A Man With One of Those Faces (The Dublin Trilogy Book 1)

by Caimh McDonnell

  Fallon started to reach for the gun in his belt that he’d taken off Carroll. Paul knew, there and then, if he went for the gun on the floor, he’d never make it. He was too unsteady, too dazed, too damn tired.

  “PAULIE!”

  He turned towards the sound of Bunny’s voice to see Mabel arching her way through the air towards him. He reached out on pure instinct and caught the handle in both hands. Then – he turned and swung away.

  It felt good.

  The finest pure striker of a ball this field has ever seen.

  The last thing he saw was Mabel’s perfect kiss with Gerry’s Fallon’s face, sending him careening backwards.

  And then darkness.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  St Katherine’s Hospital, 4th floor, neonatal unit.

  DI Jimmy Stewart was impressed.

  “Yeah, it got pretty hairy for a while there boss.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “She’d planned for a home birth, you see.”

  Stewart nodded. He had rather strong opinions on the advisability of such things but he’d learned from bitter experience to keep said opinions to himself. He doubted that Wilson would’ve noticed if he spelt them out in 12 foot tall fireworks at that moment anyway. His eyes were firmly glued on the little battler on the other side of the glass. “Congratulations, though, you did well.”

  “The mother talked me through it to be honest. Her birthing partner wasn’t picking up, and she wouldn’t let me take her to the hospital. The ambulance crew said it must’ve come early because of the stress.”

  “The doctor told me they’re both doing great.”

  “Yeah, she’s just getting some kip – Nora – I mean, Miss Stokes.”

  “You pulled a baby out of the lady, Wilson, you’re allowed to be on first name terms now, I think.” Wilson tapped the glass lightly and waved. Stewart knew the baby couldn’t see much at this stage in his young life, but he didn’t have the heart to point it out.

  “And, when I think…” Stewart noticed with alarm that Wilson’s eyes were starting to well up. “When I think what I almost let happen. Telling that bloody Doyle woman and that thug going to Nora’s office and…”

  Stewart cut him off. “But it didn’t happen. You made it right and you learned your lesson.”

  Wilson nodded his head firmly.

  “No harm done, thank God. In fact, you’ve done well. You helped bring that little belter into the world, didn’t ye?”

  Wilson nodded and turned to beam at Stewart, who gave him a wary look.

  “Don’t go confusing this for a hugging moment, Wilson.”

  “Yes, Guv.”

  St Katherine’s Hospital, 3rd floor, secure unit.

  Assistant Commissioner Fintan O’Rourke glowered at the picture of the Virgin Mary on the wall. His wife was sitting in the chair on the other side of the bed but they weren’t talking. She’d kept asking questions that he’d not wanted to answer. For a man with two broken legs, a fractured collarbone, a broken arm, three broken ribs and a punctured lung, he’d been forced to answer a lot of questions. There were probably a lot more coming too. As the wife sat there reading one of the stack of magazines she’d bought herself down in the hospital’s shop, an unhappy thought dawned on him. His gobshite of a son was home on his own, doing God-knows-what on his snooker table.

  The door swung open and Commissioner Jane Horsham strode in, followed by that pencil-pushing assistant that constantly followed her around. The fool that’d never lived down that one picture in the paper when he’d been carrying her handbag. She nodded at his wife. “Clare.”

  “Oh, hello, Jane,” she said, standing like royalty had just entered or something.

  “I’ll keep this brief. Fintan, you’re suspended pending investigation into numerous allegations of serious misconduct.”

  “You’ll be hearing from my lawyer.”

  “Lawyer – singular? Christ, if even half of this shit is real Fintan, you’ll be nee ding a lot more than one.”

  St Katherine’s Hospital, 2nd floor.

  “I think he’s coming round… yes, he’s trying to say something.”

  Dr Sinha leaned closer to try and make out what Paul was saying. He then straightened up and looked at Brigit in confusion.

  “What was it?” she said.

  “Ehm...”

  “Well?”

  “He said ‘I knew she’d get me shot.’”

