The Valparaiso Voyage

by Dermot Bolger

  ‘All he had to do was keep his gob shut,’ P. J. interjected. ‘Plenty of people did it before him.’

  ‘I knew that after his name was in the paper he and Gran would be like prisoners in that house. I went out to the garden to help him. No chocolate buttons in the ground now, just worms and loose stones being turned over. I didn’t know what to say. He kept saying how barristers make people look stupid. Phyllis was watching at the window, so I says, “Just tell the truth. You’ve nothing to be ashamed of, Granddad.” He said – and I remember his voice like something was broken inside – he was only ashamed of two things. That he hadn’t loved his son more and had helped to cheat a sick man.’

  ‘What sick man?’ Slick demanded.

  ‘I wanted him to talk about my father,’ Conor said, ‘but he started this story with no names about a builder gone crazy in the head who’d bought up scattered plots of land years before. The sort of guy who didn’t let his left hand know what his right hand was doing, hiding things from the taxman. He had a shareholding in some secret company with three other men. Granddad was in the background somehow. These men persuaded him that he had been only minding these plots of land for them, filling his head with rubbish and getting him to transfer ownership from his own company to their one. Granddad tried to stop them, but the main shareholder – someone Granddad never respected again – turned on him savagely, telling him to keep his mouth shut.’ Conor looked around. ‘Is this making sense?’

  ‘Eamonn Brogan was a bitter old fart,’ Pete Clancy said sourly. ‘Only a fool would believe a word from his mouth.’

  ‘Let the kid keep talking,’ Slick commanded. ‘It’s making sense to me.’

  ‘That’s because he’s a fucking little liar,’ P. J. interjected, ‘tailoring lies to suit you. You know well that Brogan would never open his gob about any of us.’

  ‘None of yous were in the fucking dock,’ I told him. ‘It was my da being summoned to court.’

  ‘It isn’t a dock,’ Clancy explained. ‘It’s just a tribunal set up to keep the lid on things. Its terms of reference are so broad that we’ll eventually collapse it after it flounders around for long enough because few enough people who really count will help it. Joe Public always gets sick of their fetish for the truth once details of the legal fees get leaked. Few of us voting for it in the Dail expected anybody beyond a few sheep to be stupid enough to tell the truth, for God’s sake.’

  ‘Granddad might have,’ Conor said. ‘Everything else was squared off in his mind. But it rankled his conscience to see a daft man diddled by his friends. Nobody ever called to see him after he retired, nothing to do but collect rents once a week for a fucking pittance. That day in the garden he said he wanted his conscience clear. For years he’d lied to the man’s son, hanging on to what wasn’t his. But he had documentation about the land transfers, company records in a safe deposit account in Jersey that nobody would ever find.’

  ‘He kept phoning me after he got that summons,’ Slick said to Clancy. ‘You said not to take his calls, that his phone was tapped. If I heard his voice I was to put the receiver down.’

  ‘This kid is conning you, Slick,’ P. J. said, advancing on Conor. I stepped in front of him.

  ‘Leave my son alone.’ I turned to Slick. ‘How many land deals did Joey Kerwin’s son tell you about?’

  ‘Three. I told you, I know the bloody sites well.’

  ‘Cormac and I cleaned out an account each years ago. If two accounts are left in Jersey then only one has money from those lands in it.’

  ‘That’s enough,’ Pete Clancy announced firmly. ‘Anything that happened happened between our fathers.’

  ‘Are you saying it’s true?’ Slick demanded.

  ‘I’m saying that whatever money is in Jersey is all the money that’s left. The past is like a jumper, try picking out one stitch and the whole yoke falls apart. How many crooked deals was Slab involved in? Would you have wanted them all dragged out by Brogan so you could get revenge over a few lousy fields? Slab was no saint. Maybe he got a dose of his own medicine at the end, but the land bank he’d built up has left you a millionaire many times over. My father and Mossy should never have played a lousy trick on him in his condition, but compared to today’s land prices it was just chicken feed. Now I respect Brogan for not liking it because I didn’t always like what Daddy did either. But how would it help Slab to let Brogan do his “old-man-making-peace-with-God” spiel in Dublin Castle? We’d all be fucked and under the spotlight.’

