No Heaven, No Hell

by J. T. Brindle

  While Maureen cleaned her toe with the antiseptic, Katherine let her mind gently roam back over the years, to that summer’s day when she first met Maureen. ‘You were just a child,’ she murmured now. ‘Nineteen years old. A little Irish colleen, lost on the streets of Manhattan.’

  Maureen chuckled softly: her mistress never could stay angry for long. ‘I’m still lost when I take to the streets,’ she admitted. ‘I know New York was designed on this marvellous grid system, which is supposed to help me find my way round without any trouble, but, so help me God, I can’t even go shopping for a cabbage, without ending up down some dark narrow alley, scared out of me wits in case some drunken down-and-out takes a fancy to me.’

  It was Katherine’s turn to laugh out loud. ‘Where’s the map I drew you?’

  ‘I threw it away. It only got me more confused.’

  ‘But it’s so simple!’

  ‘Not to a simpleton.’

  ‘You’re no simpleton.’

  ‘Oh? And what about yesterday?’ She peeled off the remnants of the corn plaster. One piece in particular refused to budge, so she gave it a little sharp tug.

  ‘Jesus Mary and Joseph!’ Katherine rolled forward in agony, clutching at her foot, and glaring at Maureen through narrowed eyes.

  Maureen was not impressed. ‘Cursing will get ye nowhere,’ she declared. ‘Sit still, or I’ll take me bag o’ tricks an’ be gone.’

  Katherine reeled back, her eyes closed in pain. ‘Be quick then.’ She could feel the cool liquid being swabbed against her skin. It felt good. ‘What did you mean… about yesterday?’

  Maureen wasn’t sure whether to tell her or not. She decided it was easier to confess, than to undergo an inquisition every time she showed her face. ‘Well, it’s just that I was lost for nearly an hour. I thought about going into a shop and asking directions, or even flagging down a policeman, but, well, I didn’t want to make meself a laughing stock.’

  ‘Oh, Maureen!’ She really was the limit. ‘So what did you do?’

  ‘I got into a cab.’

  ‘Good thinking, but why didn’t you go to a phone booth and telephone me?’

  ‘Because I knew ye’d laugh.’

  ‘I wouldn’t do that… well, not really laugh.’ She was trying not to laugh now. It was hard not to laugh at Maureen and her little adventures – especially as they had been going on for the best part of forty years.

  ‘Did you tell the cabbie you were lost?’

  ‘Of course not.’ She reddened in the face. ‘But he knew it anyway.’

  ‘Oh? If you didn’t tell him, how could he know that?’

  Maureen bent her head and scrubbed at the sore skin, ignoring Katherine’s protests.

  ‘I asked you, how could the cabbie know you were lost?’

  Maureen took her courage in her hands. ‘Because he picked me up two doors away, that’s why. When I gave him the address, he collapsed with laughter.’ With her two thumbs she squeezed the centre of the corn. ‘Nasty man!’

  When the whole foot began shaking, Maureen feared she might have squeezed too hard. She looked up and realised that Katherine had covered her face with the palm of her hand, and was trying hard not to let the smile break into a gust of laughter, but the telltale tears ran down her face as she rocked backwards and forwards. Maureen was horrified. ‘Ye bugger!’ she cried. ‘Ye’re laughing at me again!’

  Katherine couldn’t speak. She shook her head from side to side, opened her mouth to apologise, and that was it. Try as she might, she couldn’t suppress it any longer. ‘I’m sorry,’ she blurted, and was convulsed.

  Maureen gave her a stern look before she too could see the funny side. In a minute she had flung her arms round Katherine, and the two of them were helpless. ‘I’ll have to set a car on for you,’ Katherine gurgled.

  ‘Ye’ll do no such thing!’ Maureen declared. ‘Where’s that drunken down-and-out gonna find me then?’

