I made quick introductions and showed him our badges, but he didn’t shift his eyes and he didn’t seem to care. He just stared straight up, with an occasional blink.
“Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?
A few seconds ticked by, and the man with no eyebrows blinked one time. His lips were pressed together, as if it would take a crowbar to open them.
Off in the distance, a piercing, crying scream. A few heads turned, but most of the first responders just kept doing their jobs, because they had to. Gavin didn’t budge. It was as if his connection to the outside world had been severed.
“Can he hear okay?” I asked the medic.
“Think so. He nodded a few times when I started taking care of him and asked him a few questions.”
I turned to Nick, twisting my lips, knowing we couldn’t make much headway right now. “It might be a while before he’s out of shock and ready to speak.”
Nick nodded. “I’ve read about some people staying in this perpetual state of shock for days, even weeks. The human brain can only take so much.”
As I turned my head back to the gurney, I heard another scream, and my heart skipped a beat. A woman with wide hips came out of a crowd, throwing her body around. She lumbered into one of the supports of the tent, and it started to fall on all of us.
“Get her under control!” someone yelled.
Two cops tried to grab a limb, but she was yelling, crying, flailing her arms as she tried to move forward, even as the plastic ceiling fell.
Nick and I tried to keep the tent off the patients. I heard a couple of medics cursing, then two more uniforms brushed against my shoulder on their way to assist.
Wearing a tight-fitting postal uniform, the woman stretched the fabric to its limit, her hands reaching out in front of her. Was she trying to get to Gavin? I could see a wicked gash under her right eye, and her shirt was torn on her left shoulder, exposing her bra strap.
Slowly, the tent raised as more people bustled about.
“I need to speak to Gavin, dammit. Let me go.” The woman had finally spoken words we could understand.
“Brandy?”
Gavin spoke, then he tried to turn his head around to see the woman, Brandy.
“Let me talk to my friend, please,” he said, wincing at the effort to speak.
I stepped forward and held up my badge to the cops. “Please let her through.”
“Only if she calms down,” one said.
Her oversized chest lifted as she took in a deep breath and stopped pressing. “I’m fine. I’d just like to check on G…Gavin.” She was so shaken her last word came out in an emotional gasp.
I guided her over to his gurney, where he was trying to sit up.
“Sir, you have an IV. You must lie down,” the medic said.
Dragging wires with him, Gavin sat up and bear-hugged Brandy. I could see tears trickling off her cheeks onto his shoulder.
“I’m so sorry, Gavin. I’m so sorry,” she said, as they rocked back and forth. I could hear him sob.
“Sir, I need you to lie down. You’re starting to lose blood. Please sir,” the medic said, putting a rubber-gloved hand on Gavin’s shoulder.
“Okay, okay,” he said, following her instructions.
Nick and I took a couple of steps toward the foot of the gurney. “Gavin, we’re with the FBI and we need—”
“I heard you the first time you said it.”
He cleared his throat, then winced and brought a hand to his chest where his shirt was shredded.
“Are you okay, sir?”
“I’m…fine. Ask your questions,” he said as Brandy took his hand in hers.
“Look, you people need to leave this man alone. He’s suffered a tragedy. We all have. We don’t need to be dealing with the po-lice or FBI and CIA or whoever you’re with.”
“Brandy, right?” Nick said.
She stuck one hand on her hip while lifting her chin an extra inch. “You were saying?”
“Do you want us to catch the people who did this?”
“Why, of course I do! Are you smoking dope?”
Gavin looked up at the woman who carried as much attitude as weight apparently. “Hey, thank you for caring. I’m okay to answer questions. Really, I am.”
“Thank you, sir,” Nick said, giving another quick eye back to Brandy.
“So, did either of you know the victims?” I asked.
They both nodded, then Gavin’s eyes dropped to his feet.
“That one guy in the car that exploded—Tyler. He was kind of a jerk, but we knew him.” Brandy’s tone was more subdued.