  ‘You pair sent me to Cremore to tie him up, never telling me he’d a weak heart,’ McGuirk said.

  ‘We never told you to tie him that tight.’

  ‘You wanted him dead and for me to get you those account mandates so P. J. could bugger off to Jersey with the kid and destroy the evidence of how my father was cheated. You used me. All my life you’ve used me.’

  ‘Easy, Slick,’ P. J. said. ‘We’re all friends here.’

  ‘I don’t have friends,’ McGuirk said, ‘I have you two and a wife who can’t bear to be in the same room as me. I’ve neighbours who call me a thick cunt and they’re right. I’m so thick I never saw through yous.’

  ‘It was just a few fields,’ P. J. wheedled. ‘Your father didn’t even know he was losing them. Think of what you’d have lost if Brogan blabbed up in the Castle.’

  ‘I don’t care about the money,’ Slick replied. ‘I’ve money oozing out my armpits, money I can’t even count any more. I’ve Jackeen gobshites queuing to buy these shoeboxes I’m throwing up here when my father used to build stronger cowsheds.’

  ‘Sure you’re on the pig’s back,’ P. J. said. ‘Slab would be proud of how you’ve built up the company if he knew who you were and haven’t I advised you every step of the way. And Pete too – many’s the tight corner he got you out of. It wasn’t just airline tickets you were buying one time. Remember when your car was stopped by cops in the Phoenix Park? Those fucking rent-boys would have done you, only Pete had a quiet word at the station. Your wife was going to finally walk that time too, only Pete brokered a deal with her. Sure she has your house only classic now, with gold-tapped bidets to wash your arse and all. Brogan was always a sneaky fuck, a public servant insisting on this and that by-law, then grasping for handouts when he retired. God knows what else he has in that safe deposit account, papers that would hang us all. But now that you know we can go to Jersey together, make a bonfire of the whole shebang and let that be the end to it.’ P. J. glared at Conor, whom I still shielded. ‘We’ll reward the boy well, despite his big gob. Wave a few grand before these kids’ faces and they become less high-minded and principled. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s taken money off a man with pleasure, I’d say.’

  ‘I don’t care about the money,’ Slick repeated, picking up his jacket. ‘I don’t even mind being used. I’m just sick of finding out that everybody except me knew how my daddy was cheated.’

  He reached into his pocket but it wasn’t the envelope he took out. It was Joey Kerwin’s old pistol.

  ‘Holy for fuck,’ P. J. laughed, ‘put that antique away before you do yourself damage.’

  ‘There’s feck all wrong with it,’ Slick explained. ‘It just needed a good cleaning. Look.’

  He aimed almost casually at Egan and squeezed the trigger. The blast was deafening in the tiny kitchen. I flinched, instinctively turning my head and so it wasn’t P. J.’s face that I saw but blood and bits of brain on the half-finished tiling behind Conor.

  Nobody moved or screamed. Even P. J. died silently, his feet beside mine and his shattered head close to where Conor crouched. Smoke and a stench of gunpowder filled the kitchen. My ears rang. Time felt different.

  ‘Slick.’ Clancy softly uttered the same last word as my father. His eyes watching the gun barrel looked different from when I aimed P. J.’s shotgun at him in Maguire’s byre. He seemed scared and deeply human, a Pete Clancy I had never known.

  Only it wasn’t his last word. Fingers trembling,
McGuirk crouched so low that his nose almost touched the hot barrel, eyes squinting as he aimed carefully at Clancy’s heart. The gun went off, louder and with more smoke. A screaming brought back the sound of greyhounds having their tails docked during my childhood. Clancy stood utterly still and Slick was also still for a second. At least his legs and chest were. What was left of his mouth kept screaming and bits of jagged bone stuck out where his elbow should have been. The remains of the gun lay on the floor beside fragments of his fingers. Particles of the exploding metal had shot upwards, burying themselves deep into his eyes and face. He staggered forward, reminding me of a chicken my father once killed which got up to stagger around the table with no head. Slick’s scream continued as he slid onto the floor.

  Conor had fallen forward onto his knees. At first I thought he had been hit by a piece of shrapnel, then I realized he was being sick. I knelt beside him, trying to shield him from the sight of P. J.’s head just a few feet away.

