him. And it wasn’t the smell of tobacco. I breathed loudly, but not too
deeply. “It seems to me she was doing it to support you, Pat. To keep you in
smokes and put a roof over your head!”
“Who
the feckin’ hell—”
“Who
the hell am I to talk to you like that? I’ll tell you who I am, buddy. I’m the
guy whose sister was killed while she was out earning money to keep you in
bread. That’s who I am!”
I
thought then he might lash out at me. But, instead, he lowered his eyes and
turned inwards on himself. “She shouldn’t have been doing it. I feckin’ told
her… and we had rows about it, and all. I said I’d leave her if she didn’t
stop.”
“Leave
her? Even though she was pregnant?”
“You
think I didn’t have qualms about it? God, I loved that girl, really feckin’ loved
her when she was behavin’ reasonable like. But I couldn’t live with her when
she took it into her mind to do whatever the feckin’ hell she wanted. You’ll
know how strong-willed she could be. You’ll know what she was like.”
Yes, I
knew, but I didn’t want to admit it openly. Not then. It was too soon to take
hold of that sort of truth. Strangely, and somewhat against my better
judgement, I believed him when he said that he loved her. Despite everything,
how could anyone not love her?
I
tried to take the subject deeper. “Let’s get this straight. You were living off
the money she earned even though she was pregnant, and yet you were prepared to
leave her?”
“So?
Just what the feckin’ hell is this?” This time he really flared back at me. He
threw the remains of the butt to the floor, stamped on it and bared his teeth.
“Have you come here to give me a balling-out, Bodine?”
“No.
But maybe someone ought to. I came here to find out what happened to my kid
sister and I find that you were living off her earnings.”
“We
lived together. That ain’t no crime.”
“But
you had no way of supporting her.”
He
reached into a pocket for another smoke. “You’re too naive, Bodine. You think
your sister was some sort of innocent feckin’ angel and you think I led her
astray. You do, don’t you? The truth is I wasn’t the first man in her life, you
know. She was no innocent virgin. She’d slept with others before she met me! Too
many others. The last one was a Brit, so it was. A feckin’ English Prod over
there in London. Did you know that? Did you?”
“No.”
“Well,
it’s true.” His voice suddenly dropped a few decibels. He pulled out another
smoke and tried to light up, but his hands were shaking too much and he gave
up. “Once, when we was havin’ a row, she told me how he kept her like a feckin’
mistress. Gave her a place to live, somewhere he could go to shag her. Did you
know that, Mr feckin’ High-and-Mighty Bodine? Did you?”
“No. I
didn’t.” The revelation shook me deeply but I tried not to show it. “But it
makes no difference. It’s what you
were doing that bothers me.”
“Really?
So you came here to take it out on me, did you? Just what is it about me that
gets up your feckin’ nose? Is it because I’m Irish? Is that it? A no-good feckin’
Paddy!”
I
tried hard to keep my cool while I replied, “I presume it was Marie who paid
for the dope you’re smoking. Well, was it?”
I saw
his arm coming up long before it got close to me. It was so easy to grab his
wrist and swing it behind his back and stand there listening to him whimpering
with pain. I leaned close to him and hissed, “My sister was working to pay for
your drug addiction. If you ever say so much as one more word against her, I’m
gonna come round here one dark night and break every bone in your body. You got
that?”
I
could hear him crying when I let myself out the back door. I felt no sense of
satisfaction in what I had done because he was right. Marie was too
strong-willed by far: more strong-willed than the likes of Pat Mulholland was
able to handle.
*
I asked the cabbie to
take me through East Belfast on the way back to the city. It was a big detour,
so why did I ask to go that way? I suppose I was intrigued to see the one
connection my family had had with Belfast before Marie came here: the shipyard.
I should have guessed it would be no scenic tour. We drove through narrow
streets of red-brick terraced houses where the front doors opened straight out
onto the sidewalks. The huge shipyard cranes towered over the skyline, menacing
and silent.
“’Tis
where they built the Titanic,” the
driver told me as he pulled up near the entrance to the Harland and Wolff yard.
