Colm & the Ghost's Revenge

by Kieran Mark Crowley

  Colm was surprised by his cousin’s thoughtfulness. He was usually a ‘thinking of number one’ kind of fella.

  ‘You think someone’s kidnapped your mam and Seanie, don’t you?’

  ‘Yep. And I think they’re coming for us,’ said The Brute.

  Fourteen

  Colm needed to keep a clear head if he was going to get to the bottom of this. Panic was never a friend in times of crisis. He rang his mother’s mobile. No answer. He tried his dad’s. Straight to voicemail. That wasn’t so bad. He was busy at work so he’d probably switched it off. But his mam should have answered. The Brute was right about that. She always answered her phone.

  He went into the kitchen and found his cousin munching his way through another packet of chocolate biscuits he’d managed to liberate from their cupboardly prison. He’d obviously been pacing again because there was a trail of crumbs on the kitchen floor large enough for Hansel and Gretel to follow.

  ‘I eat when I’m worried about something,’ he said. ‘So, what do we do now?’

  ‘We ring the gardaí,’ Colm said.

  ‘And tell them what? That nearly two years ago we were attacked by a vicious zombie …’

  ‘Vamumzompire,’ Colm said.

  ‘That’s never going to catch on. It takes forever to say it. “Watch out behind you, there’s a vamumzom–” You’d be dead meat before I’d finished the sentence. Anyway, stop interrupting. Where was I? Oh yeah, attacked by a vicious … thing that had been brought back to life by a magical key which was wanted by a man who just happened to be the world’s most dangerous criminal, but we destroyed them both and now we think someone’s after us probably looking for revenge,’ The Brute said.

  ‘No, we won’t tell them that because that’d sound stupid. We tell them that your parents have disappeared …’

  ‘SEANIE’S NOT MY DAD!’ The Brute roared. He took a calming breath and said in a more normal tone, ‘I have a dad and he’s brilliant. OK?’

  ‘OK,’ Colm nodded. ‘Sorry. We tell them that your mam and stepfather have disappeared, we can’t get in touch with mine and we’re stuck on our own. If they believe us they’ll search for them and put us someplace safe. If they don’t, then we’ll have to look for them ourselves.’

  ‘You’re right. That sounds like a better idea. That’s why you’ve got the brains and I’ve got the looks.’

  ‘The looks of an orangutan,’ Colm muttered.

  He rang directory enquiries and asked for the number of his local garda station. The operator patched him through.

  ‘It’s dialling now,’ Colm said.

  The Brute gave him the thumbs-up, somehow managing to make the gesture appear threatening.

  ‘Hello, Whitehall Garda Station,’ said a female voice.

  The doorbell rang.

  ‘It’ll be your mam. I’ll get it,’ The Brute said and legged it.

  ‘No,’ Colm shouted after him. ‘My mam has a key. She never forgets it.’

  ‘That’s good to know. Thanks for the information, young man,’ said the garda on the other end of the line.

  The Brute returned and he wasn’t alone. ‘I think you’d better hang up the phone,’ he said.

  Three men followed him into the kitchen. Although Colm didn’t know it yet, they were the same three who had kidnapped Kate Finkle earlier that day.

  ‘Hang up and don’t even think about asking your phone friend for help if you know what’s good for you,’ the wiry man scowled. He winced as he said it, still troubled by the cracked ribs Kate had given him. He gave a curt nod and Uggo grabbed The Brute and threw him against the wall. The Brute suppressed a yelp of pain.

  ‘I’ll call back later,’ Colm said into the phone.

  ‘Can’t wait,’ said the garda as she hung up.

  The Brute got to his feet a little shakily.

  ‘What are you doing here? What do you want?’ Colm asked, his thoughts whirling around at a million miles an hour.

  ‘You don’t ask the questions, I do,’ the wiry man replied.

  ‘Don’t even think about hurting him,’ Colm said. It made him sound far braver than he actually felt at that moment. If they did start beating up his cousin he had no idea what he would do. When it came to fighting Colm was more likely to injure himself than anyone else.

