Of Blood and Honey (Fey and the Fallen)

by Stina Leicht

  “Never you mind,” Oran said. “Why don’t you go outside and play?”

  “It’s raining,” Brian said. “What’s wrong with his arm?”

  “Then go finish your homework,” Oran said.

  “Finished already,” Brian said. “He got measles? Is he going to be sick again?”

  “Go play with your sisters!”

  Looking hurt, Brian stood up and then retreated into the next room.

  “Sorry,” Liam said.

  “Watch yourself,” Oran said. “Elizabeth hears the little ones repeat one more phrase the likes of that one, we’ll both be looking for new lodgings. Had a rough enough time with her over the last bout of this.”

  Liam’s throat constricted, and he looked away.

  Tying off the new bandage, Oran said, “You’ve done some less than brilliant things on occasion but nothing this stupid. Was the drugs that tempted you, you’d have been more careful about it, I’m thinking. Cagey. Said so to Éamon, myself. Christ, your arm is a mess.”

  Liam changed the subject. “What about the job? Is it still on? What are we going to do?”

  “Nothing, mate,” Oran said. “Not a damned thing. You’ll go back to your cab, and I’ll see to the shop. Someone has to run it while Bobby is inside.

  You were right. Should’ve had you lift the wheels.”

  “But—”

  “They’re watching us. Can’t do anything out of the ordinary. Not for months—maybe even a year. We’re out of the war for a time, you and me.”

  Thinking of the ginger-haired constable, Liam inwardly disagreed. Wait until I get my strength back, he thought. Then we’ll see.

  Stopping his taxi, Liam let Mr. Gower and his sons out and waited for Mrs. Burney to get in. “Where to, Mrs. B.?” Since the taxi was now empty Mrs. Burney’s destination would determine the taxi’s and any subsequent passengers would be dropped or picked up along the way.

  “My sister’s bakery on the Springfield Road. The bus isn’t running today because of the bombing. Poor wee Kevin. Ten years old. Bombing an Easter parade. What’s the world coming to?”

  “How’s the McMenamins getting on?”

  “Not well at all,” Mrs. Burney said. “Such a tragedy. Will you be going to the funeral?”

  “Aye.”

  “Still, we must go on.”

  “I’ll get you to your sister’s, Mrs. B.”

  His arm was taking its time healing, and it ached with every gear change or sudden move. He wanted to grab a cup of tea from the thermos Elizabeth had been kind enough to provide, but he needed to concentrate. The cab was new to him. Although most people would argue that one couldn’t tell one black hack from another, he knew the difference. The new cab hadn’t been as well maintained as his cab had been. It had a looser clutch and tended to hitch in second gear. Even the seats were worn-out and could use a bit of cleaning. At least the carburetor was in decent shape. He made a note to himself to give the cab a wash when his shift was done. It was warm enough. He could give the entire car a thorough go over. Maybe even get the little ones to help. It’d keep them all distracted for an hour or so, and grant Oran and Elizabeth a bit of much-needed privacy.

  Liam glanced in the rearview mirror in preparation for merging back onto the street.

  Detective Haddock stood just behind the cab, one step from the curb. His lips pulled back into a vicious smile. He waggled his fingers by way of a wave hello.

  A surge of hatred poured through Liam, his fist tightened on the gear shift knob, and he checked an urge to slam the car into reverse. This was the second time that fucker had appeared in the past three hours.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “No, Mrs. B.,” Liam said. “I’ll have you to the shop in no time.” He rolled down the window and gave Detective Haddock the two fingers.

  Mrs. Burney gasped. “What are you doing?”

  “Sorry, Mrs.,” Liam said. “Was signaling we could take two more passengers.”

  She glanced at the interior of the empty cab which had space enough for at least five more and harrumphed in disbelief. Haddock just grinned and waved again. Oran had said not to react to Haddock, but Liam couldn’t help himself. The day before, two undercover constables had gotten into his cab and tried to offer him an envelope full of smack. He’d told them to stuff it. Luckily, two passengers signaled they wanted a ride or there may have been blows—or worse. Frightened by the prospect of being forcibly shot up again, Liam had explained what had happened to Oran. When he was finished, Oran gave him a nervous sideways look that Liam didn’t like. The whole situation was getting to him, and Liam began to second-guess everything he did—worrying over what it must look like to Oran. He knew it only made him look guiltier, and understanding that this was what Haddock wanted made him hate the bent Peeler more than ever.

