Host of the Unforgiven

by G D Sheehen

  He was in no mood for the voices now but there was nothing he could do, besides lighten the package in his pocket a little more. He had sworn to himself he wouldn’t take another shot, yet still held on to the syringe and spoon, just in case. Meeting Julie and Rodge for the first time in years all scagged out was not an option he relished.

  “Sir, if you’d like me to be on my way, just say so. I have no desire to bring further discomfort to a troubled soul.”

  Unusual tact for the voices that always seemed hell-bent on driving a burning stake into the heart of his torment. Philip opened his eyes and was surprised to see a vagrant looking fella with a top hat and a maroon velvet coat sat beside him on the bench.

  The vagrant had a goatee beard and a long nose with two rings in the left nostril. Strands of greying black hair hung from the rim of his hat. An ostentatious fashion choice for Carlow if ever there was one. His long fingers were full of rings, his wrists jangling with crafty looking bracelets.

  “Do you mind me sitting here, now? Or would you like me to be on my way?”

  “I don’t mind,” answered Philip befuddled by the situation he was finding himself in. Some swans floated by in the river before them.

  “Ah. Rarely a more beautiful sight than a family of swans in all their majesty and grace, neither wanting for more nor begrudging others their lot.”

  After following the swans’ path in quiet awe, he turned to Philip, extended his long bony hand and said, “I’m Maximus Redwood, by the way. So esteemed to make your acquaintance.”

  “I’m Philip,” he replied, instantly regretting giving out his real name so easily.

  “Philip,” he said shaking hands and looking into his eyes with a look of genuine friendship.

  Despite his scraggly appearance, he exuded a calm air of refinement and wisdom Philip had barely encountered in his life. His eyes were warm, almost puppy-like and his smile was wide and worn with the intention to spread his affection.

  “This country is in a terrible state. Do you realise that, Philip?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “We’ve got people, families with young ones, living on the cold merciless streets. Families that once would have been afforded the means to survival. A guarantee we were given by a new state our ancestors gave their lives for many generations to create. So much hopelessness out there, my friend. I can only hope you yourself haven’t succumbed to the trappings of our modern land. A frenzied race to the top of a shit heap stacked so high that only the most indifferent can ignore the foul stench of human decay. I do beg your pardon, good sir. I have been known for the carelessness of my rants at inappropriate times.”

  “That’s fine. I happen to agree, but I’m not a one who has a right to shout down the ones who are squeezing the life out of the country.”

  Maximus pulled back his head in an exaggerated movement for emphasis. “Why ever not? You certainly don’t look like an elitist profiteer, or a politician, for that matter.”

  “I’m not, but I contributed to that shit heap nonetheless.”

  “What are you up to Redwood?” came a husky voice from behind them.

  They both turned to see a squad car had pulled up and an enormous red-cheeked old garda had his head stuck out the window shooting a leaden gaze at them. A sly smile twisted up his wrinkled face. Philip’s pulse fluttered like a drum roll.

  “You know what I’m always up to, Sargent Beatty. Recruiting lost souls for my army of Wilderness Saviours.”

  What an odd thing to say, Philip thought.

  “Ya, well I hope your arse-bandits aren’t making a mess in that park again, or you know what’s going to happen.”

  “Yes, Sargent. I still have the imprint of your boot up me hole. The forest is, and always will be immaculate.”

  “Fuckin’ better be, ya clown.”

  Sergeant Beatty rolled up the window and drove away again.

  “Holy fuck, man. I can’t believe the way you just spoke to him.”

  “And I saw the look on your face when he pulled up. My highly perceptible instincts are telling me you and the fuzz have a history of animosity.”

  “You could say that. In fact, I just got out of prison,” Philip said not quite believing how open he was being with this enigmatic gypsy he’d just met.

  “We all make our mistakes, but we’re not defined by our past behaviours. If we were, I can honestly say I’d hate Sargent Beatty. But my heart is filled with nothing but love for the ogre.”

  They both laughed.

  “What are the Wilderness Saviours?”