“Yeah,
I know.” I decided to say nothing about Jacob Bodine. He died a long time ago
and nothing was to be gained from resurrecting his memory in public.
“Grand
ship, so she was,” he went on. “Best in the world. You know why she sank? ’Cos
that stupid English captain ran her too fast. We built them a perfect ship and
the English had to go and destroy it.”
“Take
me back to the hotel,” I replied testily. I had no intention of getting myself
tied up in racial arguments.
*
I met Penny in the hotel
lobby spot on eight o’clock. Secretly I’d been worried she might not turn up
or, worse still, she might arrive dressed like a stripper, but I should have
had more faith in her. She had on one of those smart suits that make a girl
look like she’s a director of some big combine—neat cut, quiet check pattern,
skirt that almost covered her knees but not quite, and a white, high-neck
blouse. She smelt like strawberries and white wine.
She
cut a trim figure in the dining room and the waiter treated her like a real
lady, shaking out her napkin before placing it on her lap.
“You
look good enough to eat,” I told her as I sat down directly opposite. A pretty
corny opener, but it was true and I had nothing better up my sleeve.
“Thank
you.” She took it as the genuine compliment it was meant to be. “Sweet or
savoury?”
“Sweet.
Like peaches. Quite definitely peaches.”
She
shot me a genuine and infectious grin. “These days it’s not often I get asked
out to a place like this. I wasn’t sure what to wear.”
“You
chose well. You’re attracting attention for all the right reasons.”
I
ordered the wine and then we spent some time discussing what we would eat. For
someone who didn’t get many dinner dates, she sure knew her food and she didn’t
learn that at the Billy Gidley Agency. I got this sudden intuition she was used
to the better things in life.
She
didn’t turn to more mundane matters until we’d ordered, and the waiter had left
us alone. “When do you go back to America?” she asked.
“Tomorrow.
Early morning Shuttle flight to Heathrow. Then a 747 to the States.” I didn’t
mention about the corpse that would be going with me.
“So
this is the last time we get to see each other? First date and the last.”
“That’s
life.” I thoughtfully twisted the stem of my wine glass between finger and
thumb. Despite the beauty sitting across the table, I still felt kind of
twisted up inside and I guess I was none too careful with what I said. “I go
back home and try to help my folks get over this while you stay here in this
Godforsaken place and just carry on stripping as if all this never happened.” I
deeply regretted the words as soon as they were spoken. But it was too late by
then.
Her
eyes opened wide and a hitch caught her voice, as if I had knocked her to the
floor before we really got to know one another. “That was a pretty damn mean
thing to say. You did invite me here, you know. I didn’t have to come. I’m a dancer, Henry, and that’s all. I didn’t come
here as a prostitute.”
“I
never imagined…”
“Yes
you did, I can see it in your face. It’s an expression I’ve seen many times
before, in better men than you. You think that dancing and prostitution mean
the same thing.”
A
chair leg creaked at the next table, telling me we were being overheard, but I
didn’t give a damn about other people. Only her. I fiddled with my glass again.
“Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. It was unfair and I’m a louse for
saying it. Okay? Will you give me a chance to get the right words out?”
“What
words?”
“Sorry…
or something like it. And let’s start again.”
She
sighed and then drew a deep breath. “Henry, d’you know what unemployment is
like here in Northern Ireland?”
“They
tell me it’s as bad as it can get.”
“It’s
worse than that.” She spoke straight from the heart, cool but insistent. “It’s
bloody impossible. I have two options. I can take the Social Security payments
and sit at home on my backside all day, or I can go out and get a job which few
other girls would be prepared to do.”
“So
that’s why you took up stripping?”
“It’s
a job, dammit. I pay my own rent without scrounging on others. I don’t owe
anyone anything.”
“Put
that way, it sounds quite laudable.”
She
sniffed loudly. “Don’t be so condescending, Henry. It doesn’t do you any
credit.”