  He drove while Mrs. Burney talked about her daughter’s upcoming wedding. Attempting to calm himself after the encounter with Haddock, Liam made the requisite noises of agreement and pretended to listen while he thought about his preparations for the evening ahead.

  It’d taken several tries, but he finally had been able to make the change from human to monster and back at will. Locking himself in the washroom hadn’t been the smartest idea as it had turned out. The transition hurt like anything, and he’d come back to himself to the sound of Oran pounding on the door. Once inside, Oran had searched the washroom and then checked Liam’s pupils. Liam understood why. That was, after all, the reason he was staying there. However, he was getting damned sick of the arrangement, and he was certain Elizabeth was reaching the end of her patience as well. He needed his own place, but that wasn’t likely to happen anytime soon with Detective Haddock and his friends making their appearances. Not that Liam looked forward to the vulnerability of living alone, given his history with Haddock.

  Accepting his fee from Mrs. Burney, Liam breathed a sigh of relief as she made her way to the bakery’s door. She latched onto Mrs. Lawson at the entrance, machine gun blasts of chatter rebounding off the glass and through the open cab window. No one was waiting for a ride. As he continued on down Springfield Road he popped in his new favorite mix tape.

  Everything was planned. He’d go into the car park to tinker after dinner. He did it most nights well into the evening. Oran wouldn’t think it unusual, and once Oran grew bored with watching out the window—sometime around eight-thirty if the past two days were any indication—Liam would pay his visit to the ginger constable. Oran would discover him missing—that was inevitable but he could explain he’d needed a walk and accept whatever punishment came as a result. As for the killing, he would have to be careful. He couldn’t afford to be caught by Father Murray or his friends—at least not until every one of the men who’d murdered Mary Kate were done for. After that, Liam would welcome Hell. He was sure it would be Hell. He hadn’t been to confession, let alone Mass, since December. The closest Liam could bring himself was to walk to the church and stand outside while Oran and his family attended Mass. Liam wasn’t afraid of any priests coming for him. He hadn’t done anything to which the Church might object. Well, not yet. Not lately. Nonetheless, he couldn’t bring himself to go through confession. Come to think of it, did the spawn of fallen angels or the Good Folk even have souls? Suddenly, he almost regretted running off Father Murray before he’d asked the question.

  Liam stomped on the brakes to avoid hitting a man standing in the middle of the street. The cab skidded to a halt before he understood who it was.

  D.I. Haddock. Again.

  Foot twitching on the brake, Liam would’ve run the man down but for the passengers waiting at the curb. He glanced out the window and noticed two of the three men were unfamiliar. That didn’t mean anything, but it didn’t put him at ease either. The third one he couldn’t rightly see as he was standing behind the others with his back turned, but he was a big bastard with blond hair and didn’t give Liam a good feeling. The men climbed into the back of the cab as expected. However, Haddock yan
ked open the passenger front door and slid in next to him before he could ask where they were headed.

  “Hello, Sweetheart,” Haddock said. “Glad to see me?”

  Liam ignored the electric bolt of fear that exploded in his stomach and set his jaw.

  “Oh, come now. You’ll have to get this bitch going or someone really will take notice,” Haddock said. “Don’t worry about stopping for anyone. You’re full up. Isn’t he, boys?”

  “Yes, boss.”

  Liam glanced into the rearview mirror and recognized Constable Nigel Johnston’s face with its crooked nose.

  “Just so you don’t decide to get creative,” Haddock said. “Johnston there has a .38 pointed at you. It will make a rather large hole in the seat before it makes another rather large hole in you. Shame to muss the car, but you have to break some eggs to make an omelet I hear. Drive.”

  Setting his jaw, Liam put the car in gear. Sweat trickled down his back. Paul Simonon’s drawl buzzed out of the cab’s tinny speakers. An’if I get aggression I give it to them two time back. Every day it’s just the same with hate an’ war on my back.