  “Oh for Christ sake!” Brigit threw her hands up in exasperation. “Like this is my fault too! I didn’t shoot him, tempting though it is.” Brigit stood on the other side of the bed. “Open your eyes, ye moany gobshite.”

  “Nurse Conroy,” said Dr Sinha, shifting nervously, “that is not recommended bedside technique.”

  “Trust me, it’s the best way forward in this situation.”

  Paul spoke in a croaky voice. “Watch her, doctor, she’s got a history of violence.”

  As he opened his eyes, Brigit tried hard to look irritated but she couldn’t really put her heart into it.

  “Mr Mulchrone, welcome back. You just had a minor operation to remove a bullet from your…”

  “Arse,” assisted Brigit.

  “Yes.”

  “Well,” said Paul groggily, “I’m reliably informed that the gluteus maximus is absolutely positively the only place to get shot.” He smiled weakly at Doctor Sinha.

  “By the way,” said Dr Sinha, “I have also redone the stitches in your shoulder, which I believe you ripped playing hurling?”

  “Close enough.”

  “And I’ve re-bandaged your minor headwound. We’ve taken an X-ray of your jaw. Just swollen, no permanent damage.”

  “Great.”

  “You will have to spend quite some time sitting on a rubber ring, and the bathroom may be a little tricky for a while as…”

  “Doc,” interrupted Paul, “could we perhaps list the indignities I’ve got to look forward to a little later?” He looked pointedly at Brigit. Doctor Sinha blushed.

  “Absolutely, I will let you, leave you to, I will…”

  “Fantastic.”

  “Yes.”

  He left, slamming the door slightly too loudly in his haste.

  Brigit looked down at Paul and smiled.

  “You got a ride in a helicopter.”

  “I know, how cool is that? Of all the injuries I’ve suffered, I think that part makes this one my favourite. How is everything?”

  “Christ only knows,” said Brigit. She shifted nervously. “The police have apparently started digging up the fields surrounding The Rock. One of the boys outside said they reckoned it’ll be the biggest crime scene in Irish history. Lord knows how many bodies they’ll find.”

  “Well, at least we’re involved in a record.”

  “That’s true.”

  Brigit and Paul looked at each other, then they looked away in embarrassment. Then they looked at each other again.

  Paul started. “I don’t want you to feel weird about…”

  “What?”

  “Y’know,” said Paul.

  “No,” said Brigit, shaking her head. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “The whole – me – taking down Fallon, saving your life thing. I don’t want it to be all – life debt you can never repay. You being my servant for the rest of my days. Not necessary.”

  Brigit nodded solemnly, “That is very kind of you.”

  “It’s OK. It was no big deal. I just…”

  He was interrupted by Brigit breaking down into fits of laughter.

  “What the…?”

  “You eejit! You didn’t save my life. I saved yours.”

  “Well now you’re just being silly.”

  “Where were we?”

  “You know where we were.”

  “Yes, but I don’t think you do. We were trapped, in a locked bunker that nobody knew we were in. While you lot were so busy whacking and shooting each other, like a shower of gobshites, I…�
�

  Paul rolled his eyes as realisation hit. “Ah shite. You went to Carroll…”

  “And got the code for the door before the only person who knew it lost consciousness.”

  “Crap.”

  Brigit beamed happily. “Hence saving everybody’s lives. You are most welcome.”

  Paul strained to sit up suddenly.

  “Woah, easy there, fella. You’re not going anywhere.”

  “Bunny, where is he? Is he…?”

  “He’s OK. Well… he’s... Actually, one of the nurses was just in here. It appears the hospital have lost him.”

  “LOST HIM?!”

  Brigit put her hands out in a placating gesture as soon as she saw the horror on Paul’s face.

  “Not like that. He’s fine. Well, other than a gunshot wound in the leg. What I mean is, they’ve actually lost him.”

  The Old Triangle, Public House

  Eddie Jacobs turned the page of The Sunday World and looked around the pub. This place was deader than Jimmy Saville, and about as popular. On the upside, it wasn’t his pub anymore, thanks to a bad run of cards and a couple of horses that had turned out to be dog food on legs. Skinner had been reasonable about it, all told. He’d taken the pub but Eddie had kept all of his limbs, even been allowed to stay on as bar manager. He didn’t get paid much but, on the upside, he could drink himself into an early grave for free.

