‘Why are you writing “Washington Street” on all your postcards?’ asked a puzzled Liam eventually.
‘Name the first president of America?’
Liam knew that one. ‘George Washington.’
‘Right. George Washington, the soldier who led the fight for independence and went on to become the first president of the United States of America. Therefore, every city in America will have a street named after him.’
‘You don’t post the cards so why does the address matter?’
“Corner” looked seriously at Liam before he replied, ‘It may not matter to you or I but it certainly matters to George Washington.’
And who could argue with that logic thought Liam.
“Corner” spoke and brought Liam back to the present. ‘I may have to give up sending postcards to our American friends.
‘Why?’ replied Liam, humouring his friend.
‘The Internet.
‘The Internet?’
‘Yes, the Internet. I’ve learned that the number of people sending postcards has fallen dramatically. It appears that people are communicating instantly via the Internet to several of their fellow citizens. It seems as if the age of the postcard is ending. Now all I have to do is to find out how this Internet thing works.’
And not send them messages, Liam thought, remembering the postcards in the municipal bin.
‘One thing is certain, Liam.’
‘What’s that?’
‘The decline in postcard sending and the rise of the Internet is going to spell the death knell for the Pony Express.’
Chapter 7
Thanks for the Car
The most prestigious car dealership in the area belonged to Ryan’s Motors Ltd. Even the second-hand cars they sold cost more than a new model from a different manufacturer. The value of the cars parked in the showrooms and on the forecourt amounted to many millions of Euro and a man constantly cleaned them to keep them in pristine condition.
Because Ryan’s customers were prepared to spend more to satisfy their motoring whims, they were treated differently than an ordinary car buyer.
On entering the showrooms, they were greeted by an attractive girl who offered them tea, coffee, biscuits and newspapers and showed them to a comfortable chair. Connection points were also available to those who wished to use their laptops.
Despite selling very expensive vehicles, Ryan’s Motors buzzed with activity. Potential buyers, those who wished they could be potential buyers and those who just came to dream.
The brother applied the fake tan to his face, making sure that the tan covered his face up to his hairline. Next, he fitted the very expensive hairpiece, making sure it fitted properly, especially at the sides and back. Satisfied, he donned a pair of square framed, gold spectacles with plain glass.
Looking at his reflection in the mirror one last time, he noted the day’s growth on his face - this fitted in with the latest fashion trend.
Donning the coat of his well-cut pin-striped suit the young man slipped the forged documents and bank cards into his inside pocket and set out for his destination.
Gordon Bailey, head salesperson at Ryan’s Motors, had reached that position after twelve years’ service to the company. Twelve years spent in perfecting the art of selling cars, which essentially consisted in fawning on customers and pushing them gently towards signing the contract. A very large percentage of those people who sat in the chair opposite him were already committed to purchasing a car and just needed to be taken by the hand and coaxed that extra few feet.
Gordon worked for a flat monthly wage topped up by a commission for every vehicle sold. In truth, Gordon needed to sell as many cars as possible. Gordon, married for just two years, was presently building a house on a piece of land purchased years ago and his cash reserves were depleted.
The young man drove within the speed limit along the motorway, indicated at the appropriate sign, then turned into Ryan’s forecourt and switched off the engine. Before leaving the vehicle, he removed the pair of thin plastic kitchen gloves he wore and placed them in a pocket.
When the brother entered through the automatic doors, he accepted the offer of black coffee and a newspaper, which he pretended to read. Looking over the top of the newspaper, he noticed Gordon Bailey in conversation with a potential client. He also noticed the camera mounted high on the wall recording all the activities in the showroom.
Presently the man being spoken to by Gordon Bailey stood and bade goodbye. The look of disappointment on Bailey’s face signalled that no sale took place.
The young woman approached the brother and said, ‘Mr. Bailey will see you now, sir.’
The brother followed the woman, opening his jacket as he did so. Reading the name sign on the desk he extended a hand and said, ‘Pleased to meet you, Gordon.’
‘Robert…Robert Craig.’ He handed Gordon a business card, which read: Robert Craig, International Business Software. A list of telephone numbers for offices in London, New York, Hong Kong and Paris followed.
‘How can I help you, Robert?’ asked Gordon. He took in the perfectly groomed hair, the tanned face and the perfectly tailored suit.
Robert told him of his interest in a top of the range model.
Gordon stood and guided Robert to the chosen model and spent a considerable amount of time going over the merits of the particular vehicle. Robert pretended to listen to every word and asked pertinent questions at relevant intervals.
‘Looks like an excellent car,’ Robert said at last when they finished walking around the car for the fourth time.
Gordon didn’t like the sound of the words “looks like”. He needed this sale.
‘We can give you a top trade-in allowance on your old vehicle or a discount if you want to pay cash,’ proffered Gordon.
‘If I decide to buy,’ the brother said, emphasizing the word “if”, ‘then I will be trading in my present car. That car has given me great service and I will be loath to lose it. But I have to consider my image, you understand?’
Gordon said that he did.
Robert handed over the keys of the large car hired two days earlier from a car hire company at the opposite end of the country. All stickers advertising the company’s services were removed and the car extensively cleaned. False documents were prepared and the number plates were switched to match the documentation.