  “What utter shite.” Haddock switched off the radio in disgust, nearly ripping off the knob in the process. “Now. Aren’t you going to ask what it is I want?”

  Liam searched the street for an excuse to stop, but there was nothing. His heart hammered out a rapid bass solo. “You going to arrest me?”

  “Knew all along you had a pretty voice,” Haddock said. “Just a matter of the right motivation, it seems.”

  “Well?”

  “Ah, now why would I go and do a thing like that? Especially since we have our little agreement,” Haddock said.

  The street was vacant of passengers just as Haddock had said it would be.

  Bastards, Liam thought.

  “Give him the envelope,” Haddock said.

  A familiar brown envelope appeared over Liam’s left shoulder. He made no move to accept it. A red light forced him to stop the taxi. He considered getting out, but abandoning the cab would’ve brought down even more trouble, and on top of that the likelihood of escaping before Johnston blew his head off wasn’t exactly high.

  Haddock grabbed Liam’s wounded arm. “Take your fucking medicine.”

  Liam snatched Haddock’s wrist with a snarl and twisted. The tingling associated with the monster flowed under his skin. Not now. I say when it’s time. Not you, Liam thought. “Let me go before I rip your throat out with my teeth.” He felt something hard and cold press into the back of his head.

  “Let the boss go. Now.”

  Haddock’s face was pale, and he drew back the instant Liam released him. The car behind them honked, signaling the light had become green.

  “You said was only the appearance that was important,” Liam said shifting and then pushing the accelerator.

  Anger flooded color back into Haddock’s expression. “What the fuck are you on, Paddy boy?”

  “Fuck you.”

  The barrel of the gun was shoved farther into the back of Liam’s head.

  “Answer the boss.”

  “What’s he fucking care?” Liam asked, leaning away from the Peeler in the back seat.

  “Take the envelope, you Fenian bastard, or I’ll let Johnston splatter your brains all over the wind-screen,” Haddock said.

  Liam took the envelope.

  “Good boy,” Haddock said. “Bet your Mum is right proud of you.”

  “At least I know who she is,” Liam said. “Unlike you.”

  Haddock punched, and to Liam it felt like his jaw had exploded. The cab bounced off the curb, and for a moment it was difficult to see. He blinked watery eyes, maneuvering half-blind and somehow managing to avoid running into any of the other cars or pedestrians in the process.

  “Don’t you wind me up! Don’t you dare! I’ll fucking break you in two!” Haddock held his breath. After a moment he slowly let it out. “Let that be a lesson to you. Pull over here.”

  Happy to be rid of Haddock, Liam did just that. He wiped blood from his lip with the back of a hand.

  “We’ll be seeing you,” Haddock said and slammed the door.

  The other three got out of the back, laughing.

  Fuckers, Liam thought. He got out his handkerchief and daubed his lip until it stopped bleeding, then crammed the envelope in the glove compartment. One day I’ll repay you in kind. Maybe tonight. He slammed the glove box shut and then hit the dashboard four times while the monster inside him raged to get out. When he’d calmed down enough to drive he finished his route. At the end of the day, he navigated the safest path to the river. It was a bad area of town, and it was foolish of him as a Catholic to go near there after dark, but he couldn’t think of anywhere else he could safely dump the smack. Standing on the concrete re-enforced bank, he stared at the murky water.

  Don’t have to get rid of all of it, he thought. Just one hit. Could be real careful. Use a vein in my foot. Between the toes. Oran won’t look there. Just one hit.

  Then he remembered how potent the smack had been, how lovely the high, and thought why toss it at all? But where would he hide it? He couldn’t bring drugs into Elizabeth’s home. Wouldn’t. Not with the weans. Never. He wouldn’t repay her and Oran that way.

  The cab.

  First place Oran would look, Liam thought. Take that one hit tonight and then what? He glanced to his left and saw a group of toughs gathered in a tight knot a block away. They were drinking and seemed not to have noticed him, but that would change soon. Oran is sure to be wondering where I am. Knows when my shift ends. So, turn up late with dilated pupils? That’s a fast track to a bullet in the brain, that is—assuming I survive being half out of my mind in this place. And even so, where am I going to find a needle on the bank of the Farset? No, I have to get rid of the shite. No one for the road. Not even half.

