Dublin Odyssey

by Michael P. Cooney

  For an instant Mickey mulls over if the Boss is firing him for some unknown reason. Some sin he committed against the all-powerful Oz.

  “Excuse me, sir.”

  “I whacked Kuhn. I suspended him for thirty days and told him I’m firing him behind his DUI arrest. He’s a broken man. But I had to do it. Ain’t political survival a motherfucker?”

  “I wouldn’t know, sir. I never let politics get in the way of a decision.”

  The commissioner swivels back to face Mickey, shaking his head all the way. “Did you ever color outside the lines when you were a kid, Devlin?”

  The commissioner holds up his huge right hand. The hand with the oversized college ring from a traditionally all black university.

  “Stop! Don’t answer that. I don’t even want to go there.”

  In silence Mickey agrees.

  “You got two days in country to make me look good. I approve your expenses for the round-trip flights and miscellaneous whatevers. On your way out tell Carol to type up one of them ‘on official police business’ et cetera things for you. Tell her to use my letterhead.”

  “Great. I appreciate it, Commissioner. This will be seen as the high point of your time as commissioner. You won’t regret it.”

  Mickey turns and starts to walk to the door when the commissioner stops him in stride.

  “Devlin, no gun.”

  “I…”

  “I know all about your shooting history. Last thing I need is one of my captains shooting up Dublin.”

  Mickey doesn’t object. “Agreed!”

  “And regular updates while you’re over there. Understand?”

  “Understood.”

  “You better. Go inform DC Thomas I approved your expenses. Old moneybags will love that. Now get out of here, Devlin. You gave me a fucking migraine. And close my door.”

  Truth be known, the commissioner is delighted to have Mickey Devlin out of the country for a while. If he had his way, he’d find some way to keep him in Ireland, permanently.

  Mickey continues his retreat smiling all the way out of the commissioner’s office.

  In the PC’s outer office, Lieutenant Rambo whispers, “How’d ya make out, Boss?”

  “Pretty good, Creg.”

  Mickey turns to Carol Nelson. “The Boss wants you to type up one of those ‘On Official Police Business’ letters for me. I’m flying to Dublin, Ireland, on a mission. I’ll wait for it.”

  “That’s an easy one. It’ll just take a minute, Captain. I just got some fancy gold-leaf letterhead. You’ll be the first to use it.”

  “Thanks, Carol. That’ll be great.”

  “Dublin, Ireland. Home of a million smiles.”

  “Wow. Must be important for the commissioner to approve that one.”

  “Time will tell, Carol.”

  Mickey turns to Lieutenant Rambo. “So Creg, how’re your travel plans working out?”

  Rambo gives the thumbs-up. And out of Carol’s earshot he mouths two words, “Organized Crime.”

  Mickey returns Rambo’s thumbs-up and mouths, “Nice!”

  Carol announces she’s done. “Just need to have the commissioner sign it and you can be on your way, Captain.”

  Carol taps on the PC’s office door, doesn’t wait and goes right in. She returns with Mickey’s “On Official Police Department Business” letters.

  “Had the Boss sign four copies. Three for you and one for our files. Sometimes outside agencies want to keep a copy. So three should cover you. If you need more copies, I can fax them to you. No problem.”

  “Thanks, Carol.”

  “My pleasure, Captain Devlin. Have a safe trip.”

  “Your lips to God’s ears. Gotta get on my horse now, folks. And thanks for sticking your neck out for me, Creg. I appreciate it.”

  “Anytime, Cap. Anytime.”

  Mickey walks halfway around the curved hallway to the Deputy Commissioner of Administration’s suite. The Deputy’s aide, Lieutenant Sandy Reeves, greets him just inside. The lieutenant is the daughter-in-law of Chief Inspector Harry Reeves, who runs the Department’s Detective Bureau.

  Lieutenant Reeves made a name for herself when she was a detective working as a decoy cop in the old Sex Crimes Unit. She ended up marrying the Chief’s son, her backup, when she was promoted to sergeant. If the scuttlebutt is correct, she hates her assignment and has asked for street duty once a month, every month, since she was transferred to the Deputy’s office. Her father-in-law has been using his juice to squash her requests.