  The following afternoon, in his plush office on the eighteenth floor, Eddie Laing waited patiently for the phone to ring. Leaning over his desk, he had his arms stretched out in front of him. The slim cigarella, drooping from his bottom lip, had fizzled out long since, and now his fingers were tapping out a medley on the blotting pad. His office reeked of success. His suit was tailor-made, and his shoes of the finest leather money could buy. He was neat and clean shaven, and his dark hair expertly groomed. His brooding eyes, one blue, one green, fascinated women, and his tall, gangly figure had an easy way of moving that stirred their secret desires. The only disappointing feature about Eddie Laing was his nose, which was ever so slightly bent, a legacy from Brooklyn, where as a homeless urchin he stayed on top by fighting. In those days you got nothing for nothing, and if you didn’t live by your wits, you died in some filthy gutter.

  He’d come through all that. Now, in his prime, at the age of forty-two, he was a top detective with a fast-growing reputation. Living rough on the streets had taught him a certain cunning, a shrewd knowledge of the underworld, he had learned how to track down an enemy, and there wasn’t man nor woman who could match his talents for sniffing out a frightened soul who had gone into hiding. There were times when he’d been real bad. Times when he’d done things he was now ashamed of. He’d been locked up in the slammer more times than he cared to remember, but even in there he’d learned a few tricks that stood him in good stead.

  It took a woman and a soured affair to set him straight. When he decided to change his lifestyle, it seemed natural that he should set up as a private eye. Though he said it himself, he was a natural! Success after success brought him new clients, and now, less than ten years on, some of the wealthiest and the elite of New York were among his clients. He was a man of consequence: wealthy, living the life of Reilly, and loving every minute. He had his regrets. But then, who didn’t? His biggest regret was the broken bone in his nose. Women didn’t care for it. Lately he’d been toying with the idea of having it surgically straightened. Since his divorce, the idea was becoming more and more attractive.

  He had got out of his chair, gone to the mirror on the back wall, and was examining the nose, when the phone rang. Swinging round, he snatched at the receiver, a little irritated. ‘Yeah?’ A pause, then he nodded, his homely features lifting in a grin.

  Tucking the receiver on his shoulder, he located a notepad and made copious notes. After a few minutes, he replaced the receiver and began to pace the room. The nodding continued, interspersed with satisfied grunts and the occasional click of the tongue. He was very pleased with himself. Very pleased indeed. He returned to the mirror and looked at his nose again. ‘You want it straightened, but you ain’t got the guts.’ He shook his head in disgust. ‘Laing, you’re a cowardly bastard!’

  He glanced through the window, across the skyline of New York. It was awesome, a panorama of skyscrapers touching the clouds. The sky was darkening fast. Soon the whole city would be lit like the fourth of July. Going to the door, he flicked the light switch. ‘God! I hate winter,’ he moaned.

  He was a man who wore his overcoat right up to the month of June, a man who had never picnicked in Central Park, not even when the sun was so hot it could fry eggs on the pavement. His ex-wife had complained that he was too thin to hold the heat. However, she could be right. Maybe you have to have a thick layer of muscle to keep out the cold. One of these days, when he had the time, he would go to the gym and thicken his biceps, maybe broaden his back and build up his thighs too.

  ‘Too much like hard work, Laing,’ he muttered. ‘What’s more, you’d have to shop for a whole new wardrobe.’

  The thought of using up his precious spare time in the gym was not attractive; neither was the prospect of spending money on a new wardrobe, when he had a perfectly adequate one right now. ‘Forget it!’ he told himself. ‘Who needs muscle when they’ve got brains?’ He tapped his temple, and smiled wryly. ‘Got it down below too.’ He winked and clicked his tongue. ‘More than enough to go round. Working out in the gym? Naw. Forg
et it, Laing. It was a crazy idea anyway.’ But the nose? He tweaked it and stroked it and was irritated. Keeping the torso he had was fine by him. But the nose was a different matter, and one which he had to tackle, like yesterday.

  At the desk, he thumbed through the blue ledger until his finger came to rest on a name, then on the number beneath. Keeping his eyes fixed on it, he dialled patiently, waiting until a female voice answered, a distinctly Irish voice.

  ‘Louis residence,’ it said. ‘Can I help ye?’

  He nodded again. Using the voice he cultivated especially for the Katherine Louises of this world, he replied, ‘This is Eddie Laing.’ Taking out a new cigarella, he bit the end off and spat it ever so gently into the ashtray. He didn’t light it. He was trying desperately to give up the habit. ‘I need to speak with Mrs Katherine Louis.’ His smile broadened. ‘If you could please tell her I have the news she’s been waiting for.’