  ‘Hurt him? I hadn’t planned on that, but maybe I should,’ grinned the wiry man.

  ‘That’s it, Colm. Give ’em ideas,’ The Brute said.

  ‘If you lay one finger on him …’ Colm began in a shaky voice.

  ‘Oh, I won’t be doing any of the dirty work. My two employees will take care of that side of things. They’ll do whatever I tell them to do,’ said the wiry man.

  Pretty Boy grunted. It was a grunt that signified ‘no’, rather than the slightly deeper one that would have indicated ‘yes’.

  ‘Definitely not,’ Uggo agreed.

  ‘But I’m in charge,’ wailed the wiry man. As soon as he’d said it he realised that being whiny didn’t make him sound like he was in charge. It just made him sound weak.

  ‘Let’s sort this out like men,’ The Brute said. ‘Three against two just isn’t right though, is it? You look like men of honour. I’ll take one of you on. Muscle against muscle. Beauty versus The Beast. Mano a mano. I win, you apologise and leave.’

  ‘What if we win?’ Uggo asked.

  ‘Then you do what you have to do.’

  Well, that’s about the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard, Colm thought.

  Ten minutes earlier Cedric Murphy had been sitting behind the wheel of his car watching the men he’d followed as they in turn had watched a house. Of course it wasn’t actually his car. They’d have recognised that in an instant. He’d tried to rent one with his Visa card but the transaction hadn’t gone through. He was well over his limit. Luckily, he had a contact in Shannon airport that he’d used before. The man was a big fan of detectives. He thought their lives were hugely exciting compared to his, which was true, and he’d arranged for Cedric to collect this car without paying for it.

  ‘I’ll be sacked if my boss finds out I’ve given you a loaner, so promise me you won’t get a scratch on it,’ Mark had said.

  ‘I promise,’ Cedric replied. ‘I’ll only be tailing a couple of suspects. I won’t be going near them tonight.’

  ‘OK. But not a scratch. And bring it to my office within forty-eight hours. I’m putting it down as a two-day rental with a drop-off in Shannon, so it has to be on time. I can’t emphasise that enough. I’m doing you a big favour, so, you know, next time you’re going on a stakeout anywhere near Limerick you’ve got to let me go along.’

  ‘You’ll be top of my list, Mark. I can’t think of anything I’d rather do with my time than sit in a car and tell you all about my life as a detective.’

  ‘Really? That’s very nice of you. Thanks!’

  Cedric sighed. Mark didn’t get it. Kate Finkle would have understood that he was being sarcastic. In fact, she’d have just said something deeply hurtful in reply. It was at times like this that he really missed her. He had been putting off making the call to tell her he was going to have to let her go from her job. Now that he thought of it though, it was strange that she hadn’t rung him. She usually did, just for the company, or to nag him about something he had or hadn’t done. Mainly the nagging. Was she OK? Maybe he should swing by her apartment and …

  ‘So you’ll have the car at my office by 7 a.m. on the 1st,’ Mark had said, interrupting Cedric’s train of thought.

  ‘I can guarantee it,’ Cedric lied.

  When he’d collected the car – a nice, comfortable, but not particularly speedy, black saloon – he’d checked the tracking device and followed it until it led him to this place. He had stopped just down the road from the two-bedroom townhouse in a boring suburb the men were parked outside. Cedric couldn’t imagine what sort of business they had here. Some sort of stakeout probably. It seemed like a nice enough place to live, he thought. No litter on the ground. T
asteful shrubbery. Hanging baskets. Lawns cut in a uniform fashion. Must have a good residents’ association. He couldn’t think of anything duller than growing up and becoming a member of a residents’ association. One minute you’re ten years old and dreaming of playing professional football or becoming a rockstar or an astronaut, the next you’re a member of the local residents’ association and genuinely worrying about things like the fact that the neighbour hasn’t cut their lawn in three weeks and the place looks a bit raggedy. I hope I’m dead before I start thinking like that, he thought.