  “Hi, Captain. Here to see the Deputy?”

  “Hi, Sandy. Got to get him to approve an advance. I have paperwork from the PC. He available?”

  The lieutenant looks at the small row of white lights on the bottom of her office phone. One of the lights is lit. “He’s on the phone…” The light goes out. “Oops! Not anymore. Go ‘head in, Cap.”

  “Thanks, Sandy.”

  Mickey walks through the door to the Deputy’s office. Two minutes later he’s back out, all smiles, and on his way to the hall. Next, Mickey stops at Finance with Deputy Thomas’ approved memo for an advance from petty cash to cover his trip expenses. Then he’s on his way. This time he doesn’t wait for the elevator. Instead, he takes the back stairs to the ground floor, past “Coffee Talk” and out the rear doors to the parking lot. He pulls out of the driveway onto 7th Street and heads for Interstate 95.

  Two forty-two. Got to call the bride. Book my flights. And let Mike O’Leary and Super O’Clooney know I’m coming. Two days? Wait, he said two days in country. That’s four days with travel time. It’s still gonna be tight.

  Mickey finds his favorite oldies station again and hears his buddy Bernie Rabbit talking about a show he’ll be hosting at the convention center in a couple of weeks. Rabbit is calling it The Sounds of Philly Show.

  Traffic is light and Mickey makes good time back up to the “Greater Northeast.”

  CHAPTER 13

  “Necessity knows no law.”

  Irish Proverb

  The first thing Mickey notices when he walks in his front door is the green light on his answering machine blinking. The tiny display window shows two messages. He pushes the play button and the first voice he hears is Michelle Cunay.

  “Yo, Mick. Just wanted to let you know you have a new friend in City Council. I primed Councilwoman Lazoryszak for ya. She’s gonna bring the commish in and tell him what a great guy you are. And how the way you handled the Kuhn DUI job shows there is hope for the PD. She’s gonna suggest to the commish that you should be running IA. That should dampen the big guy’s plan to break them for ya again. No need to thank me.

  “Call me ‘bout your Ireland trip. I got a call from Delores in the Deputy Commissioner’s office. She said her boss, old Lester ‘Pock-face’ Thomas is pissed he has to find funds for your ‘little spree.’ His words, not mine. He thinks the whole PD budget is his private piggybank. Putz! I’m in the office till five. See ya.”

  The next message is from Mickey’s wife.

  “Hi, Hon. Just wanted to let you know I’ll be home a little late. Got a staff meeting. Love ya.”

  Mickey picks up the phone and punches in the number for Katty Koch, the travel agent he and his wife used for all their trips, including two to Ireland.

  “Kearny Travel, Katty. How can I help you?”

  “Hi, Katty. It’s Mickey Devlin.”

  “Mr. Devlin. How are you and your wife doing?”

  “We’re good. Thanks. Kat, I’m trying to book a flight to Dublin.”

  “Great! What’s your departure date?”

  “That’s the thing, Kat. I need to fly out ASAP. It’s a business trip so…”

  “Oh, you’ll be on official business for the City this time?”

  With a smile Mickey answers. “Yes, official police department business.”

  He can’t believe he actually said that.

  “Sounds exciting. And because the police department is gonna be billed, I can get you a b
etter rate. I have the Philly Police Department’s PO number on file. Guess your wife, Pat, won’t be going with you then?”

  “Not this time.”

  “Will you need me to book a hotel for you, too?”

  Not wanting to get too deep in the weeds with the details, Mickey responds, “No! I’ll be staying with friends in the city of Dublin. I just need the round-trip flights.”

  “That’s fine. How about a return date?”

  “Depends on when you can get me out of here.”

  “How about I check both Philly International and Newark for the earliest fight out. Direct, right?”

  “I would prefer direct, yes.”

  “Rather than keeping you on the line, can I call you right back? You at home?”

  “Yes. That’ll be fine, Kat.”

  Mickey hangs up and calls his wife’s cell with the news. He gets her voice mail and leaves a message for her to call him back, at home. There’s way too much information to leave for a voice message. Then he goes to the bedroom and starts picking out some of the essentials he’ll need for his “little spree,” as the Deputy called it. The phone beside the bed rings. Mickey looks at the plastic display; it reads “Kearny Travel.” He picks up the receiver.