Robert and Gordon went outside and Gordon examined the hired vehicle. He looked at the car’s body, the mileage and ran the engine to test for faults. Satisfied with his checks, Gordon led Robert back inside and after checking with a used car price guide, he offered Robert a price.
Robert pretended to hesitate but agreed to the trade-in price when Gordon upped the amount.
Gordon could already see the commission for the sale on his monthly pay slip.
‘There’s just one thing…’Robert paused for effect.
‘Yes,’ Gordon asked hesitantly.
‘I need a test drive. I need to see how the car handles. At the price I’m paying and with the reputation that this brand has, I’m sure that there will be no trouble…’
Gordon hesitated. After an attempt to steal a car, several years earlier, guidelines were laid down and this stated that all those seeking to test-drive a car must be accompanied by a salesperson.
Gordon looked around. Another customer awaited him and the young man opposite him started to fidget.
‘I only need a short spin out the motorway,’ Robert told Gordon. ‘You have the keys of my car. I will give you my passport and you can ring my business to verify my bona fides. We could have this deal sewn up in less than thirty minutes.’
Gordon looked at the passport, the business card, and the set of vehicle keys and decided to take a chance. ‘Will ten minutes suffice?’ Gordon asked the tanned young man.
‘That will be plenty, Gordon,’ replied Robert.
Gordon handed over the keys and watched as the tanned young man indicated and drove the vehicle on to t
he motorway. He noted the time and turned his attention to the next customer.
The brother turned off the motorway lane at the next junction and headed back in the opposite direction to that taken when he originally left the dealership. He pushed the car up to the maximum legal speed. As he travelled he discarded the spectacles and wig through an open window when no cars were visible in the rear view mirror. Fishing in a coat pocket he withdrew a handful of face wipes and removed some of the fake tan.
Ten minutes after leaving the garage the brother took a slip road off the motorway and drove a distance up a minor road. He stopped at a lay-by beside a white van. A man stepped from the white van and quickly fixed a set of number plates to the stolen vehicle. Without a word, the man handed a set of forged documents to the brother. He also handed him the documents for a short sea crossing for a vehicle and passenger.
Busy dealing with a customer, Gordon failed to notice that the tanned young man had not yet returned from his test drive.
Minutes later the man who cleaned and polished the cars at Ryan’s Motors got a telephone call purporting to come from the local hospital informing him that a family member had been admitted after an accident. With a word to the general manager, he sprinted away. The general manager, who shortly afterwards left to attend a meeting, thought it not worthy to mention the news to the rest of the staff.
As the car, carrying the cleaner drove away, a man wearing the same type overalls entered the forecourt carrying cleaning utensils. Looking to see if his actions were being observed, the man reached into his bucket and withdrew a small bottle of petrol. He unscrewed the bottle top and poured the contents between the windscreen wipers and the bonnet of a car. Looking around, he lit a match and threw it after the petrol. With a loud sound the petrol ignited.
Looking behind, the man walked hurriedly to the waiting motorbike.
On the motorway, the brother continued to make good time towards the port.
A mechanic, parking a repaired vehicle, spotted the burning car and raised the alarm. Some member of the staff pressed the fire button and the siren sounded. In an orderly fashion the staff evacuated the building and assembled at the fire points to await the arrival of the fire service.
In the excitement, Gordon forgot about the tanned young man test driving the expensive car.
Once, the brother spotted a police car behind him and slowed down to let the car pass. With sirens sounding, the police car passed him and raced towards a serious accident.
It took over an hour before the fire brigade arrived and put out the car fire and things regained a semblance of normality.
Only then, seated behind his desk once more did Gordon spot the passport and the documents left by the tanned young businessman. Leaving his desk, he drove out the route that the man would have driven on his test run. He found no trace of the potential buyer. Returning to the garage, he informed the manager who contacted the police.
More time passed before the police service could spare the officers to visit the garage. By this time, the brother was following the signs that directed traffic to the port area.
By the time the police obtained the description of the tanned young man and driven along the motorway to determine if the vehicle had been involved in an accident or broken down, the vehicle was entering the port area.
The brother stopped just outside the customs area and transferred the vehicle to a businessman with impeccable credentials on both sides of the sea. This businessman would drive the car to its final destination in the Middle East.
Ryan’s Motor’s Ltd. could not instantly dismiss Gordon Bailey even though company rules were broken. Years before, unknown to the management, Gordon secretly joined a trade union as insurance against such an eventuality. However, the company made life so unpleasant for him that in the end he accepted a negotiated payment and left.
Several weeks later the Byrnes brothers received payment and celebrated in style in an out of town restaurant away from prying eyes.
Chapter 8
Dr. Henry Hogan
Dr. Hogan picked up the chicken leg and bit into the flesh. It tasted good. He took another bite and washed the food down with sparkling water. Reaching for the salt shaker, he spread salt over the remainder of the meat.
Five hours of his shift gone already. Where did the time go?
