Irish Whiskey
Page 33
The judge, eyes wide in astonishment, pointed at the entrance to his chambers. Nuala, cooing reassurance, guided the weeping woman in that direction.
“Sure, all you need is some rest and then everything will be all right.”
It wouldn’t be all right, maybe not ever. Yet perhaps there was still a chance.
I found myself standing next to Judge Jackson.
“Astonishing,” he murmured. “I’ve never seen anything like that in all my life … You are a very lucky man, Mr. Coyne.”
“Tell me about it.”
5:00 NEWS
Reporter: Do you have anything to say, Dermot?
DMC: I want to thank my attorney for her splendid work (hugs Ms. Hurley) and my family and my fiancée’s family for their loyal support. I also want to thank the future Mrs. Dermot Coyne, my Irish immigrant bride, for her strength of character, which is as rock-solid as the mountains of her native Connemara. (Hugs her too.)
I would also like to point out to all those who are watching that what happened to me can just as easily happen to you. Perjured informants, politically ambitious lawyers, storm troopers with FBI warrant cards, publicity-seeking judges, and corrupt journalists can destroy your lives, too, even if you’ve never had even a traffic arrest. My freedom is your freedom, my victory is your victory, my enemies are the enemies of all of us.
And by the way, while tis true that the police never gave me a ticket, not even for parking, it is not true that the cops never stopped me! I guess I must have an honest face!
There is not much else to tell. We dropped charges against the FBI agents. David McAuliffe was reassigned to Anchorage. Martha Regan remained in Chicago. The United States Attorney resigned at the request of the Attorney General. His successor shook up the staff and Dale Quade was fired. She did two weeks of extensive therapy in a psychiatric ward. I’m sure Nuala sneaked into the hospital to see her, but I had the sense not to ask. When we returned from our honeymoon we found a silver plate she had sent us for a wedding gift.
The media made generous contributions to those institutions which had tried to educate me. The investigation which Judge Jackson had recommended is not doing much. Jarry Kennedy continues to live in his own half-light world of grand expectations and notorious failures; few people will speak to him.
The rehearsal dinner at the Four Seasons was “brilliant altogether,” though there was more singing and dancing than that illustrious hotel had ever seen before; so the manager told me with a happy smile.
At the wedding the Bishop told us his famous strawberry story. Marie Mangan knelt in the back of the Cathedral. Nuala kissed her as we went down the aisle after Mass. The ghosts departed and left the scene to the cavorting angels.
Nuala’s dress, I was later informed, was satin and lace with a very chaste high neck, long sleeves of lace, a headpiece of lace with a long veil of net and a long train (carried by a small Hurley child), and a tight waist with a panel of lace going down the front.
All I realized when I saw her coming down the aisle was that she took my breath away she was so lovely.
“Sure,” she whispered in my ear. “There’s almost nothing at all under this.”
I gulped.
The reception was a grand success. Sean Cassidy, my friend from Marquette, met and fell in love with a gorgeous colleague of Nunu’s from Arthur Andersen. He’s so much in love that he forgot about my questions the day we had lunch at Berghoff’s. The full story of Jimmy Sullivan’s life and death and new life will be told someday but not now and I hope not for a long time.
34
NUALA SANG at the wedding Mass, er, Eucharist. She sang at the dinner at the Drake. She sang too in our home before, during, and after the joyous—and comic—union which sealed the beginning of our new life together. The room was filled with light and I imagined that the prancing angels were singing with us.
Despite her promise that there was almost nothing on under her bridal gown, my fingers were clumsy as I tried to remove it.
She refused to help me. “Sure,” she said, “take your time, there’s no rush.”
There was indeed not much under it, but all of it was delightful, and fun to remove.
A famous writer once said that the naked body of a woman was the most beautiful sight a man would ever see. He was right.
Then we became man and wife with surprising ease and great pleasure and joy.
“Ah, that wasn’t so bad at all, at all?” Mrs. Coyne said when we collapsed into each other’s arms at the end of our ride through the stars.
“Woman, it was not.” My hand rested on her sweatcovered belly.
“Well, as I said to everyone, sure, when it comes to lovers, me Dermot won’t be the worst of them!”
She moved my face to her breasts, kissed me very gently, and murmured, “Go to sleep now, me love. Tis fine altogether. Isn’t the courtship over and our marriage begun? And won’t I take good care of you always and sing you to sleep every night like I’m doing now?”
So I went to sleep to the tune of an Irish lullaby.
Whiskey, you’re the divil, ye’re leading me astray;
Over hills and mountains and to a brighter day;
Ye’re sweeter, stronger, spunkier;
Ye’re lovelier than tay;
Oh, whiskey ye’re me darling; drunk or sober.