  ‘Are you all right, son?’

  ‘Just fuck off, you!’

  He was sobbing uncontrollably. I glanced up at Pete Clancy who stared at me, man to man.

  ‘What do we do now?’ he asked.

  I knew what he was thinking because I was thinking the same. If Conor were not there we would be walking out that door. Slick made a different sound, too weak to be a scream and then went silent except for faint rasping breaths.

  ‘Phone an ambulance, for God’s sake.’ I tried to sound like a father. ‘Slick’s still alive.’

  ‘You’re right.’ Clancy glanced at Conor too, but made no move to produce a phone. ‘This is terrible…terrible…if that little cunt of Kerwin’s son had kept his mouth shut…if you and your brother hadn’t been fucking thieving…if your father had just played ball and destroyed his documentation like everyone else…I could have sorted this.’

  Conor looked up. He was shaking, his face white with a streak of someone’s blood across his forehead. ‘Why are you not phoning an ambulance?’

  ‘You’re right, sonny, we should.’ Clancy seemed distracted, staring at McGuirk. ‘Half his head is missing though. He’ll never make it.’

  ‘You’ve got to give him a chance,’ I argued, afraid to touch Conor who had started to retch again.

  ‘Maybe we’ve got to give ourselves one.’

  ‘What are you saying?’ I tried to relieve the ringing in my ears.

  ‘A way out. Do you want this to blow up in our faces? They’re both as good as dead. There’s no need for us to be involved. Slick shot P. J., then killed himself by mistake. They were always arguing anyway.’

  Conor looked up, eyes moving slowly between both our faces. ‘He’s dying, you pair of bastards,’ he hissed. ‘Now get your fucking phone out.’

  ‘Your da is ten years dead too, remember?’ Clancy said. ‘Try explaining that to the cops. Slick’s finished, I tell you. He killed your grandfather. What’s it to you if he breathes his last here or in an ambulance. Take a cloth and wipe everything you’ve touched. It’s half-three now. Let his workmen find them in four hours time.’

  ‘Fuck you,’ I said. ‘You’re not going to let him die.’

  ‘I’m not going to interfere in what I can’t prevent. I’m offering you both a chance. There’s a lot of money in Jersey. Split it between us. The other account number is for a safe deposit box. Burn every document in it. None of them concern you. Now do either of you really want the other involved in this fucking mess?’

  I could no longer hear the rasp of Slick’s breath. It was hard to tell if he was alive or dead. Conor looked at me, confused and in shock. I knew he wanted this to be a dream he could wake from.

  ‘What do we do, Dad?’

  ‘Hand me your fucking mobile,’ I ordered Clancy.

  The man shook his head wearily. ‘You’re both right,’ he said after a moment. ‘I don’t know what came over me. I panicked. I mean I was never involved in anything like this in my life. The phone’s in the front seat of the car.’ Clancy took out his keys. ‘Here, kid, get it for us, will you?’ He watched Conor who tried to rise but didn’t seem to have enough strength. ‘It’s OK, I’ll get it myself.’

  Clancy trooped out disconsolately, leaving us hunched in silence. Conor looked up after a while. ‘Mam will be out of her mind with worry about me.’

  ‘I know,’ I said. ‘Miriam was always a worrier.’

  ‘She never goes to sleep until I come in.’

  Clancy returned so quietly that I never heard his footsteps, just the sudden shotgun blast from the doorway. I threw myself forward to shield Conor, not knowing if he had already been hit. I looked up at his face but he was still alive, staring over my shoulder towards the table. Following his gaze I saw blood and innards ooze from a fresh hole in Slick’s stomach. Clancy uncocked P. J.’s shotgun to replace the cartridge.

  ‘That’s fairly conclusive now,’ he remarked. ‘Slick can be officially struck off the voters’ register.’

  ‘What the fuck are you doing, Pete?’

  Clancy closed the shotgun, aiming it towards us. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I’m not a violent man. You may laugh but it’s true. I’ve tried to live my life cleanly, bursting my balls for people who don’t care. But the past always catches up with you, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Put the gun down, for fuck’s sake.’