Catherine, his new “friend” and part-time lover, sat opposite him and munched a salad sandwich. Catherine, a first year student and the most direct person he had ever met, hadn’t even hinted that she fancied him. She merely sat opposite him one day in the canteen and simply told him outright. And how could he resist those hazel eyes and figure that seemed to fill out the uniform in all the right places.
‘It’s going to be another busy day?’ Hazel Eyes already knew the answer before she asked the question.
Henry’s mouthful of chicken prevented him speaking so he nodded his head in affirmation.
‘Don’t tire yourself out. We have a date tonight, remember. Take some sugar. It will give you energy.’ She laughed as she spoke. ‘Otherwise I will have to give you some other medicine to boost your performance.’
The day was typical. A waiting room full of people that never seemed to empty no matter how hard the staff worked. Children with cuts and bruises and broken limbs, elderly patients with breathing difficulties, foreigners from Asian countries with stomach pains and no translators, winos coming down and drug addicts going up.
The admittance procedure was simple. Each new patient presented himself or herself at the reception area upon arrival. A receptionist then took the person’s name, address and complaint. The patient then received a ticket bearing a number that placed them in a queue and they waited in the waiting room. When their turn came to be treated the patient proceeded to the casualty area proper where they were examined. That was the theory. In practice, theory and reality collided.
If an emergency occurred or if a person arrived in critical condition, they naturally jumped to the top of the queue, which led to long delays for the rest of the patients.
The problem could be traced to government policy. Smaller hospitals were closed and resources transferred to large regional hospitals. While “the big is great concept” could be applied to retail stores, many were of the opinion that this concept as applied to hospitals was seriously flawed. Critics pointed to road congestion. If a certain number of cars are heading towards a particular seaside resort and there are many access roads then the traffic on each road will be light. If there is only one access road to the resort then you will have congestion.
The problem is compounded by the perception that family doctors have assumed a filtering role for the hospitals. So patients are bypassing their doctors and going straight to casualty departments for treatment.
Chewing a mouthful of meat, Henry reflected on why he picked on medicine as a career. Did he want to be looked up to? Did he have a vocation to serve? It certainly wasn’t for the money. It would be years before he earned a decent salary. Perhaps there were many factors involved.
Perhaps he had just drifted into the profession. No tradition of medicine existed in the family history. Professors at Medical School called him a natural. In truth he did have a natural flair for the subject and sailed through the examinations.
Henry’s pager rang. No rest for the wicked, he thought. Catherine looked concerned.
With a chicken leg in his hand, Henry made for the nearest telephone. A red blood spot on his white overall went unnoticed.
‘Emergency,’ the voice at the other end of the line said. ‘Multiple cars involved in motorway pile up. Many injured: some seriously. Ambulances are at scene and will be arriving shortly. Make spaces in casualty for arrivals.’
Back at the table, Henry broke the news to Catherine. With a “see you later”, he picked up the last chicken leg and left for casualty.
As he hurried along the corridor, he pondered the question. ‘Where are we going to put the patients now waiting in casualty
for treatment? Most hospitals now suffered from an acute shortage of beds. It wasn’t a case of no beds; rather a case of no staff to service the beds. Years of under investment and a lack of a clearly defined strategy meant that the whole hospital system bordered on the brink of chaos. The area around casualty resembled a small war zone. Trolleys lined both sides of the corridors. People could spend two days on a trolley before receiving a hospital bed. Or, in some cases no bed would be available and they would be sent home to try their luck another day.
Unable to find a bin, Henry placed the uneaten portion of the chicken leg in his pocket.
Preoccupied and hurrying along the corridor, Henry turned a corner and nearly bumped into Danny. The ex-cleric wore a resigned look on his face. A look that said, take me - I am ready.
‘Everything OK?’ asked Henry, noting the sign above the door from which Danny emerged.
‘Er...Yes…Yes.’ The voice contained a slight tremor.
‘We have an emergency. I must go. I will talk to you later. Give me a ring.’ Henry wanted to question his friend as to the nature of his visit to “that department” but his services were urgently required elsewhere. The two men exchanged goodbyes.
As Henry passed a trolley, a man slightly intoxicated and with what appeared to be a broken collarbone shouted, ‘Hey, doctor, will I be home for my wife’s birthday next month?’
Over in the corner adjacent to a drink vending machine two men were arguing, oblivious to the security cameras. One of the men gave the vending machine a violent kick. As Henry watched, the automatic doors that led into the room opened and two security guards entered. At the sight of the security guards the two men quietened down and returned to their seats. Just before they sat, the vending machine gave a loud bang. A can of soft drink came down the tube and hit the floor, quickly followed by another and then another. The machine continued to spew out cans in all directions until it emptied. With a shout and a mad scramble, the walking injured pounced on the free cans. A man with broken toes, a boy with a patch over one eye, a wife suffering from bruised ribs following a beating from her husband of one week, a teacher who went to the toilet every ten minutes, an unmarried mother rolling a crying baby in a pram, and a young man dressed in a robe who walked up and down repeating a mantra, all ended up in a pile of bodies as they fought for a free can of soft drink. Recognising that retreat is the better part of valour, the two security guards exited the waiting room.
Postcards to America Page 6