  “Mr. Devlin?”

  “Hi, Katty. How’d you do?”

  “You packed? I can get you a direct fight out of Newark, on Aer Lingus at 8:30 tomorrow morning. I know you and your wife like Aer Lingus. Or on a US Air flight out of Philly, leaving at 9:05 tonight. Arriving tomorrow morning at 8:50 AM, Ireland time. Both flights would need to be confirmed within the next hour to insure you a boarding pass. What do you think?”

  “I think you’re amazing. Book the Philly flight. It’s closer and I can use my city car and park at the PD’s Airport Unit Headquarters.”

  “How about a return date?”

  “Ya know, now that I’m thinking about it, I’m gonna have to play that date a little loose. How ‘bout I call you from Ireland to set me up? Will that work?”

  “Sure. I can do that. Write down my cell number in case the agency is closed. I can book you a return flight from home if I have to.”

  “That all sounds great.”

  “Good! I’m on the computer right now. Just give me a… There! You’re booked for tonight at 9:05, on US Air flight 722, seat number 25C. That’s an aisle seat. You’ll be departing from Gate A8. You should be at the airport at least an hour and a half before departure to pick up your boarding pass. Now, is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Devlin?”

  Mickey laughs. “Yes! Call me Mickey. Mr. Devlin was my father.”

  Katty laughs, too. “Okay, Mickey. Have a safe trip. Looking forward to your call from Ireland.”

  “Thanks, Katty.”

  Mickey gets his twenty-year-old overnight bag from the attic and starts tossing in a couple of changes. He doesn’t get too far when he hears his pager vibrating on the kitchen table where he left it when he came in. He runs to the kitchen and checks the number. That’s a Homicide number. Must be Sly Cliver. Mickey grabs his left side for his cell phone. Darn! I left it on the bed. He uses the white-wall-hung phone in the kitchen to return Sly’s call.

  “Homicide! Cliver.”

  “Hi, Sly. Captain Devlin. You paged me?”

  “Hi, Boss. I did. No problem getting the warrant for Drum’s house. Thought I’d call ya and share some of the things I found out there. Good old Jerry wasn’t exactly what you might think he was.”

  “I kinda thought that from the little I know about him and his brother, Patrick. What ya got for me?”

  “For one thing, he collects newspaper articles. From the US, Ireland, and the UK.”

  “What kind of articles, Sly?”

  “Anything to do with bombings. Ya know, terrorist kinda bombings. He’s got every article ever written on the Unabomber. The bombing in Saudi Arabia when nineteen servicemen were killed. The bombing at the Olympics. The bombing of that TWA flight off the coast of Long Island. He’s got a ton. He also likes to read about and collect newspapers from Ireland that detail the activities of the IRA. He’s got stuff on a bombing in London’s Canary Wharf District. Supposedly, the work of the IRA.”

  “That’s some list.”

  “It goes on, Boss. Here’s one about the IRA murdering a Dublin cop. And two other bombings in Manchester, London, and at some wedding reception in Northern Ireland.”

  “Strangely, some on that list I’ve recently been made aware of by a big boss in the Dublin Garda. What else you got? You told me earlier that Drum was into presidential assassinations.”

  “He was. Check this out, Cap. He’s got all kinds of books and magazines on the assassinations of Lincoln, Garfield, McKinley and Kennedy. And a bunch of other stuff on attempted assassinations. Like Ronald Reagan. He even has the weather conditions on the days of the assassinations, the ages of the presidents when they were killed, the ages of the doers, and who was present when the assassinations took place. I never knew the name of the play Lincoln was watching when he got shot till now. It was Our American Cousin. Did you know that, Boss?”

  “I did. But only because I did a paper on Lincoln for one of my history classes at Temple.”

  Sly doesn’t comment immediately.

  “Drum also seems to keep a running log of scheduled appearances of the leader of the free world.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like where he’s been. Times, dates, why he was there and what he said. With that stuff, he has a lot of big red circles around some of the things the president said.”

  “Red circles meaning he’s picking out things he likes or?”

