FEARLESS FINN'S MURDEROUS ADVENTURE

by Mike Coony

  “Finn Flynn the Irish revolutionary is an Englishman. Ha, ha. What do your other revolutionaries think of that, eh?”

  “It’s no problem. There’s a tradition of English-born Irish men and women joining the Republican movement. They say we’re more dedicated, and fight all the fiercer to make up for the unfortunate accidents of our births, you see.

  “The lorry driver who gave my mam a lift lost a daughter in an air raid during the Second World War. She was about the same age as Mam – and also expecting a child – when she died. Anyway, he took pity on my mam and offered her a bed for the night with him and his wife. So I was born in the Bainbridge’s house.

  “Fred Bainbridge got Mam a job in the packing department of the Boots factory. I started school at Robert Shaw Primary Infants, and the other kids at school thought I was a Bainbridge. When they learnt I wasn’t, and made fun of my real name, I kicked them in the shins and came home most afternoons with a black eye.

  “Ethel Bainbridge got fed up seeing me with black eyes, and she asked Fred to do something about it. He filled an old army kit bag with sand and hung it from a tree in the back garden. Then he stuffed newspaper into a pair of his old boxing gloves…so that they wouldn’t fall off my hands…and told me to punch the bag. Every afternoon after school I punched that bag hour after hour until my arms ached so much I could hardly lift them to eat my tea. By my eighth birthday Fred had taught me to box properly.

  “The mocking of my name at school stopped after I fought Franky McLaughlin. He was the school bully…two years older than me…and I boxed the ears off him. Franky’s family was from Northern Ireland, but he pretended that he wasn’t Irish. He was more Irish than me because he’d been born in Warrenpoint, County Down in Northern Ireland…though he was probably a Unionist Protestant. Some of them are more British than the Brits themselves.

  “The family of a woman who was shot alongside my father had been trying for years to bring the British Army to court for an unlawful shooting, a murder. The three volunteers on the raid were unarmed, and the soldiers were in mufti, or civilian clothing. Ten years later, the Application for a Judicial Review finally reached the courts in London. Pictures of my dad were splashed across the front pages of newspapers, and he was shown on television carrying a rifle at the funeral of an IRA volunteer. He had wavy blond hair like me, and stood very straight, like a soldier at attention.

  “Somehow, a reporter from London found out about Mam and me. He was waiting outside the Bainbridge’s house when I got home from school, and he asked me if I was Finn O’Flynn. So I told him that I was Flynn, not O’Flynn…which any eejit knows means son of Flynn. The reporter swore I was the son of Flynn…Francis Finbar Flynn…shot dead along with Mary Reilly and Oisín Savage during an armed raid on a military barracks. He said the Reilly family was in the Old Bailey Courts in London trying to blame the British Army for the killings. Then, all of a sudden, he started yelling at me. ‘Your father was one of them murdering Irish. Isn’t that right you snot nose, isn’t it?’ I kicked him hard in the shins and ran around to the back garden. I began punching the kit bag with my bare hands until it danced on its rope and my knuckles were black and blue.”

  Finn paused, so I reached across and tucked my hand in his. He squeezed it gently in his broad, strong fingers. Looking at me with his soft Irish eyes, he continued the story of his youth.

  “The Nottingham Evening Post sent a reporter to my school, and Franky McLaughlin told the reporter I beat him up because I thought he was a Protestant from County Down. But I hardly knew the difference between religions at that age. My mam hadn’t any time for them after the un-Christian way she’d been treated by her Tipperary neighbours. And Fred and Ethel Bainbridge went to meetings…not to church. So Franky was making mischief and trying to get his own back on me for beating him in a fair fight. Well…could be it wasn’t really all that fair…Franky was only two years older and a foot taller than me. Maybe I should’ve tied one arm behind my back….

  “When the newspaper article appeared it confirmed that Mam and Dad married in the Sacré-Cœur Basilica in Montmartre, Paris…just like Mam said. The reporter also wrote about my ancestor, Fionn mac Cumhaill, and described how he was Ireland’s equivalent of Nottingham’s Robin Hood. He didn’t write that Fionn mac Cumhaill lived nine hundred years before Robin Hood. But he hinted that the wife and child of an Irish terrorist and murderer probably came to live in Nottingham because we’d heard of Robin Hood…the real protector of the poor. The daft eejits!