  “They’re a group of likeminded people who are trying to shake off the shackles of this modern world. We have ourselves a commune in the national park, about an hour away from here.”

  “Sounds nice.”

  “You’re welcome to join us if you need some breathing space.”

  “Thanks for the offer, but I have somewhere I need to be.”

  “Very well my good sir. Should you change your mind, head for the Glenealo Valley and follow the forest path to the six hundred steps. You’ll soon spot us.”

  “Okay, Maximus Redwood. I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Redwood rose from the bench, followed by Phillip, and they eagerly shook hands. He turned on his heel and swung his velvet coat for dramatic effect. After a few steps, he turned to Philip and tipped his hat. Philip was pleased by the welcome distraction if not a little confused by the offer from such an unusual character.

  He decided to find somewhere a little more private. A garda had seen him around by now and if he received a call to be on the lookout for someone fitting Philip’s description, it wouldn’t take him long to retrace where he had seen the fugitive. He doubled back towards the coach park and found a quiet coffee shop along the way to hold up in for a couple of hours.

  19

  When the traffic started picking up and rush hour was upon the town, Philip thought it a good opportunity to head back to the coach park unnoticed and try to jump on a bus bound for Waterford. He walked ten minutes down Kennedy Street and Kennedy Avenue to the intersection that crossed directly through to the coach park. Standing at the corner looking around for anything out of the ordinary, he came to the conclusion that it was safe to cross. As he did so, he spotted the bus coming down the road to make its pit stop and felt blessed by the timing of his arrival.

  He stood under the bus shelter and watched as the large sleek red and white coach rounded the roundabout and entered the park. A pang of relief rushed through him when he saw the bus was almost full. It would be much easier to blend in this way, try his best to look like a commuter after a day’s work in the big smoke. Many passengers disembarked for a toilet break, a smoke or just to stretch their legs after an hour and a half of sitting in the same position.

  The bus driver, a gangling middle-aged man with bushy black hair, was friendly to everyone getting off and called across the crowd to Philip, “Alright boss. Are you headed to Waterford?

  “I am, yeah.”

  “Give it a few minutes and you can get on, alright?”

  “No worries. Thanks.”

  The driver got off the bus, lit up a cigarette and became engrossed in conversation with two elderly female passengers. Philip rounded the back of the bus to have another look around and was soon satisfied the area was safe. It had crossed his mind, in a cautious manner, that maybe he had outrun Ray after the incident in Busaras. But that thought was to be short-lived. Across the park, a black Mercedes with a Dublin registration was parked, and the lone occupant in the hue of the overhead yellow light caught sight of Philip and squinted as a look of violent rage washed over his face.

  Now, Philip had never seen Ray in the flesh before, but his reputation preceded him in a volatile mix of dreadful stories told by people who encountered him on the wrong side of his short fuse. His weapon of choice is quite obvious from his name and Philip had witnessed, first hand, the ramifications of his assaults. Scars in various stages of healing, some still stitch
ed up others years later, sunken into the faces of his victims, looking almost like they were born with such abnormalities.

  Word on the street was that Ray had never done a single day in prison but Philip knew that to be untrue. He knew at least one guard in Mountjoy who watched over him in the medical unit of the prison, a unit reserved for non-violent offenders who had serious drug issues, psychological conditions or both.

  Ray opened the car door and got out slowly, never taking his eyes off Philip. He shut the door and stood there, forty metres away, in a tense stand-off that sent Philip’s mind racing in a thousand directions at once.

  “You can take him out. Look at what you did to his brother,” came the snarling voice from all around.

  Maybe the crowds would make Ray reluctant to approach him in the coach park. Maybe Philip could reason with him, explain the situation as it happened with the girl, who is now dead in a junkie’s shed somewhere in Dublin. Of course, that wouldn’t work. Ray is a vicious psychopath; that side of his story was never in question.