Again,
I knew I was treating her unfairly and I cursed myself for it. “I’m sorry, I
shouldn’t have raised the subject. I just don’t seem to be able to come to
terms with things just now and I’m making a mess of this evening. All screwed
up inside my head and not thinking straight.”
She
leaned back in her seat and sighed. “You’ve every reason to be screwed up, I
suppose. Hell, I would be in your shoes. But you’re overdoing it.”
She
deserved an explanation, so I gave her one. “I went to see Pat Muholland and it
left me feeling really uptight. Angry. You know what I mean? I shouldn’t take
it out on you. I’m sorry.” I felt a spasm of guilt wash over me and wished we
could start again. But life ain’t like that.
Maybe
she understood, because she mellowed slightly. “I told you that you wouldn’t
like him.”
“Yes,
you did. But the odd thing is, Penny, I can see why Marie was attracted to him.
He has the sort of looks young women go for. And there’s a sort of compelling
air about him, even if it does function on the strength of drugs.”
“You
sussed that out too?”
I
nodded. “Couldn’t really miss it. Anyway, let’s change the subject. Talk about
something more enjoyable. Tell me about yourself. Tell me something that’s
going to cheer me up.”
She
lowered her eyes and a soft smile crept across her lips. Maybe, for the moment,
I was forgiven. She inclined her head coyly. “What’s to tell? My life must be
pretty dull compared to yours.”
I
doubted that, but she knew little about my own background beyond what Marie
might have told her. “You ever thought of getting into some other business?”
For just
a moment she looked taken aback and I knew I had goofed again. She opened her
mouth as if about to make a sharp retort, then, seemingly thinking better of
it, she shrugged. “Jeez! You just can’t let it go, can you?”
“Forget
I said it. Let’s talk about…”
“No.
If you want to know all about it, I’ll tell you. I do the exotic dancing
because it’s all there is on offer for girls like me.” Back in her apartment
she would have carried on calling it stripping, but here in the hotel dining
room she turned to calling it exotic dancing. That told me a lot about her.
Told me she had reason to appease her own conscience. And what did she mean by ‘girls
like me?’
“Tell
me more about it,” I said.
“You’re
judging me?”
“No
way. I’ve no right to judge anyone.” I tried to grin, knowing that I had a lot
to be ashamed about: the death of Carrie-Ann, and the innocents on the ground
in Iraq. My past was no saintly story. “Hell, Penny, I’m nothing to write home
about. I just want to know more about you, and about Marie, and why you both
ended up as… exotic dancers. What makes you tick?”
“I
suppose when you’re buying the dinner you think that’s a fair question.”
“I’m
buying you dinner because I want to. You’re cute. And I want to talk to you
about what happened to my sister and…” I looked into her eyes and added,
lamely, “Apart from that, I guess I must like your company. I guess I just
happen to like you.”
“Even
though I earn my keep the way I do?”
“There’s
something appealing about you. Something different. You remind me of someone I
once knew.”
She
eyed me cautiously. “Someone you were attracted to?”
“Yeah.
She didn’t look like you, but she acted a bit like you.” I recalled
Carrie-Ann’s long golden hair and her infections smile. It wasn’t difficult to
bring them to mind.
“She
found someone else?” Penny said quietly.
“No. She
died.”
“I’m
sorry.”
“It
was a long time ago.” Hell, I was getting maudlin. I made an effort to buck
myself up before I continued. “Today my attention is all yours. And you’re one
hell of a girl to grab my attention.”
She
softened, and a blush crept up the side of her neck and spread across her
cheeks. “It’s a long time since I heard anyone said something nice like that.
Do you mean it, or is it your usual chat-up line?”
“I
mean it. Tell me more about yourself.”
“Dangerous
subject, Henry. Might be better if we talk about Marie. That’s what you really
want, isn’t it?”
“Yes,
I suppose you’re right.” I leaned back in my seat. “Who would want to kill—”
“Oh,
for God’s sake, forget that part of it. Let the police work on that. It’s their
job. You seem to be obsessed with the idea that someone actually planned to
kill Marie.”
“The
bomb was aimed at that car.”