—Irish song
Whiskey also Whisky (1705-1715 short for whiskybae
All the characters in this story are creatures of my imagination. They exist only in my world and have no counterparts in God’s world. In particular, none of the lawyers or judges or law-enforcement officers are based on any real people.
BOOKS BY ANDREW M. GREELEY FROM TOM DOHERTY ASSOCIATES
Bishop Blackie Ryan Mysteries
The Bishop and the Missing L Train
The Bishop and the Beggar Girl of St. Germain
The Bishop in the West Wing
The Bishop Goes to The University
The Bishop in the Old Neighborhood
The Bishop at the Lake
The Archbishop in Andalusia
Nuala Anne McGrail Novels
Irish Gold Irish Stew!
Irish Lace Irish Cream
Irish Whiskey Irish Crystal
Irish Mist Irish Linen
Irish Eyes Irish Tiger
Irish Love Irish Tweed2
The O’Malleys in the Twentieth Century
A Midwinter’s Tale September Song
Younger Than Springtime Second Spring
A Christmas Wedding Golden Years
Washington D.C.
The Senator and the Priest
All About Women
Angel Fire
Angel Light
Contract with an Angel
Faithful Attraction
The Final Planet
Furthermore!: Memories of a Parish Priest
God Game
Jesus: A Meditation on His Stories and
His Relationships with Women
The Magic Cup
Star Bright!
Summer at the Lake
The Priestly Sins
White Smoke
Sacred Visions (editor with Michael Cassutt)
The Book of Love (editor with Mary Durkin)
Emerald Magic (editor)
Praise for Andrew M. Greeley
“A love story as much as a mystery, with Greeley portraying Chicago’s middle-class Irish-American ethnics with flair, dignity, and affection for their lilting speech.”
—Chicago Sun-Times
“If you liked Irish Gold, Greeley’s first tale of this detective duo, you’ll be delighted to have the sequel, Irish Lace, in time to read before you give it for Christmas presents.”
—Charlotte Observer on Irish Lace
“Like the delicate handwork that its title evokes, Greeley’s Irish Lace is finely crafted, laced with compelling characters, and crisscrossed with stron
g story lines.”
—Savannah Morning News on Irish Lace
“May be Andrew M. Greeley’s best effort yet.”
—Baltimore Sun on Irish Gold
“A real Irish stew, with a ghost or two tossed in for good measure.”
—San Francisco Chronicle on Irish Gold
“A mystery as modern as the current peace talks between England and Ireland, and as old as the Troubles of the 1920s.”
—Atlanta Journal Constitution on Irish Gold
“A tale of young love and faith, as modern as U2 … . Yet those who have followed his works in the past will find the same storytelling mastery and the same understanding of the heart.”
—Chicago Tribune on Irish Gold
NOTE
JAMES “SWEET Rolls” Sullivan is a figment of my imagination, though to some extent he is based on Charles Dion “Dean” O’Bannion who was gunned down in his florist shop (Schofield’s) across from Holy Name Cathedral. The rest of the atmosphere of the Prohibition era in Chicago is as authentic as I can make it. Of the many books about that time, the best I have read is Mr. Capone by Robert J. Schoenberg (William Morrow).
All the characters in my story are products of my imagination, including the lawyers and journalists. Alas, the abuse of power by prosecutors and media is not fictional. I agree with Dermot’s final statement to the TV vultures.
Writing stories plays strange tricks on you. I was well into the book before I realized that O’Bannion was buried near my grandparents in Mount Carmel Cemetery. Moreover. my mother was married at the Cathedral and a wedding photo taken after the ceremony shows Schofield’s in the background. O’Bannion was indeed killed among the flowers and his second-incommand, a certain Hymie Weiss (real name Earl Wojeichowski) was gunned down in the street outside the shop (probably the time the Cathedral cornerstone was chipped, if it ever was) because he demanded that Capone let him kill Anselmi and Scalise to even the score. Later “Al Brown” would have to kill them himself.
Is this the end of the “Nuala Anne” stories?
Well, now that’s not for me to say, is it?
But, sure, wouldn’t Irish Cream make a grand title?
Grand Beach
May 1997
Notes
1 Dermot, often in error but seldom in doubt, is wrong here. Actually, as he certainly should have known, Capone was a Neapolitan and hence ineligible for the Unione Siciliana, the backbone of the Mafia, or Outfit as it is more often called in Chicago.
2
Forthcoming
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
IRISH WHISKEY
Copyright © 1998 by Andrew M. Greeley Enterprises, LLC.
All rights reserved.
A Tor Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC
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Tor® is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.
eISBN 9781429912129
First eBook Edition : July 2011
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 97-4037
First Edition: March 1998
First Mass Market Edition: December 1998