“The other victim?”
“Mary,” Gavin said. “She was the opposite of Tyler. A breath of fresh air. Pure loveliness. Kind, compassionate, and just…beautiful.”
Brandy’s bottom lip quivered.
“You knew her too?”
“As much as you can know someone in a week.”
I gave her a bewildered look.
“Mary had just transferred here from California. She was just learning the ropes, and…”
“And what?”
She glanced at her friend. “You don’t know this, Gavin, but she told me that she not only thought you were cute and charming, but she said she felt a connection with you. How did she put it?” Brandy touched her forehead. “Oh yes, she said, ‘I’ve been alive forty-eight years, and I’m not sure I’ve bonded with someone like I did with Gavin.’ She said you’re a rare breed and that she had a feeling you two would be sharing a lot of your lives together going forward.”
Tears welled in Brandy’s eyes as Gavin patted her hand.
“Wow, it’s strange how I felt exactly the same way,” he said.
I gave them a few seconds. “We’re truly sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you,” he said.
The medic accidentally tugged on his IV, and Gavin hissed from the sudden pain.
“Sorry. The next ambulance up, we need to move you. So get ready.”
Gavin nodded.
“I understand you’ve been in the States for twenty-eight years?” I asked.
“Yes.” He shifted his eyes away from me.
“From Ireland?”
He paused, then released a shaky breath. “The car that exploded. That was mine.”
I looked at Nick, thinking I might have missed something. My partner shrugged.
“Your car? I thought Tyler was driving that car.”
“I always drive car thirty-two. He just weaseled his way into driving my car today, just to get my goat. First time I haven’t used that car in…years.”
Keeping my hands clasped in front of me, my brain crunched on the information I’d just heard, trying to ascertain what was fact and my own quickly drawn assumption.
“And everyone knew that car was, essentially, your car,” I said as more of a statement than a question.
He nodded, then licked his lips as if he was about to say something, then his vision drifted away again.
“Listen, that prick, Tyler, God rest his soul…” Brandy began.
Gavin crossed himself as Brandy continued. “He was always picking on anyone who wasn’t like him.”
“Which is?” Nick asked.
“I don’t want to disrespect the deceased, especially so soon, but you asked. Cro-Magnon Man. That’s what we ladies called him. All muscle and rocks upstairs.” She pointed at her head.
I’d known a few who fit into that category, but I held back from giving Brandy a commiserating fist bump.
“So, Gavin, is there any reason to think that someone might want to single you out? Someone who would want to harm you or even scare you?” Nick asked.
He tried to scoot up in the gurney. Once settled, he fidgeted with his hands. More than a few seconds clocked by, and I was just about to ask a follow-up question when he raised his sights and glanced at Nick, then me. “Many years ago, I watched my brother…”
He took a hard swallow, then continued. “I watched
my brother murdered right in front of my face. Shot three times in the chest.” He pulled his finger like he was shooting a toy gun.
Brandy gasped and brought both hands to her face. I felt my breathing halt for a moment as I waited.
“I was standing no more than six or seven feet away. I can still hear each blast in my gut, like the bullet had just torn into my chest.” Tears pooled as he poked a finger at his chest. “I dropped to the ground and held him in my arms as blood seeped out of his body. He kept trying to tell me something, but he started choking…on his own blood.”
Gavin’s voice cracked, and Brandy began to cry.
Shaking his head, Gavin squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, then Brandy put a hand on his shoulder. “So, was he able to tell you whatever…you know, before he…passed?”
“He told me to kill the motherfucking soldiers who had destroyed our community.”
Her big brown eyes grew wider, and she quickly brought back her hand.
“Gavin,” I said as I tried to pull the reins on my runaway mind, “what soldiers killed your brother? And where?”
“Derry, in the northern sector of Ireland.”
“You mean Northern Ireland?” Nick said.