She
pursed her lips thoughtfully. “The taxi, yes. But it didn’t have to be because
of Marie. If it was deliberate—and
I’m not saying it was—then it’s more likely that the bomb was aimed at Sammy
Wilde. Do you know how many taxi drivers have been killed in Belfast? It’s not
exactly a healthy job.”
“Why
taxi drivers?”
“Partly
because they’re easy to hit, out in the streets on their own. Partly because
the taxi companies are divided into sectarian gangs just like the rest of the
country. One company pays protection money to the Provos—the Provisional IRA—and another pays up to the UVF—the Ulster Volunteer Force. Maybe Sammy
Wilde welched on his protection payments to the UVF?”
“Or
maybe the Provos took a dislike to him?”
“Could
be. You see, it needn’t have been an attack on Marie. Probably wasn’t.”
I
leaned forward, arms across the table, and clasped my hands together. “Perhaps
you’re right. Perhaps I’m out of my depth and unable to see straight.”
“Too
right. You’re totally out of your depth over here. You’ve no idea what sort of
people you’re dealing with.”
“So
enlighten me some.”
“Okay!
I’ll enlighten you” She suddenly leaned forward across the table until only
inches separated our faces. I felt her breath feather against my lips and
wished she would stay like that. She spoke quieter now, huskily. “Some years
ago the UVF were trying to put together a hit squad to take out some of the
senior provos. They were looking for the sort of person who’d have no qualms
about blowing another guy’s brains out.”
“Nice
people.”
“The
Brigade Leader got together a group of thugs who said they’d do the job and he
set up a test to find out if they had the guts to go through with it. He put
them all in a room together and told them there was a hooded IRA gunman in the
next room. He said there was a loaded pistol on a table next to the provo and
he wanted one of them to go in and shoot the bastard. Then he went next door
and put the hood over his own head.”
“Death
wish?”
“No.
The gun wasn’t loaded, idiot. It was just a test. To see if any of them had the
guts to go through with it. Anyhow, the first guy went into the room, picked up
the gun and aimed at the hooded Brigade Leader, but he couldn’t pull the
trigger. No real guts, you see. So the second guy went in and the same thing happened.
Couldn’t bring himself to shoot someone through the head. Well, this went on
again with the third and fourth man. No guts. Then the fifth one went in. He
was a real killer. Came from a family who were all solid bone from ear to ear
and this guy was the family dickhead. He picked up the gun, pulled the trigger
and, of course, nothing happened. Not loaded. Well, he was pretty mad because
he thought the gun had jammed on him, so he grabbed it by the handle and beat
the hooded guy about the head. Killed him before he discovered who it was he
was beating the hell out of.”
“So he
got the job?” I had a vague recollection of hearing the story somewhere else.
It was apocryphal: part of the myth and legend of Northern Ireland. It didn’t
get any better with the retelling and it worried me that Penny believed it.
Then I told myself that the whole damn problem with Northern Ireland was that
everyone was too caught up in urban myths.
“Damn
you! It isn’t funny, Henry.” She was angry now, but not because of me. That was
pretty obvious form the look on her face. I guess she was angry because the
story reminded her of what was wrong with the society she lived in. She leaned
closer still and hissed, “I’m trying to show you what sort of people you’re up
against.”
I
didn’t reply and we stared deep into each other’s eyes. She pursed her lips
silently and a faint breath kissed my face. It must have been only a few
seconds but it seemed like eternity and I had this strange urge to hang on to
the moment.
Then
she suddenly drew away from me and smiled awkwardly. “Look, let’s talk about
something else. What about you? What do you do to pay the rent?”
I was
ready to change the subject, but not too keen to put the spotlight on myself.
“I was in the US Air Force. Flew different types of aircraft.”
“And…”
“That’s
it. I flew different types of aircraft. Now I don’t. Temporarily out of work.”
“Don’t
want to talk about it, eh?”
“I
wish I could, Penny. I wish I could tell you all about it and get the whole
thing out of my mind. But I can’t. State secrecy and all that nonsense.” The
word ‘guilt’ also hung inside my brain but I wasn’t ready to let it escape.