  “I’d say just the opposite. Along with the circles are comments like ‘bullshit, you lie, fuckin’ commie.’ I don’t think Jerry Drum was a big fan of our president.”

  “Doesn’t sound that way. And I’d be surprised if Jerry was doing all his bad-mouthing of the president in a vacuum.”

  “Ya think he was part of some larger conspiracy, Boss? Ya don’t think that’s why he got popped, do ya?”

  “Not sure, Sly. But I’m flying to Ireland tonight on a hunch that either could be true. Oh! Before I forget. Did you come across anything in Jerry’s notes or any of his lists that showed future presidential visits or speeches?”

  “A couple. There’s something about a speech at the UN. And this is interesting. The president is planning a trip to Dublin, Ireland. Something about tracing his roots. Maybe you’ll run into him over there, Boss.”

  “I kinda doubt it, Sly. When’s he supposed to go?”

  “Let me see. Where is it? Oh, here we go. Friday the 24th. Looks like he departs sometime Saturday. No exact times are given. But that’s SOP. Don’t want to telegraph stuff like that to the bad guys.”

  “You’re right, Sly! Are there any little red circles around the president’s Ireland trip?”

  “No circles! Just the words ‘Sic semper tyrannis.’”

  “Say that again.”

  Sly spells out the words and then pronounces them. “S i c—sic. S e m p e r—semper. T y r a n n i s—Tyrannis. That mean something to you, Cap?”

  “Sic simper tyrannis is the Latin translation of the Virginia State motto. It means ‘Thus always to tyrants.’ And it’s what John Wilkes Booth yelled after he shot Lincoln.”

  “That’s scary.”

  “I agree. Ya know Booth used a Philadelphia Derringer for the assassination.”

  “Didn’t know that. How do you know all this stuff, Cap?”

  “I read a lot. That’s what us old guys do when we can’t play ball anymore. We sit around and read.”

  “You’re anything but old, Boss.”

  Mickey laughs. “I always liked you, Sly.”

  Now it’s Detective Cliver’s turn to laugh.

  “Sly, after you hang up, I suggest you call the 9th District and make sure they don’t release the Drum scene just yet. And then reach out to the Feds. Here’s the number for Special Agent Greg Miller.”


  Mickey gives Sly the number and Sly repeats it.

  “Greg will definitely be very interested in Jerry’s collection of reading materials. Especially his notes on our president’s traveling schedule. He’s also a good guy to have on your source list.”

  “Will do. Thanks, Boss.”

  “Okay! I got to catch a flight. Nice job. That’s some pretty interesting stuff you got there. I’ll talk to ya, Sly.”

  “Thanks! Okay, Boss. Talk to ya later. Have a safe trip.”

  “That’s the plan.”

  Next, Mickey tries calling his wife again. This time he catches up with her and explains what’s been happening. She tells Mickey she’s going to skip the staff meeting and come home to help him get ready and make dinner. He’s glad to hear it.

  “Okay, Hon. But I got to get out of here no later than six o’clock. Got to stop by Headquarters on the way.”

  “You got plenty of time. I’m leaving now.”

  “See ya in a while then.”

  Mickey looks at the digital clock on his wife’s side of the bed. 4:15! That’s 9:15 PM Ireland time. Mike O’Leary should still be at his pub. I’ll try calling him.

  A woman with a kindly brogue answers the phone. “Hello there. O’Leary’s Pub!”

  “Hi! Is Michael O’Leary there tonight?”

  “Oh, for sure he is. The poor man never goes home. Who can I tell him is calling?”

  “Mickey Devlin. I’m calling from the US.”

  “Of course you are, darling. Let me get Michael. Hold on, Devlin.”

  Almost immediately Mickey hears the voice of his old childhood friend. “Will if it ain’t Mickey Devlin himself. What’s going on, brudder?”

  “Hi, Mike. Sorry for calling ya so late. But…”

  “So late? We’re just gettin’ started here in the land of your ancestors, lad. What can I do for ya? Did you have a good look at those photos I faxed ya? What do ya think?”

  “I think I’ll be seeing ya in person, sometime tomorrow. And those photos you sent helped pave my way.”

  “That’s grand, brudder. Ya gonna take me up on my standing offer to come stay with me?”