  “People began pointing at Mam in the street, and reporters and photographers were following her to the gates of the Boots factory. The publicity had turned me into a poor man’s celebrity at school, but I didn’t say anything about that to Mam. I was enjoying girls giving me sweets and pecks on my cheeks. Apart from my friends Cedric Cohen and Mulley Mohammed, the other boys steered clear of me…especially Franky McLaughlin.

  “In the end, it all became too much for Mam, and she decided we’d go home to live in Ireland. I was sad to leave Fred and Ethel…they were the only family I’d ever known.”

  Flynn took a bone-handled penknife from his pocket; he opened the blade and seemed to remember something fondly. “Fred gave me this knife before we left Nottingham. He made me promise to think of him and Ethel whenever I use it, and I do.”

  39

  HONG KONG and PENG CHAU ISLAND

  Nico called me on my cell phone to tell me the Russians are really pissed off that I’m hanging on to their biggest-earning girl, and they want her back immediatamente. I asked him if they have any idea where she is.

  “No, but some English dude saw her with you in Hong Kong at the Ritz-Carlton. He wanted to book her for himself and a few friends, and he got real shirty when he heard she wasn’t available. The cock sucker told the Ruskies he reckons she’s flown the coop and is doing tricks for you in Hong Kong…where you have arrangements with general managers who won’t let any other girls work in their swanky hotels. That made them real mad. You know they’ll grab her kid in Moscow if she doesn’t get back working real soon…like in the next twenty-four hours, Gerry. Better make the most of her while you can buddy. You got twenty-four hours and counting, twenty-four and counting.”

  The threat has been made – bring Nataliya Yelena back to work or Nakita Sylvina is history. Nico is a little too dumb to realise they used him to deliver the threat.

  “Nico, we’re holed up in a friend’s house in Manila,” I lied.

  “Where’d you say?”

  “In Manila Nico. Manila…in the Philippines.”

  “How’d you get there?”

  “In a private plane. You ain’t the only one with friends Nico.”

  “Sure, I remember your rich, dangerous friends, but now I’m hearing whispers about your Uncle Angelo…that’s serious shit Gerry.”

  “Really? Good! So remind your Ruskies about my friends and relations….And tell ’em if they wanna send a bill for the girl to New York, go right ahead.”

  “No shit Gerry? Whispers and rumours…you really want them to know you’re related to the Mob, do you?”

  “Why not? It doesn’t look like I have a whole lotta options now, does it!” I said, before I hung up.

  Someone passed the word in Macau about Uncle Angelo. This is all I need. If it was Earl, no doubt he had good intentions getting the word to those Russian bastards in Macau that I’m connected, but it didn’t stop them sending the threat. Those guys are ex-KGB and they’re used to getting their own way…no matter what. If Uncle Angelo sent word across himself – maybe through the Las Vegas casino connection – he has no idea how these guys think. Sicilian Mafia bosses mean nothing to them. They don’t even respect their own mothers, never mind their sisters. And as for some silk-suit-wearing dude from New York, forget it.

  At least now I can go back to my real name with Nico…and everyone else. No more Gerry, it’s Vincenzo from here on out. I figure Nico has it about right though. We have twenty-four hours before t
he shit hits the fan. At least Finn Flynn and the kid are out of Moscow. Prego Dio aiuta tutti noi.

  Last time I talked to Earl he said he has a bad feeling about Uncle Sui’s people in Moscow, and that Uncle Angelo’s fixing up some help through his friends in the Chinese community in New York. I need to see Earl; maybe he has an update.

  ———

  Gerry left me in Peng Chau with Rickie and George. They are so camp, so outrageous when they are together in their own home, they cheer me up. I want to laugh and be cheerful with them, but I can not, I want to cry. But I know I must not…for Gerry’s sake…for Rickie and George, who are so good to me – practically a stranger.

  My mind is full with fears and doubts about Nakita Sylvina. One minute I am so excited at the thought of seeing her, holding her to me. Then, despair…because something could go wrong. If that happens, she could be put in a gulag and I will never see her again.