  He stood there, a towering fit-looking man with cropped mousy hair and a sharp face that gave him all the menace his name would suggest. Philip had to think quickly. Getting back on the bus would make him a sitting duck, whether he rode it out to Waterford or whether Ray went straight in after him and pulled him out by the ear.

  Having decided it would do him no good to hang around, he ran back across the street, bolted down to the end, took a sharp right turn and came out to a narrow road with a Thai restaurant and a government building, and stopped to have a look around. For a moment he thought he’d lost Ray but saw him around the corner on the other end of the street. He took off again and headed towards a stone bridge that crossed the River Barrow. A quick glance back and he saw Ray was quickly gaining on him. I’m fucked. Should I throw the package back and stall him for a few seconds?

  Ray accelerated like a sprinter charging out of his blocks, putting many metres per second behind him. Philip panicked and tried to do the same but his pace was no match for the fit-looking Ray. He turned onto a street of single-storey houses, no traffic or people in sight. A vicious sense of doom grabbed hold of him, a thought that Ray would catch him in this very street and slash a hundred slices in him without anyone witnessing a thing. What would it matter anyway? No one would dare testify against such a notorious psychopath.

  “Stop right there,” screamed Ray in a rumbling display of alpha authority, the volume of his voice increasing as he bore down on his target. “I only want to talk to ya.”

  Phillip stopped on the spot, not because of the order shouted by his pursuer, but because he was completely zapped of all energy.

  When Ray seemed just seconds behind, a beat-up old Hi-ace van came to a skidding halt in front of him, and Philip accepted his fate. They were going to pull him into the van and cut him to pieces. There was nothing he could do. He cursed himself for not making an attempt to reconcile with Julie and Rodge years earlier, but now, at his lowest point, it was too late. The chance would surely never-present itself again.

  The side door on the van crunched open against the patches of rust on it. A long arm stretched out and the first thing Philip noticed was the hand was covered in rings and craft bracelets.

  “Well, are you gonna get in or do you want that fella to catch up with you?”

  Philip took his hand and was shook by the sheer force of Redwood’s strength in pulling him in. Maximus slammed the door shut. Ray had reached them by now and fumbled at the door handle to open it, but it was apparently locked. They sped off and he looked back to see Ray with his arm stretched out pointing in his direction.

  20

  “How did you know where to find me?”

  “We were picking up some supplies in Aldi and I saw you across at the bus station. I was about to shout over to you when I saw you hop on your bike and sprint off. Then I saw that brute give chase, and I thought, ‘what has my newest friend gotten himself into?’”

  Redwood said this in such a way as to elicit an explanation from Philip. The van tossed Philip over and back, banging his shoulders hard off the side. Redwood barely budged and looked down at him with a calm air of empathy. The driver was a girl in her early twenties with blond dreadlocks, several of which were dyed different colours, and she had many piercings.

  “Are you sure it’s safe to be takin’ this fella with us, Maximus?” she said in a sweet Cork or Kerry accent. Philip could never distinguish the two.

  “It’s okay, Miss. I don’t mean ye any inconvenience. But you did just save me a terrible beating and I’m very grateful for that. You can leave me off anywhere around the town.”

  “Now, now. Enough of that talk. You’re clearly in distress, my Waterford friend.”

  Philip was impressed by his perceptiveness and thought he had long since lost all traces of his accent.

  “But would you mind sharing with us a little information on who that angry-looking thug was and what he wants with a nice fella like yourself?”

  “Not at all. That’s the least I owe you.”

  Philip recounted the night of the incident with Dan the Man and the girl, leaving out the part about the package and her subsequent overdose, of course. He told them about his demons and how he’d been to prison a few times and was determined to make a good go of things this time.

  Sally, the driver, went into a mad speed wobble on two occasions from leaning back trying to take in Philip’s harrowing story. He was embarrassed after leaving out a high pitched yelp on both instances but they didn’t pay it much attention. Sally became teary-eyed at his account of losing his family and missing his opportunity for happiness with Sharon.

  “Why don’t you call her and explain the situation? She sounds so nice. I’m sure she’d understand,” said Sally.