  In the distance, a gun went off. It could’ve been a car backfire, but he doubted it since most cars didn’t sound anything like a Kalashnikov. He opened the envelope, looked inside and almost laughed. Haddock had supplied everything. Just in case.

  Of course. Fucking bastard.

  It took every ounce of will Liam possessed, but he emptied the envelope, threw the lot in the Queen’s channel and ran back the cab. Racing for Oran’s flat, he struggled with a deep desire to go back to the river. It would be suicide in more ways than he could count, but that didn’t matter to the hunger. Somehow, he managed to get home, though. Everyone was at the dinner table when he opened the door. Elizabeth gave him a leery stare, but when he didn’t stagger or show any other outward sign of the drugs or drink she went back to eating.

  “Where’ve you been?” Oran asked.

  “Bit of trouble with the cab,” Liam said, mentally kicking himself for taking too long. So much for getting free of Oran tonight. “Fixed her up just fine. Should check on it after dinner, though. I’ll wash up.”

  Oran got up from the table, blocking his path. “Mind if I check your pockets first?”

  “I wasn’t… I’m not….” Liam sighed and put his hands behind his head—half in imitation of a police search and half to hide the fact that his hands weren’t dirty with grease. “Go ahead.”

  Oran looked hurt and remorseful. “It isn’t like that.”

  “I know,” Liam said, feeling his face burn while Elizabeth watched. Suddenly, he was very glad he’d made the right choice, as hard as it had been. “I’ve given you reason enough to mistrust me. Check my eyes too if you like.”

  “Eat your dinner, youse,” Elizabeth said to the children. “Stop your gawking.”

  Liam waited while Oran gave his pockets a cursory check and then returned to the table, embarrassed. Elizabeth’s mouth was tight with tension while she stirred the contents of her plate. Liam couldn’t avoid hearing her fierce whisper as he went to the washroom to rid his hands of nonexistent grease.

  “This has got to stop. Think of the children.”

  After dinner Oran followed him outside to have a
look at the cab while Elizabeth put the little ones to bed. There wasn’t anything for it. Liam knew he had to come clean. Even if he had no intention of doing so, Oran knew enough about cars that he’d know a bad lie, and Liam was sick of lying. Oran knew he was covering for something. That was obvious by his expression.

  It was best to just come out with it and be done.

  Lifting the car’s hood, Oran leaned in for a closer look.

  Liam took the plunge. “I lied about the cab breaking down,” he said. “Haddock was at me again today.”

  “Is that where you got the lip?” Oran straightened and blew air out of his cheeks. “Told you to ignore the bastard. What did you do?”

  “He was in my cab. Him and two others. He… he…” Liam paused. Get on with it. It’s half out already. “He had heroin.”

  “What happened?” Oran asked in a hard voice, his eyes squeezed into a squint. “Tell me. Exactly.”

  Liam told him everything right down to throwing the lot in the river and wishing he hadn’t. “Sorry I lied to you, but I couldn’t. Not in front of Elizabeth and the little ones. You get enough shite over me as it is.”

  Oran’s shoulders drooped. “That’s all right.”

  “He’s not going to stop, you know,” Liam said. “Don’t know how much more of this I can take. That was fucking close.”

  Oran nodded. Liam tried to puzzle out his expression but couldn’t.

  “Wouldn’t blame you for putting one in my skull right now,” Liam said. “I’m a weak spot. The bastard will keep pressing. You going to tell Éamon?”

  There was a long pause, and Liam searched Oran’s face for some sign of what to expect.

  “No,” Oran said, seeming to come to a difficult decision. He looked extremely uncomfortable about whatever it was. “I’ll not tell Éamon. And I’ll not shoot you either.”

  Liam didn’t know why he was relieved.

  “There’s… someone I can talk to. Take care of it,” Oran said.

  “Of Haddock, you mean?”

  “Aye.”

  Liam nodded. “I could do it.” He really could. He was already prepared to do for three others. What was one more? And if there was a Peeler who needed his throat ripped out Haddock was the one.