  Maureen held on to the receiver. She wanted to put it down. To tell this Eddie Laing that Katherine didn’t want to speak to him, or that she had died in her sleep last night, or that the news she had waited for was no longer important – but Katherine would never give up. If it wasn’t this detective, it would be another, and another, until Jack was found. ‘I’ll give her yer message,’ she said. ‘Please wait.’

  Katherine took the call in her study. She switched on the desk lamp, locked the door and drew the blinds. Her calm manner and quiet dignity belied her fast-beating heart, and the rise of panic in her stomach. ‘Thank you, Mr Laing,’ she said. ‘You’ve done your job well.’

  During the two hours she spent locked in the study, she was aware of Maureen’s voice calling her name. She was also aware of the gentle taps on the door, and that kindly soul’s anxiety. ‘I’m all right,’ she replied. ‘I’ll be out shortly.’ She had much to think about.

  Katherine was grateful when Maureen left her alone, but the silence in that room was eerie. The news she had received was eerie. The journey she was about to embark on was something she had long dreamed about, something she had to do – whatever the outcome.

  Two hours later when she emerged, she voiced the questions that had troubled her. Maureen listened patiently, anticipating each and every one. Katherine was brimming with excitement, yet deeply apprehensive. Had she done the right thing? Would Jack thank her for setting a detective on his trail? Would he refuse to see her? Had he changed? Was he still marred by the things that had happened all those years ago? Was he married, or single? What kind of life had he built for himself?

  Maureen set the tray on the side table and sat beside her. ‘It’s a bit late to be getting the jitters now,’ she said, pouring the coffee. ‘Yer doing what ye have to do. Whether he’ll thank ye for it remains to be seen. As for his wellbeing, and the other things yer curious about, surely the detective must know?’

  ‘I didn’t want him to tell me over the phone. When he said he’d found Jack, I couldn’t think straight.’ Knowing Jack had been found was enough. Even that was a shock. ‘Mr Laing is coming here tomorrow. I’ll know everything then.’

  Maureen was indignant. ‘What in God’s name made yer ask him here… to yer home? Wouldn’t it have been better for ye to go to his office? I would have come wit’ ye.’ She handed Katherine a cup of coffee and made a disapproving face. ‘Detectives in yer home… sitting in yer best chairs! Whatever next?’ Sipping at her own coffee, she gave Katherine an odd, sideways glance.

  Katherine read her mind. ‘I know what you’re thinking,’ she murmured. ‘You’re remembering the last time we had detectives crawling all over the old place, but it’s different this time.’ She drank from her cup. ‘This time the gentleman is invited.’ Replacing her cup on the tray, she leaned back in her chair. Maureen had raised an issue best left alone. ‘Switch on the television.’

  Sighing noisily, Maureen did as she was bid, remaining by the set ready to switch it off again. If she knew anything, it was that Katherine soon tired of watching television. ‘It’s the news.’

  ‘Leave it. Come and sit down. You make me nervous, hovering in front of the set like that.’

  Again Maureen did as she was told, turning her eyes to the set and listening intently. The news was bad. A plane had crashed after hitting a bridge over Potomac. Reports were coming in that seventy-eight people had lost their lives.

  ‘Jesus Mary and Joseph!’ Maureen made the sign of the cross.

  Katherine was speechless for a moment, then in a slightly trembling voice she said, ‘Please. Turn it off.’ Her heart went out to the families who had lost their loved ones. Suddenly the bad memories were overwhelming.

  ‘I want you to know something.’ Katherine’s voice hardened. ‘If anything happens to me, you’ll be well taken care of. I’ve left instructions.’

  Maureen glared at her. ‘Sure I don’t want to talk about such things.’

  ‘I just want you to be sure I wouldn’t leave you destitute. You must know I love you like a sister. What do you want to talk about?’ There were many times when Katherine preferred to be alone. This was not one of them. Sitting here in the chair, with the warmth of the room enveloping her, with her good friend close by and the knowledge that soon she might be reunited with her son, she felt a sense of peace she had not felt in a long time.

  ‘I’d like to ask about Cyrus.’

  Katherine was surprised. ‘What about him?’