  Sometimes I feel that Gerry already believes that Nakita Sylvina is truly his daughter. He seems almost as anxious as I am to have her with us. He will make a good father to my…to our…Nakita Sylvina, God willing.

  I sense that Gerry has news, but it can not be good news. He said everyone can call him Vincenzo now, so something has changed, but he will not tell me what.

  There is no chapel on the little island of Peng Chau, but George is going to take me across on the kai-to so I may pray at the monastery on Lantau Island. Rickie can’t climb with us up to the monastery because he has tennis lessons to teach at Sea Ranch. Maybe George will say prayers to Mary and Saint Nicholas with me – for Nakita Sylvina, Anna and Finn Flynn.

  ———

  I took Nataliya Yelena to Peng Chau to stay with Rickie and his boyfriend for a few days, and I got a Yaumati Ferry back to Central. Earl met me at the Sheung Wan tea shop where I’d brought Finn.

  “Vincenzo, what can I tell ya? Finn, the crazy Irish dude, his Swedish broad, and the kid are on the Trans-Mongolian train, somewhere in the middle of the Soviet Union. Your Uncle Angelo’s sent Sui-Lin to meet them before they cross the border into Mongolia, but she’s not quite there yet. And some friends of Angelo’s friends will meet them off the train…to help get them back into Hong Kong.”

  “I guess that’s something. But For Christ’s sake…with these threats from the Russians…what am I supposed to say to Nataliya Yelena? Honey, don’t get upset my silver vixen, but your pimps want you back on your back in twenty-four hours or they’ll try to grab your daughter, and probably kill your mother. But not to worry, they can’t get to Nakita Sylvina because she’s with Finn Flynn, the flying Irishman, somewhere in the middle of God knows where!”

  “Take it easy Vincenzo. Try to distract her…tell her nothing for now.”

  “Yeah, sure Earl.”

  ———

  When I called Nataliya Yelena this morning I could tell the waiting is putting a strain on her…it sounds like her once laughing eyes are now filled with tears. It’s been less than a week since she talked to her mother and daughter, but nothing I say or do takes her mind off the situation. If I tell her what Nico told me, and how little we know about the whereabouts of Finn, Anna and Nakita Sylvina, she’ll probably fall right over the edge.

  Oh Holy Mother of God – I’ve been so worried about my Russian beauty that I forgot to talk to Uncle Sui like Flynn asked. I have to get a message to him right away…to ask him to arrange protection for Mrs. Galina Maksimovna in Moscow.

  Let me tell you, there are times when life is just a bitch. Where is Fast Eddie when I need him? Nowhere to be found! Getting through to Uncle Sui is no easy matter without Eddie Tang.

  I don’t know what put the idea in my head, but I called the concierge guy here at the Island Shangri-La. I told him I either need to speak to Mister Sui Wong-Li, or to get an urgent message to him.

  “What would that message be, sir?” he asked, in his ever-so-proper Limey accent.

  “I need him to contact me as soon as possible.”

  “Yes sir, I shall do what I can. Notwithstanding that, do try to have tea here at the hotel this afternoon.” I got the message loud and clear. Could be that Uncle Sui is already here in the hotel, or expected. Those Limeys!

  I phoned Earl to meet me at the hotel…even though Uncle’s told me that he didn’t want to meet Earl. He’d said something about having enough Americans to deal with already.

  “No bourbon Earl,” I warned him. “If Uncle Sui asks, you’ll take tea, maybe coffee. Capisce…understand?”

  “Vincenzo, I may not be Sicilian, but capisce, I understand. OK!”

  ———

  Uncle Sui is engrossed in his afternoon newspaper, sitting behind the enormous display of fresh flowers that dominates the lobby of the Island Shangri-La. He didn’t appear to notice our arrival until I gave a less than discreet cough.

  “Uncle Sui, please allow me to introduce…”

  “It’s OK Gerry. I am almost certain that I know who this man is….Mister Earl, am I correct?”

  Earl reached down and shook Uncle’s hand. “That’s me sir, that’s me….Very pleased to meet you, at last.” I winced when Earl say ‘at last’ – like he’s been trying to meet Uncle Sui but hasn’t been able to. Uncle Sui caught it, but thankfully he said nothing.