  The place had gone downhill ever since Skinner had started using it as a base for his ‘other ventures’. According to its accounts, it was rammed seven nights a week. Freshly laundered money was flowing out of it like water. He also had to put up with JJ, Skinner’s boy – sitting there in the corner booth every day, waiting for people to come see him. Eddie had tried not to pay much attention, but he’d have to be blind not to see that the muscle-bound toerag was using the bogs to move more pharmaceuticals than a mid-sized chemist.

  The door opened and a man limped in wearing nothing but a hospital gown and slippers. The pub got the occasional drinker from the hospital across the road but that was staff or visitors, and they typically never came back for a second visit. Patients were a new one though.

  “Should you be in here?” said Eddie.

  “Do I not look old enough?” said the man in a distinctive Cork accent, as he staggered over to a stool beside the bar.

  “Do you know your arse is hanging out the back of that thing?”

  “No shit. I just walked over here in a high wind. A couple of old ones on their way back from bingo just found out how unimpressive their husbands are. Pint of Arthur’s finest, please.,” he said, clambering awkwardly onto the stool.

  “Seriously, am I going to get in trouble for serving you?”

  “Not near as much as you will if you don’t. DS Bunny McGarry, at your service. Just looking for a quiet scoop to take the edge off.” The man gave Eddie what he probably thought of as a winning smile. He had a wonky eye that turned it into more of a leer.

  “You heard him. Go on, sling your hook.”

  Eddie’s heart sank. He turned his head in the direction of JJ, who’d made that last statement. The bloke in the hospital gown didn’t even look up. The last thing Eddie wanted was JJ making a scene. It’d be bad for business on every level.

  “Your money is no good here, copper,” continued JJ.

  “That’s handy. I’ve not got any.”

  Eddie tried to wave JJ away, but the big man just sneered and started making his way across to where the man sat. Eddie noticed JJ’s acne was getting steadily worse, an angry red line of it now stretched from his neck up the side of his face. Fecking steroid-headed idiot. Eddie wasn’t going to take the blame for this. It wasn’t his fault this moron was always looking for a scrap. If this loon really was a copper, nothing good could come from this.

  JJ stopped behind the man and loomed over him.

  “Ah for fuck sake, ye can see his crinkly old arse out the back of this thing.”

  “I’ll tell you what,” said the man, still addressing himself only to Eddie, “the feeling of air blowing around your bollocks is fierce liberating. I can see why the Jocks are so keen on those kilts.”

  JJ growled, unhappy about being ignored. He leaned in to speak into the man’s left ear. “Are you going to leave or am I going to make you?” JJ placed his big meaty right hand on the man’s shoulder to emphasise his point.

  “C’mon, JJ…” Eddie said, before stopping as JJ shot an angry look at him across the bar.

  “You wouldn’t hit a man wearing glasses, would ye?”

  JJ looked momentarily confused. “You’re not wearing glasses.”

  Three things then happened so fast Eddie had to reconstruct it in his head afterwards to be sure of the order. Firstly, the man’s elbow shot up and back, making a crunching contact with JJ’s nose. Blood spurted from it as JJ reared back with a look of shock in his eyes. Then, the man’s slipper-clad foot shot out and collided with JJ’s right kneecap, bending him over as he howled in pain. Finally, the man’s left hand came around, grabbed the back of JJ’s head, and rammed it down into the counter hard, the impact leaving a dent in the woodwork. JJ fell to the floor.

  The man, still sat on his stool, looked down at his opponent, lying in a crumpled whimpering heap on the floor. “Sorry, didn’t see you there.”

  He then turned and beamed a smile at Eddie.

  “Now, about that pint?”

  Epilogue 1

  The gates had been hard to find but she had mentioned they would be. He’d promised the long-suffering Mrs Stewart that they’d take a break as soon as his retirement had come through. Lord knows, she had been patient enough. She’d even agreed to a driving holiday around Ireland. All of this meant that he could fulfil two promises at the same time.