Gavin shifted his eyes to Nick, his jaw clenched. “I tend not to use that term. Actually, I’ve tried to avoid it altogether. I tried to put it all in my past and move on with my life. Until now. Today it all came back to me.”
While I was about ready to draw a conclusion about his political beliefs, I realized he’d never quite answered my question. “The soldiers. Who—”
“I’ve been in love just once in my life. Her name was Anna.” He glanced over at Brandy and forced out a smirk.
“And today you thought you’d found your one true love?” Brandy said as she swiped her hands across her wet cheeks.
He nodded. “I was a foolish boy to think that.”
“No, you were not, Gavin. Mary was…lovely in every sense of the word. Sometimes people do things on this planet that…are so evil it’s hard to comprehend.”
He inhaled and held his breath for a second before pushing air through his nose. “Years ago, I think some people would have called me…evil.”
Glances were traded all around, and I could feel Nick’s hand touch my arm.
“What are you talking about, Gavin? You’re the most gentle soul I know,” Brandy said.
“I just can’t keep it inside any longer.” He covered his face with both hands, then dug his nails into his skin. “I just can’t do it.”
“Please, Gavin, tell us,” I said.
“My brother was killed on the day most people recall as Bloody Sunday. The day that British soldiers shot and killed thirteen innocent Irish men and women during a nonviolent protest of the internment against our people. Many called it the day that innocence died. After that, I formally joined the IRA. I became a terrorist to avenge my brother’s murder.”
“Holy shit, man,” the medic said. Then she looked at Nick and me and said, “Sorry.”
Silence engulfed our area.
“I don’t get it, Gavin. You’re just a postal worker. You get up every day, go through the same routine, then go home at night. You can’t be any kind of…” Brandy couldn’t say the last word.
“Brandy, I’m a different person now. I used to be very spiteful and bitter after my brother passed.”
Brandy slowly shook her head. “Do I even know the real Gavin O’Hara?”
“What makes us human, also makes us flawed, I hate to say. We’re vulnerable to what happens around us, to the people we care for. My brother’s death devoured my soul, and I became obsessed.”
“You killed people,” I said.
“I won’t deny it. Yes. And then…” His voice trailed off, blending into the voices and sirens all around us.
“Then?” I prompted.
“The only thing that had kept me going, kept me upright, was my dearest Anna…and she left me.”
“She couldn’t tolerate your association with the IRA?” I asked.
“It was that, but more. I was full of rage and had lost myself in vengeance. When she left, I fell apart. And I knew I had to leave Ireland. To get away from it all and to start my life over.”
Two ambulance squad workers showed up at his gurney, and his medic said, “Sorry to interrupt, but we need to get this man to the hospital.” She tapped the gurney pad twice, then two men with bowling-ball guts raised the rails on both sides.
“Gavin, one more thing. Do you think this bomb was meant for you?”
He nodded. “Without question. Why else would someone blow up number thirty-two? For me, that number represents twenty-six counties south, paired up with the six counties up north. The unification of Ireland.”
I heard my own exhale, then Nick chimed in. “We could be making an assumption. It might be someone on your route, or just some sicko who had something against the post office in general, like the man years ago who poisoned those letters.”
Gavin shook his head. “It’s just doesn’t fit. Check the bomb. I’m guessing it was a classic car bomb, similar to how we did it years ago. Attached magnetically under the car or maybe the mudguard. It either was detonated by the ignition switch or by applying the brake.”
I was stunned to hear his knowledge about bombs, but given his background, I shouldn’t have been.
The ambulance workers raised his gurney, and I grabbed the railing.
“Who would do this?”
“I couldn’t give you a name. No idea. But there were a lot of scars from that…conflict.”
As I walked alongside his gurney, I spotted Captain Lockett and waved her over. “This man needs around-the-clock protection.”
“I’ve got a quarter of my team working this bomb scene, Alex. I don’t have the resources.”