  ‘Michael Collins says to my grandfather, “Take a seat in Meath and hold it safe for us. We need someone strong we can depend on.” For eighty years we’ve held the fucking thing until our fingers bled. I look at my son – he has no interest, doesn’t have the balls of iron and backbone of steel that it takes. I keep fooling myself that maybe one of my daughters will want the seat when they put away their dolls – a woman would be good, add a fresh twist. Even at two years of age I was staring into their eyes, trying to see myself there. None of them have the stomach for the rubber chicken and handshaking and shite-swallowing that comprises my glorified life. They want to sit down for Christmas dinner and not have passers-by thinking they can arrive with forms for signing. Eighty years on I’m still holding this fucking seat by my fingertips with no one to pass it on to. So why can’t I let it go?’

  ‘Pete,’ I pleaded, ‘be sensible.’

  ‘I can’t be the Clancy who fucked up. You understand guilt or you wouldn’t have come home. If you two leave here you’ll talk. It’s human nature, secrets always come out. There was never a snowball’s chance of a passport, Brendan. I can’t swing such things any more. I was just buying time, stalling you like I stalled Slick all year.’

  ‘You knew Slick would kill my father, didn’t you?’

  ‘I knew your father had a weak heart. But it was Slick who tied the knots.’

  ‘Let Conor go at least,’ I pleaded. ‘All this was before his time.’

  ‘It wasn’t me who made him part of it. But I’m not worried about Conor, he’s not a problem.’

  ‘I’m not leaving without my dad,’ Conor said defiantly.

  ‘Who says you’re leaving?’ Clancy replied. ‘I mean that killing you is no problem. Slick always had the hots for faggots. You’re a useful bit of sex to throw them off the scent. A lover’s tiff that P. J. tumbled on.’

  ‘You can’t close those Jersey accounts without me,’ the boy said defiantly.

  ‘Fuck them. Banks will happily sit on dormant accounts forever. With Eamonn dead and Slick no longer causing hassle it’s unlikely any tribunal will trawl through your family’s names anyway. Your father is the problem. DNA testing, dental records. The Hen Boy makes everything more suspicious than a bout of sexual hijinks gone wrong. I can kill you here, Conor, but the Hen Boy’s body has to disappear.’

  Some instinct made Clancy turn or else he heard something. Ebun had stood in the doorway long enough to remove both darts from the plank of wood there. She aimed at Clancy’s face. The first shotgun blast shattered the window behind me. One dart had stuck in him above his eye, while the other protruded from his cheek. He fired again wildly as I
lunged forward. The second cartridge ripped a hole in the ceiling. A dart fell out as we toppled over Slick’s body, but the one in his eyebrow swayed back and forth with blood pouring from the tip.

  ‘Run for Christ’s sake,’ I screamed at Ebun. ‘Take Conor with you.’

  Conor knelt behind me, trying to hold Clancy down, but Pete lashed out, knocking us both away. He searched his pocket for more cartridges as he slithered under the table to buy time to reload.

  ‘Come on,’ Ebun screamed, ‘run, run!’

  ‘You run. Get the boy out of here.’ I didn’t care if I was killed as I aimed kicks in at Clancy. It felt like this was the moment I had come home for, to finally settle old scores between us.

  I don’t know how Ebun dragged Conor away; just then the first shotgun blast came from under the table. It scorched my left shoulder before tearing a hole in the wall above the deserted doorway. I dodged into the hall, hearing his footsteps follow. A car engine had started. The car came towards me, with somebody throwing the side door open. But Clancy was out by now, dazzled in the headlights. The dart was plucked from his eyebrow, but blood streamed down, blurring his vision.

  He aimed blindly into the glaring lights. The Ford Fiesta sped forward as though Ebun was trying to ram him, then swerved violently just before he shot. The side window shattered as it bumped its way towards the gap in the tar barrels, crashing into one before swinging left to career into the dark.

  Clancy ducked back into the house to reload. My shoulder bled from where his shot had left a flesh wound with a burning sensation like somebody had placed a hot iron against my skin. I looked around for somewhere to hide. A trench lay to my left, beside a cement mixer. I tumbled down into it, cutting my knee on rocks at the bottom. My courage was gone. I was alone now with Pete Clancy and the old familiar certainty that the bully would find me.