  The car doors opened and three men got out. Heyho, here we go, Cedric said to himself. Now we’ll see what you’re up to. One of the men was smaller and skinnier than the others and seemed to be talking at a mile a minute. The other two were big bruisers. Professionals by the looks of things. Dangerous. He recognised one of them, the less handsome of the two, as the man who had thrown him down the stairs. They followed the wiry man, who was still talking. The two goons exchanged glances and one of them made a gun sign with his thumb and forefinger aiming it at the back of the skinny guy’s head. They both laughed at that.

  They reached the door and rang the bell. The two men snapped into pro mode. They drew themselves up to their full height and put on their game faces, determined to intimidate whoever was in the house. Cedric wondered why they were taking this approach – no one going around the back to make sure someone wasn’t going to make a run for it. That meant one thing. Whoever they were calling on wasn’t expecting trouble. Well, you’re just about to get it, you poor sucker, Cedric said to himself.

  The door swung open. The guy who answered it was big for his age, but still just a kid. Couldn’t be more than fifteen or sixteen. He switched on the porch light just as the men shoved him back inside the house. Cedric caught the merest glimpse of his face. He’s a bit more orange than I remember, but I know him, he thought. He didn’t rush in to save the kid from whatever was happening though. Cedric wasn’t a big fan of unnecessary heroism. Especially when there was no one around to appreciate it. Where’s the residents’ association and the nosy neighbours when you need them, he wondered. When he saw that there were no curtains twitching or anybody running over to check what was going on, he grew restless. He could hear Kate’s voice in his head: ‘Get over there and help that young fella, you big, selfish lump.’

  He decided to ignore it. He wasn’t going to live a very long life if he listened to his conscience. It only ever got him into trouble. He settled back into his seat and turned on the radio. That would pass the time. No, he wasn’t going in. Definitely not.

  As he was trying to get comfortable he noticed a girl dressed in black racing across the road. Where had she come from? Had she been hiding there all along? He watched, almost in disbelief, as she ran along the narrow drive that led to the house, then leaped over the wrought-iron gate that separated the front garden from the back, before dropping out of sight on the far side.

  ‘This just got really interesting,’ Cedric said to himself.

  Was the girl following the men too? Or was she there to help them? Over the next few minutes his conscience reared its ugly head again. A kid? A girl? Against those guys? He sighed. Sometimes he really, really hated his life. Really. Thanks, Kate, he said to himself as he got out of the car. Thanks for five years of service and the way you drip-fed me honesty and morals when they are the very last things a private detective needs.

  He was right. But one thing a private detective definitely does need is to be observant and if Cedric had been more observant at that moment he might have noticed the bounty hunter who had also been watching what had unfolded.

  ‘Busy here tonight,’ McGrue said to himself.

  Fifteen

  Cedric Murphy arrived in the kitchen of Colm’s house and was struck by two thoughts:

  Why on earth would supposedly professional muscle men go into a house at three in the morning and forget to close the front door behind them?

  How odd it was to enter a stranger’s kitchen and find a teenage boy doing an over-elaborate stretching routine in preparation for a fight with a thug.

  Cedric’s entrance wasn’t as discreet as he’d planned. It was impossible to creep into a house as quietly as a well-trained ninja when you were seven stone heavier than your ideal weight. Especially when you knocked over a vase sitting on the hall table and sent it crashing to the ground. Pretty Boy spun around and gasped as the private detective tried his best to look cool, calm and collected.

  ‘What you doing here?’ he asked.

  ‘Thought I’d pop round for a coffee,’ Cedric replied. If you thought private detectives were always ready with a witty reply, now you know the truth.

  The Brute stopped doing his warm-up exercises while Colm stared at the newcomer open-mouthed. It was him. The guy who’d turned up in the middle of the night at the Red House Hotel. Cedric winked at them. It was a wink that told them to keep their mouths shut.

  ‘Who’s this balooba?’ Uggo snarled.

  ‘Your friend and I go back a long way. We’ve had some laughs together. Remember? You, me and the stairs. Good times,’ Cedric said.

  ‘Yeah,’ Pretty Boy chuckled. ‘I threw him down stairs. He get hurt. Hurt bad.’

  ‘Careful now, you don’t want to use too many big words. Big words cause sore brain.’