“Borrow them, call in others for overtime. I don’t give a shit. Just make sure he gets armed protection at the hospital. No one in or out unless they identify themselves. The people who created this war zone didn’t get who they were after.”
Captain Lockett cocked her head toward Gavin, her eyebrows raised. “Him? That’s who they were after?”
I nodded, knowing I’d need to explain more to her. She ran off to talk to another cop.
His gurney was pushed into the back of the ambulance. “Thank you, Agent Troutt.”
The ambulance doors shut, and Nick appeared at my side.
“Somehow, these bombings must all connect—the priests, and now this one meant for Gavin.”
“A former member of the IRA. Hard to believe,” Nick said, scratching his head.
We both turned back to ground zero and watched the controlled chaos continue. Normally, I’d call Jerry and brainstorm on next steps. But something told me I couldn’t. Or shouldn’t.
“Alex, we need to move on this fast.”
“I know, I think—”
“But before we take one move, you need to tell me what happened in Southie last night.”
I froze.
12
Taking a drag on his unfiltered Marlboro, Patrick Cullen glanced back toward the alley opening, thinking he heard footsteps. Two teenagers loped across the narrow path of concrete. They shoved each other, and curse words echoed off the sides of the brick buildings on either side of Patrick.
It reminded him of when he was a teen, razzing his buddies and, at times, taking it a bit further than that, especially if someone stepped out of line.
It seemed like someone was always crossing the line. After a while, though, he realized nothing could be accomplished if people didn’t do what they were supposed to do—even at the age of fifteen, he understood this. And that was when he had to step up. To force his will on those who couldn’t get the job done.
Funny thing he learned back then. If you punched the biggest son of a bitch right in the nose, usually he’d obey your every whim. And then those that followed him—usually a naïve group of brainless sheep—would either run away or beg to join h
is group…of brainless sheep.
He chuckled just once, then inhaled until he could see a soft glow around the edges of the cigarette. He felt a tingle in his mouth from the sharp flavor of the smoke. He blew the vapor through his nose, and the swirling wind picked it up and carried it away. Closing his eyes, he felt his body floating in the air. He loved this sensation…the same one he’d felt since he started smoking at age thirteen.
His lungs emptied, then his breath caught in the back of his throat. Leaning over, he swallowed and tensed his entire torso, trying to suppress the rampant urge to cough. He pressed harder, and he could feel his face turn red, then purple. Finally he erupted, the initial cough throwing his body backward. He flipped around and put a hand against the grimy brick and coughed at least a dozen times, each one scraping more phlegm out of his lungs and esophagus.
A minute later, he inhaled a breath that tickled his throat, hoping he could avoid round two of the volcanic eruption. His breathing came in short bursts as he said a quick prayer, hoping to tame the undeniable beast.
A seagull squawked overhead, and he watched the bird flap its wings until fading into the gray sky. He wheezed out a shallow breath and believed the worst was behind him.
He glanced at the cigarette, recalling what the doctors had told him a few months earlier. “One lung is almost completely dark, the second about twenty percent. If lung cancer doesn’t kill you first, then your lungs will just shut down like an engine running full speed with no oil. It can only take so much. If you’re lucky, you’ve got a year to live. Meanwhile, quit smoking and you might squeeze out another three to six months. But you have to stop now.”
“Fuck them,” is what he’d said when he left the hospital. He even lit one up on the ride home, laughing the entire ride.
But he wasn’t stupid. In the long run, the joke was on him. Still, he knew he didn’t have the fortitude to get through the stress and pressure of the last few months without having a crutch of some kind. He had his own business to run—collecting the protection payment from the stores in his territory, providing loan services, and the occasional trafficking of weapons or drugs, if the money was right. Of course, those had all become secondary in his life, once the plan had been conceived.
The Alex Troutt Thrillers: Books 1-3 (Redemption Thriller Series Box Set) Page 68