  “Uncle Sui, I am sorry to interrupt your afternoon, but I have an urgent request to make concerning Nataliya Yelena’s mother in Moscow. She needs immediate protection from the ex-KGB thugs who make her daughter prostitute herself in Macau,” I said.

  “Naturally I will offer what little assistance I can to protect a grandmother so far away. But we are a little late, I am sorry to report. The poor lady is hospitalised…suffering from shock. And she has, unfortunately, slipped into what will hopefully only be a temporary coma. Friends of my friends are seated at her bedside twenty-four hours a day. They will remain there, and no further harm will befall her. But tell me Gerry, is there good news regarding her granddaughter?”

  How damn complicated is this going to get? I don’t even know where to begin….Mercifully, Earl picked up the story, and Uncle Sui sat in total silence until Earl finished filling him in.

  A smiling Uncle Sui reached across the table and patted our hands.

  “Good, good. What I have heard then is true. Finn Flynn is on his way here with the child. I suggest two things, Gerald, or should I now call you Vincenzo? One, say nothing to Nataliya Yelena about her mother. And two, collect her from the homosexuals in Peng Chau, return to your home, and make preparations for the arrival of your new daughter.

  “With these developments from the Russians, Finn and his Swedish girl will not be able to return to his penthouse just yet. Do you have everything you need to accommodate two adults and a child? They will be hungry, tired and disorientated….Well, maybe not Finn Flynn…nothing seems to distress him. However, we must also make arrangements to deal with these mad dogs Russians. Do you agree, Mister Earl?”

  “I sure do Uncle Sui,” said Earl.

  “Uncle I have no words to thank you. But, for my own peace of mind, may I ask what drove Mrs. Galina Maksimovna to suffer a breakdown?” I said.

  “She came home from shopping to find the hall porter nailed to her door with his eyes gouged out and his tongue cut off. This is enough to send a grandmother a little crazy….Don’t you think?”

  40

  TRANS-MONGOLIAN TRAIN: USSR, MONGOLIA and CHINA

  Anna is growing more concerned each time I leave the train to make calls, but I’ve no choice. Watching the Russian officials checking everyone’s papers at the railway stations, it’s become obvious to me that we’ll never make it back to Hong Kong without some help.

  My last risky call was to Gerry. He said I should call him Vincenzo now, and that Sui-Lin will be joining us before we cross into Mongolia. He promised that she’ll have everything we need to get through the Mongolian and Chinese borders. The last time I talked to him he said she’d help if I wanted her to, but I haven’t thought of her since then. All t
he same, she’ll be joining the train soon…in the middle of nowhere. Jaysus!

  Sui-Lin appeared on the train just before we crossed the border into Mongolia. She’s armed with an official seal – allegedly issued by Mongolia’s Department of Foreign Affairs – to protect foreign diplomats from the questioning of inquisitive border guards. She secured the seal to the door of our compartment, and it worked like a dream. With a polite tap on the window, a border guard did his bit for Mongol-Russian cross-border diplomacy and welcomed us to Mongolia in Mongolian, Russian and Mandarin. Other than that, we weren’t disturbed.

  ———

  Finn introduced me to Sui-Lin, the beautiful Eurasian girl who joined us just before we left Russia. He explained that she’s his secretary, not his lover.

  We slept right through the six hour border crossing and woke up to an enormous breakfast on our way to Ulan Bator. It’s almost like a country smorgasbord at home. Vikoff, my amorous steward, is gone, and a pretty Mongolian girl has taken his place.

  ———

  I’m missing my full, hearty breakfasts from the Russians. The giant breakfast on our first day in Mongolia must’ve been courtesy of the Russian caterers. I reckon they gave us such a huge meal because they probably know what we’re facing from their Mongolian counterparts. Apart from the renowned hot pot, Mongolian cuisine is basic, smelly, repetitive, and unappetising. Luckily, Nakita Sylvina’s taken to the yak’s milk and a yoghurt dish, which is just as well – even Sui-Lin gave them a miss. I suppose Anna, Sui-Lin and I will have to settle for congee for the rest of our Mongolian breakfasts.