  ‘You threw him down the stairs? Him? I’m impressed. He must weigh a ton,’ the wiry man said.

  ‘I hope you’re not saying I’m fat,’ Cedric said. ‘I’m very sensitive about my weight.’

  ‘Fat? Man, you’re so fat, if they’d dressed you in grey you could have played the boulder in that Indiana Jones movie,’ Wiry said.

  ‘Wow. What an intellect. If only it could be used for good rather than evil.’

  ‘You’re so fat, they should have just greased you up and used you to plug that BP oil spill,’ the wiry man continued, his rudeness growing by the second.

  ‘OK. You’ve had your fun. Ease off now,’ Cedric replied.

  ‘If you jumped in a swimming pool you’d cause a tsunami.’

  ‘Let’s see how many offensive jokes you make when I put my fist in your face,’ Cedric said.

  ‘That’s not going to happen,’ said the man with a smirk that made you want to do exactly what Cedric had said. ‘Those two have my back,’ he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of his companions. ‘They’ll be on you like a ton of bricks before you can even think about hurting me.’

  Cedric looked at the two thugs. The two thugs looked at him. An understanding passed between them.

  ‘Mind if I hit him, just the once?’ Cedric asked.

  Uggo shrugged. ‘Be my guest. You’ve earned the right to a free one. My brother struggles with his weight and it’s not a laughing matter. I hate people who say things like that. It’s nasty.’

  ‘Wait, what?’ screeched the wiry man. ‘You have to stop him. It’s your job!’

  ‘Our job’s to bring the two kids in, Boris. If you happen to get hurt in the struggle, there’s nothing we can do about it,’ Uggo said.

  ‘But there’s no struggle. None. He’s just threatening me. That’s illegal. And very mean,’ said Wiry Boris, his voice rising to such a high frequency that in the back garden a mouse and a bat exchanged concerned glances.

  ‘Hit hard. He’s pain in … bum,’ Pretty Boy said.

  Cedric Murphy snaked out a fist, his hand moving faster than his bulk should have allowed. It connected with the wiry man’s nose with a cartilage-smashing crunch. Boris’s eyes watered. His knees wobbled. He slumped to the floor like a pile of dirty laundry.

  The sudden silence was a welcome relief to everyone.

  ‘Thank you,’ Uggo said. ‘We should have done that ages ago.’

  ‘And as a gesture of gratitude, you’re going to head out the door and leave us to get on with our lives?’ Cedric queried hopefully.

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘It was worth a try. So how are we go
ing to do this? Me against you? The three kids versus your buddy?’

  ‘Yeah, we could do it that way,’ said Uggo. ‘Or … wait a second. You said three kids. There’s only two kids here. The little guy with glasses and the orange kid.’

  ‘Orange? I’m not orange. I’m lightly tanned. We had a very good summer y’know,’ The Brute said defensively. ‘Warmer than expected.’

  ‘Gotta learn to count, big guy,’ Cedric said. ‘There’s three children here.’

  Uggo did count. He got to two. It was a struggle. His face was a mask of confusion. What did the detective mean? ‘Is this a trick?’

  ‘I mean at the end of July, it was over twenty-three degrees every day for a fortnight. You’d have be allergic to the sun not to be tanned after that,’ The Brute rambled on.

  ‘It’s not a trick.’ Cedric Murphy shook his head then changed direction and nodded towards the patio door. ‘May I?’

  ‘Are you trying to escape?’ Uggo asked.

  ‘Of course not,’ Cedric said.

  ‘Go ahead then.’

  Wow. These guys were either so confident in their own ability that they believed he had no chance of getting away or else they were more than a little dim. Considering they’d already allowed him to knock out one third of their gang, Cedric really hoped it was the latter, or else he was about thirty seconds and a couple of kicks away from a lot of physical pain.

  ‘Like I said, three – two boys and a girl,’ he said, sliding the door open.

  Eeps, Colm thought. That should have been locked. Lucky Mam didn’t come home and find it open. But then he remembered that the predicament he was in probably balanced out that stroke of luck.