  “I don’t want to get her mixed up with it. She’s been through enough. After I talk to my sister and friend, I’m gonna go back to Dublin and turn myself in.”

  “That’s quite a powerful tale of love and loss you have there, Philip,” said Redwood, his long eyebrows curling up, dismayed by the drama of Philip’s life. “But you are just the kind of lost soul we take in at the commune and help get back on his feet. Please come and stay with us for a few days?”

  “I don’t know. I really need to get to my sister, and I don’t want to trouble you anymore.”

  “Don’t speak of it. It would be a pleasure to have such a wanderer as yourself. Your story could really inspire some of our young ones who are battling their own demons. And besides, that animal probably knows where you’re from. If he sees you there, it could put your sister at risk. Maybe it’s best to hold off for a few days.”

  Philip considered the proposition for some time and eventually agreed to go for the night and see what he felt like the next day. Redwood climbed into the front seat and switched places with Sally making the van swerve several more times. By now they were outside the town limits and heading for the countryside. Philip was unsure where they were going to but saw a sign for Castledermot. Sally looked back at him with a gleeful expression.

  “I’m so glad you’re joining us.”

  21

  It soon became apparent to Philip they were travelling north towards the Wicklow mountains, the opposite direction to home in Waterford. But maybe Redwood was right. Maybe it was better to stay away for a few days. Razor Ray couldn’t search for him forever, and he had a strong feeling he wouldn’t interfere with Julie and Rodge. For all his brutality, it was well known that he never went after the families of those who owed him. He had a much more vicious and permanent way of dealing with his indebted subjects.

  They ascended winding mountain roads resembling black veins coursing through the flesh of an ancient untouched land. The van soon descended into the Glenealo Valley and Philip was awed when they rolled by the majestic Glendalough lake. Like a black sheet, a portal into a world of folklore and ancient characters, the moon bounced off its surface and lit up the forest climbing up on
either side of the valley. The forest was lush and primal, a forbidding fortress of Scott’s pine and Sessile Oak, black splotches in the night sky, their outlines silver in the glowing moonlight.

  The story of Saint Kevin, whose name Philip had taken for his confirmation after hearing it, came to his mind. Saint Kevin was born into wealth and privilege but shunned this existence to devote his life to prayer. One day, praying at the lake, a blackbird landed on his outstretched hand and laid an egg. Rather than disturb the wont of nature, Kevin remained in that position until the egg hatched and the hatchling took flight. A powerful story of the love of nature and preservation, Philip thought it appropriate that this was the site of the commune.

  The van rounded the lake and snaked up through a winding road that led to the edge of a dark dense forest. The van stopped and Sally jumped out and opened a barrier that was intended to keep public vehicles out of the national park area. Redwood guided the van in knowingly and after a hundred metres or so, parked it near a tall hedge that reached its roof. They jumped out and stacked broad pine branches against the side of the van with military precision. By the time Philip registered what was happening and started helping they were just about finished.

  “It doesn’t hide it perfectly, but enough so that no one gets hot and bothered about it. We have an unspoken pact with the parks commission that as long as we keep the place in spic span condition, they won’t send in the paddy waggons.” Redwood said this last part with a wink to Philip.

  “How long have you been here?” Philip asked.

  Redwood put his arm around him and began walking, with his long strides, through the thick of the pine trees, trampling on the damp foliage underfoot.

  “Long enough to know that we are privileged to be here and are keeping alive an age-old tradition of loving this land and cherishing its heavenly offerings.”

  Philip offered to carry some of Sally’s shopping bags but she wouldn’t hear of it. He nearly tripped over a couple of times but was held on balance by Redwood’s long arms. They came to a well-worn path and Philip fully expected that they’d join it and follow it to the commune, but instead, they cut across the hardened mud walkway and headed straight back through the trees. His legs were aching from the chase with Razor Ray and he was beginning to twitch from withdrawal pangs. I have to take one more hit. I can’t go cold turkey when all this mad shit is happening. I’ll chat for a while then take a little walk.