  ‘Is he happy, d’ye think?’ Maureen had her own good reasons for wanting to know.

  Katherine thought for a moment. ‘I think he is. But you know Cyrus as well as anyone. He keeps himself to himself.’ Curiosity prompted, ‘Why do you ask?’

  Maureen shook her head, looking away for a moment, as though she had been caught stealing. ‘It’s just that lately he seems to be…’ She searched for the right words. ‘I don’t know… miles away.’

  Katherine knew what was wrong. ‘He doesn’t approve of me contacting Jack. He believes I’ll be opening a Pandora’s box.’

  Maureen had known this family long enough to speak her mind. She spoke it now. ‘He could well be right. In fact, ye know how I feel about it.’

  ‘You’re as bad as he is. If we’re ever going to have peace of mind, we have to forget what happened.’ But it wasn’t easy. It never would be.

  Maureen sighed and groaned, and fell back like a deflated balloon. ‘Aye, yer right o’ course, but, well…’ She tightened her lips and shook her head, and there followed an awkward silence before she went on in a hushed voice, ‘I pray to God yer doing the right thing… for all our sakes.’

  ‘It’s something I have to do.’

  Sitting up straight, Maureen poured them each another cup of coffee, grimacing when she sipped at her own. ‘Leave it be,’ she advised with a shudder. ‘It’s stone cold. I’ll make us another.’ She would have got to her feet, but Katherine stopped her with a wave of her hand.

  ‘I don’t want another,’ she said. ‘I want to know why you’re so concerned about Cyrus.’

  ‘Because he was only a bairn when I first came to this family, and because I worry about him, like I worry about you.’

  Katherine’s smile was filled with love. ‘You were only a bairn yourself when you came to this family.’

  ‘I was nineteen! What’s more, I knew how to take care of myself. Cyrus was only ten, and he was always a little lost soul.’

  ‘And you were a little mothering hen.’ She chuckled. ‘You love him very much, don’t you?’

  Maureen blushed a bright shade of pink. ‘I love you all,’ she answered. ‘But I’ve seen Cyrus suffer more than any of us. I’ll never forget the day they put her away… the agony he went through after he lost the father he idolised. But he survived it all, thank God. I watched the child grow into a man. I saw him fall in love, and I cried in the church when he got wed. I cried when their bairn was stillborn, and later, it broke my heart when that wife of his threw him aside for another man. Now he has no real home, and all the life he has is what ye make for hi
m. He dotes on ye, and has no room in his heart for anyone else.’ She threw out her fat little hands. ‘God love us! He deserves better!’

  Katherine sat like stone throughout the other woman’s tirade. Something she had said triggered off a reservoir of hate within her so bitterly strong that she had to wait a moment before speaking. Then, in a cold, stern voice she said, ‘Sometimes, my dear, I think you overstep the mark.’ Pointing to the tray she said, ‘Take it away. I know it’s early, but I’m going to my bed. Make sure I’m up at seven, won’t you?’

  Maureen was mortified. When would she learn not to let her tongue run away with her? Collecting the tray, she made a funny little bow. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said humbly. ‘I’ll have your breakfast ready by eight.’

  ‘And don’t spill the tea. You know I can’t eat from a sloppy tray.’

  ‘Don’t worry.’ Maureen was used to the old lady’s habits. ‘Goodnight then.’

  Katherine nodded, but did not reply, nor did she raise her eyes.

  Only when the door closed behind Maureen, did her stiff body visibly relax. She knew Maureen had meant well, but sometimes the wrong word could bring down an avalanche. ‘It isn’t your fault, my dear,’ she murmured, staring at the door. She recalled Maureen’s fighting mood and chuckled. With a long, deep sigh, she thought, We’re a pair of daft old buggers, you and me. All we have is each other, and still we play these silly games.

  As she leaned forward to call Maureen back, the door inched open, and there she was, peering round the door, asking with a sheepish look, ‘D’ye want me to give yer toe another going over before ye take yourself off to bed?’

  Katherine rolled her eyes in anguish. ‘I’m sorry,’ she apologised, bringing her penitent gaze to rest on Maureen’s homely face. ‘I want my tongue cut out, speaking to you like that.’