  He looked back at the car. His wife didn’t notice. She was too busy waving her phone about in exasperation. She was trying to Google a nice place to have lunch. A signal wasn’t easy to acquire in the Wicklow Mountains.

  Jimmy Stewart pressed the button on the intercom and, after a short delay, was greeted by a cold unaccented female voice.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Yes, my name is — ” He stopped himself. He’d have to get used to it eventually. “I’m former detective Inspector Jimmy Stewart from the National Criminal Bureau of Investigation. Brigit Conroy asked me to drop around and speak to Mr Kruger…”

  Epilogue 2

  Tyrion 4.12.AX4 – Secure server software

  Initialising private peer-to-peer communication

  Please wait………….. Initialised.

  CerburusAX: Hello.

  RoyTheBoy07: This account is now closed.

  CERBURUSAX: Hello, Mr Ryan, we’ve been waiting for you. We thought you would come on here to move some money.

  RoyTheBoy07: You have the wrong person.

  CERBURUSAX: Michael Ryan QC, lawyer to Gerry Fallon. You engaged the services of the former owners of this account on behalf of your employer.

  RoyTheBoy07: Job was not completed. Contract is void.

  CERBURUSAX: You misunderstand, we do not seek money. We seek vengeance. You broke the rules. You took our friend’s daughter.

  RoyTheBoy07: She will be released.

  CERBURUSAX: That is not required. As of two hours ago, she is on a plane to a distant location. Your men holding her are however dead.

  RoyTheBoy07: That is not possible.

  CERBURUSAX: Ha! Please check but be quick. Your flight to Bahrain leaves in three hours does it not?

  RoyTheBoy07: I have money.

  CERBURUSAX: Good, keep it. You will need it. We don’t want it. We will give you a 24 hour start.

  RoyTheBoy07: What do you want?

  CERBURUSAX: You. But please, run. We want this to be fun. There are six of us you see. We have a bet. The one to avenge our fallen brothers gets a moose’s head.

  RoyTheBoy07: I don’t understand.

  CERBURUSAX: It is a very nice moose. You are wasting time you do not have.
>
  RoyTheBoy07: Please, I am sorry.

  CERBURUSAX: No but you will be. Now Run little piggy, run.

  Epilogue 3

  Janine looked down at the man’s empty face, then at all the machinery beeping and wheezing around him. “Isn’t it an awful waste of money all the same?”

  Carol looked up from her mopping. “What?”

  Janine waved her hand about. “All this, just to keep this useless piece of shite alive.”

  Carol looked at her in horror. “Janine! That is a shocking thing to say. Every life is sacred!”

  Janine stretched her aching back out. “My hole it is! We spend hours cleaning this place top to bottom on minimum wage. Meanwhile, they spend a fortune keeping this scumbag alive. Have ye not read the papers Carol? This is Gerry Feckin Fallon, death is too good for him!”

  Janine placed her mop against the wall. “Just because he’s in a coma, it doesn’t mean he can’t hear you.”

  “Good!” said Janine, leaning in close to his face. “Murdering drug-dealing scumbag that ye are! Your son is in prison by the way. They say if you ever wake up, you’ll be joining him for the rest of your crappy life.”

  Carol moved over and lay a hand on Janine’s arm, her voice now an urgent whisper. “Janine - remember what matron Burke said. You’re to stay away from the patients!”

  “Ara, I don’t think she meant him. We should all get a turn whacking him with a stick.” With that Janine turned and left the room, closing the door firmly behind her.

  Carol looked at the door and then moved closer to the bed. The scent of her medicated shampoo mingled with her flowers of the valleys perfume and the stench of bleach as she leant over him. “I don’t care what they say, I’m sure you’re a very lovely man.” She pulled her rubber glove off and ran her callused fingers through his hair. She glanced at the door again before placing a sticky wet nicotine-stained kiss on his lips.

  She giggled. “Oh, bit of lipstick.” She wiped his mouth with her polishing rag. “They don’t understand what we have. I know you’re lonely in there.”