“Were
you in Vietnam?” Her sense of age and place was not too hot. Outside of
Northern Ireland, she was not a political animal.
“No,
that was before my time. But I got into something that was pretty nasty.”
She
eyed me reflectively, as if she was trying to make sense of something she could
never hope to understand. “Is there something in the story that makes you feel
bitter?”
“Bitter?”
“Angry
at the way you were treated?”
“Why
do you ask?”
She
smiled and I felt a sudden urge to open up to her. “Just a girl’s intuition. It
isn’t just Marie’s death that’s bugging you, is it? There’s something else inside
that head of yours, something that’s eating you alive. Something big.” She was
perceptive, I’ll say that for her.
“One
day I’ll tell you about it, if I get the chance.”
“You
could tell me now.”
“And
spoil a perfectly good meal?”
The
first course arrived at that point and that helped me change the subject once
more. She was more relaxed now and so I told her about home, about mom and dad,
and I filled her in on things she’d never found out from Marie. I told her then
how I’d always wanted to be a pilot and fly big aircraft and how proud mom and
dad had been when I got my air force wings. I told her about life at home in
the unbearably hot suburbs of LA. I told her about when Marie and I were
younger and how we’d enjoyed our lives up to the point where I went away to fly
for the Air Force and Marie left home to make it as a dancer.
But I
never told her about Carrie-Ann. Couldn’t bring myself to tell her about that.
Not then. Nor did I tell her the part I played in the First Gulf War. Dropping
bombs and killing people.
What I
did say seemed to help her open up more about herself and she began to talk
about her own parents who had fled to England years before to escape the
violence of Belfast. She told me how her father, once a proud and capable
engineer in the Belfast shipyard, had been unable to get any sort of work in
England and had died of a heart attack, a broken man. Her mother had not lived
long after that, so Penny had brought them home and buried them both in a
graveyard on the outskirts of Belfast near to where they had once lived. The
more she talked, the more I understood what had motivated her into taking any
sort of job to keep herself employed. And that helped me to come to terms with
the sort of life Marie had been leading.
As the
conversation continued, the earlier tension eased and then melted away. At the
end of the meal I didn’t want to see her go. “You know, you’re quite a girl,
Penny. You sure you got no steady boyfriends?”
“Right
now? Not a single one.” She was caressing her coffee cup between her hands,
smiling across the table at me with a look that said it all. She was available
if the right man asked her. In the right way.
I
shook my head. “I guess in different circumstances I’d pluck up enough courage
to ask you out for another date. And later, when we’d got to know each other
better, I’d ask you to stay the night with me.”
She
put down her cup, leaned forward across the table, set her hand on mine and
smiled. “What different circumstances?”
“Me
with a regular job and you living close by.”
“You
make it sound like you fancy me.”
“Maybe
I do. Maybe I like you enough to want you to spend some time with me. Maybe
stay the night…”
“So
what’s stopping you asking?”
That
clinched it.
We
turned to idle chit-chat while we finished our coffee and then I took her up to
my room. She began to slide out of her dress even before I’d shut the door and
what came into sight was even more of a turn-on than I’d imagined. She was
naked perfection. A slim waist, a tight little ass, and breasts that looked
ripe and ready to be hand-picked. Her skin was pure peaches, just like I’d
imagined and when I put my hand to her chest I could feel her heart pumping
like it was getting ready for a marathon.
*
Sometime later, lying in
bed, I picked my head off her chest and looked deep into her eyes. “That was
the most fantastic sex I have ever had. Thank you, Sweetheart.” Those were the
words I used because I could find no other earthly expression that could convey
what had actually happened between us. So what if it all sounded trite? Nothing
else could describe what we’d experienced.
She
smiled back at me and her eyes blazed with joy. I could have sworn it was the
sun shining as it had never shone before.
“I
thought it was pretty amazing too.”
“Did
you feel it? Did you feel the way our whole beings joined together?”
