by Gavin Green
Chapter 21
"What did ye say your name was, me boyo?" old Archie Walsh asked from around his pint. He sat at the bar in Gil's pub, on his usual perch, and was too distracted by the young man's odd looks to hear much of what was said.
The youngster, who had come in a few minutes before the rain began to bucket, about a beer ago, appeared to be of an age not far out of secondary. He wore a leather coat and baggy pants, and styled his blonde hair to look like an eighties rock star.
The young man looked back up from his fresh bowl of Irish stew with a smile. "Devlin Moynihan." He had perused the bartender's mind for a name when he first came in. That name was on Gil's mind because old George's wife, Ruby, was down sick, and word had gotten around. Devlin picked up vague notions that George lived outside of town and didn't venture in much beyond church services. He told himself to go visit George sometime and 'remind' him that he had a grandson named Devlin who was in the area visiting.
"There's a few of your clan in these parts, I believe, young Moynihan."
Devlin swallowed down a bite of stew and replied, "Yes sir; my granda is George, if you know him. I heard my mamo Ruby caught a dose, and I'm dossin' about before uni anyway, so I thought I'd come their way to lend a hand."
Archie nodded appreciatively. "And a fine sort ye are ta be offering. I'm sure ol' George will accept. And give our best," he gestured to Gil behind the bar, "to your drear granny."
Just then, a drenched Mitch Kelly and his younger brother Robbie jogged into the pub past the few patrons at the tables, and went directly to the bar. Their shabby clothes had dried paint and dirt stains on them, but their faces looked freshly washed. As they both plopped down, Mitch said, "A mug of the black stuff for me, and a coke for Robbie, if ya would, Gil."
Looking at the brothers' attire, Archie commented, "Looks like ye been hard at it, Kelly's."
Mitch nodded. "And plenty more work on the roster, sure. But that Sean Rooney has to go. Given the chance, that eejit would hames a jog to the bog." Robbie reluctantly nodded his agreement.
Devlin spoke up. "Are you gents looking for a new hand? I wouldn't mind fattening my wallet while I'm in the area."
Both of the Kelly's took in Devlin's appearance with frowning, curious stares. After a moment, Mitch said, "Maybe."
"This here's Dev Moynihan, ol' George's grandson," Gil supplied as he set their drinks down and took their money. "He looks fit enough to give your crew a hand, I'd say."
Mitch took a gulp and then looked Devlin over once more. "I'm foreman on a work crew, so I'd guess I have a vote on who could sign on. It's simple labor. You don't mind getting your hands dirty, do ya?"
Devlin smiled. "Your hands are clean."
"We washed up at the church before coming over," Robbie offered in friendly fashion.
"And you most likely wouldn't want to wear... whatever your get-up is," Mitch said bluntly. "What the hell are you supposed to be, anyway? Are you in some retro band?"
"Hey," Robbie interjected, "I think that old Thin Lizzy shirt is savage."
Devlin finished a bite of brown bread and grinned at both of them. "I just like the look of 'em. One of my uncles dressed like this, and he was about the best man I knew." He noticed the small dimpled scars along Mitch's jawline and, wanting the focus off of himself, asked, "What happened to you?"
Both of the Kelly's lowered their heads a bit before Mitch finally admitted, "I got in a scrap with some hardchaw about twice my size. It was nothing serious - just bad timing to be rat-arsed." He tried to play it off, and Robbie suddenly took interest in his own drink.
"Nothing serious, did ye say?" Flinn barked. "It was the worst-conceived notion I'd ever seen in all me years. The man tossed ye like a dry cow pie 'cross the pub! And ye had it comin'!" Gil grinned wide and nodded in agreement, but Devlin kept his smile to a minimum and his head down.
"We already apologized -" Robbie began miserably before Mitch cut him off. "Just a mix-up is all," he stated. "Your boy Lynch is nothing so grand, other than being too big for his own good. He's trouble in the making from what I hear, puttin' Kate and her aul wan in harm's way. And look," Mitch said as he pointed behind him, "you even got a new piano from your insurance, so you can just let it go."
"Ye best mind yer gob, ye sour teet," Gil growled. "You don't know what you're on about. Mr. Lynch is a fine sort, and far better than your type on any day."
Mitch and Robbie looked at each other in mild surprise before they turned back to Gil. Mitch said, "You're taking up for him like he was kin, sure. Did that overgrown Yank bail out your pub, like? Owe him a debt, do ya?" He smirked at his own words.
"Truth be told," Gil said with his own small smile, "it's you that owes him."
Before Mitch could ask what that meant, Archie leaned in and spoke in a quiet but serious tone. "I shouldn't be chin-waggin', but ye lads need to be set to right. So cop on, ye corner boys, for I'll only tell this once."
With the old man's evident flare for dramatics, even Devlin paused eating his meal to listen.
"Who do ye think is givin' you dossers a wage?" Archie asked rhetorically as he glared at Mitch. "Who paid for that fine new piano when ye broke the old one with your face? On that note, who paid your hospital bills? And who more than likely paid off the debt on your Uncle Paddy's farm? The very same Mr. Lynch you're sneerin' at, ye sour amadan. Never mind that he took the fine mare Kate McCarthy off your hands, and for her betterment, I'd say. That flahulach pulled your arse out of the fire, as well as a few others, and never once looked for thanks. Why he'd help your sort along is beyond me, but ye'd best come out of the fog and show that sound bloke his proper due."
Besides the angry speech itself, the names mentioned caught Devlin's ear. The generous American, Lynch, was with one of his targets, the eldest McCarthy daughter. It was a lead that Devlin would explore, but not so intently as to cause suspicion. He kept his eyes on his food and tried to appear disinterested even after the old man berated the Kelly brothers.
Mitch and Robbie considered Archie's words. The younger Kelly brother seemed to take them at face value, but Mitch soon frowned. "Away with ya, Archie; it's the church that's been helpin' out."
Gil leaned forward on the bar in front of the Kelly's. "Is that so? And how did the church become so prosperous all the sudden, like? Think everyone has been tithing more than their share of late?" He shook his head sagely. "It's Lynch, chalk it down. And at any rate, I thought you put your score with him to bed."
"Don't let him fool ye," Archie quickly said to Gil. "Their da said he'd tan their hides if they didn't make amends. Told me those very words, Wayne did. Not only that, they didn't want to be banned."
"Well, how about that," Gil said as he stood straight and looked at the chagrined Kelly brothers. "I think you lads should finish up your rounds and be on your way for the day. Ye might have the grime off, but your clothes are right manky. You're spoilin' Mr. Moynihan's meal."
The Kelly brothers downed their drinks and left the pub without a word. Archie watched them go, and then got Devlin's attention. "Just get hold of Father Doyle; he'll set ye right if its work ye need."
Devlin raised his own pint to Archie. "Cheers." He then took a moment to test his expression and put on look of embarrassment. "I'm going to sound like a pure gombeen, but could either of you gents point me in the right way to my granda's gaff? I can't recall where my da said the old place was."