“I
felt it. Dear God, but I felt it.”
We lay
back in the bed for some minutes, side by side, two spent people who wanted
nothing more from life than to enjoy the aftermath of our joint ecstasy. She
was like a small, sleek pussy cat purring alongside me, her hair splayed out on
the pillow. When my pulse rate began to subside, I turned towards her.
“Thank
you again.”
“You
don’t have to keep thanking me, Henry. I enjoyed it as well.”
“I
guess it was all kinda sudden, wasn’t it?”
She
laughed, “You bought me dinner, remember? But I did it because I wanted you. I
was desperate for you.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.
Really. Haven’t had a man in a long time and you looked too good to pass over.”
“Pity
it has to end here.”
“Yeah.
Pity. You could grow on me, Henry Bodine.”
Then
common sense took over. I wanted her to stay the rest of the night, but she
insisted on leaving and I didn’t question why. Despite that glorious period of
pure sex, I’d made too many goofs already that evening and I didn’t want to
spoil the ending of a great experience.
Shortly
before midnight I took her down to the lobby and called a taxi. We stood on the
front steps of the hotel and when she leaned towards me I gave her a gentle
kiss. At least, that was how it started but I guess we lingered over it more
than was polite.
“Can I
call you?” I asked.
“From
the States? No. Don’t make things difficult for both of us.”
“You’re
something special. What else can I say?”
“Nothing.
You’ve said all you need to say.”
I
stayed there on the steps while the taxi eased out into a dull stream of
traffic and began to melt away into the night.
For
some seconds, a feeling of emptiness lingered inside me, as if something had
gone out of my life, but I couldn’t figure out what it was. I stared out into
the darkness and felt confused in a way I hadn’t been confused before. Dammit,
she was only an… an exotic dancer.
I was
still standing there when a sudden bright bomb-flash ripped through the city
streets and a deep crash of thunder split the night air. I felt a blast of air
hit me in the guts, staggered backwards and fell on my ass on the hotel steps.
For a full minute I just sat there, dumbfounded, mind rocked sideways by the
force of the blast.
By the
time I had recovered from the shock, a pall of smoke was billowing up from a
burning vehicle some way down the street. Flames licked up into the night air
and lit up the surrounding buildings. I jumped to my feet and ran unsteadily
out into the night, crying out soundlessly. People were running in all directions,
elbowing me aside.
I
shouted out, “Penny!” knowing it was a damn stupid thing to do. And yet I
couldn’t help it. Nor could I afterwards explain the intense feeling of relief
when I saw her coming back towards me. White-faced, stumbling, not sure where
she was or what the hell she was doing. I grabbed hold of her and held her
tight, not able to find the words to comfort her. Not even sure if she was injured.
“It
was two or three cars in front…” she blurted out. “Just a loud bang and then… then…
oh, dear God, then…” She was sobbing hysterically and no more words came out.
Emotion and shock together wracked her tiny frame. I helped her back into the
hotel, the chaos still erupting about us. Fire vehicles, ambulances with their
sirens wailing, police running along the street, military vehicles appearing
from nowhere. People were standing around, looking dazed and disbelieving.
“Are
you hurt?” I asked. “Should we get you to the hospital?”
She
answered in a frightened but far-away voice. “No. I’m not hurt. Just shock, I
think. Legs feel like jelly. Just need to sit down.” Her lips began to quiver.
We sat
in the lobby for some minutes, both stunned. My mind raced to and fro between
the bomb blast outside and those other explosions I witnessed in another
country where people couldn’t live together in peace. Memories drifted back:
images I wanted to forget, but couldn’t.
Ten
minutes passed before I bought us both a stiff drink and took Penny up to my
room once more. I guess I still wasn’t thinking straight, didn’t really come to
my senses until hours later when she was fast asleep in my bed and I was spread
out on the counterpane alongside her, nursing a very large rye.
Only
then could I slowly begin to sort out in my mind the sort of existence these
people had to accept as a normal daily life. And I wondered what the hell it
was that made Marie get tied up in it.
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