Moriarty- The Road

by Jack Spain

  There was a SQUELLLLCH, and it stopped.

  Then there was a thud of a door being slammed shut. Balor and Moriarty stepped back and moved over towards some bushes to keep out of sight. Old Man Grogan peered through the dust, not knowing what he was about to see. The cloud of dust started to clear. Old Man Grogan was heartily pleased to see the dusty figure of Michael McManus emerge from the chaos.

  McManus was still wearing a pair of dark sunglasses, although his suit looked dusty. He was feeling his arms and chest, counting his fingers and making sure that his feet were still attached. He seemed justifiably surprised at his lucky escape. Miraculously, there was barely a mark on him. He looked at Grogan for a few seconds and then turned around to look at the house. A gust of wind began to blow most of the dust away. To their surprise, most of the front of the house was still standing, but it was obvious that the back and top of it had been completely blown out. Then, all of a sudden, the front of the house, which had obviously saved Michael’s life, fell forward with a loud thud. Old Man Grogan jumped back, but McManus didn’t even flinch. Instead he looked at the Jaguar. The roof and sides where all dented and scratched beyond repair. There were lumps of debris all over it, and a teacup on the roof. All of the windows except the windscreen were shattered, although they were still in place.

  McManus eventually said something: ‘Are you all right, Old Man?’

  ‘I am. What about you?’ Grogan replied.

  ‘I’ve scratched my car,’ Michael replied with a grin, pointing at the total wreck beside him. He was shaken, but not the least bit stirred. He was also so happy to be alive after the explosion that he didn’t know what to say, other than something cool. He sniffed the air. ‘Gas?’ he asked.

  Old Man Grogan thought quickly. ‘I mustn’t have turned off the cooker before I came out to the garden.’

  ‘Really? You should be more careful,’ Michael advised him mockingly as he stepped forward to examine the damage to the house. Grogan watched him for a minute as he climbed over the debris and into what had once been the kitchen. McManus looked around the devastation and then at the kitchen door, still in its frame. A tiny glint caught his eye and he stepped over some debris and crouched down. It looked like a tiny piece of metal stuck in the door. He pulled it out and had a look.

  ‘What have you found?’ yelled Grogan.

  ‘Nothing. Just a piece of the cooker stuck in the door,’ he said and then stood up. Old Man Grogan walked up to McManus and stood beside him in the middle of the former kitchen.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ said McManus.

  ‘Well, I can’t live here anymore,’ Grogan replied.

  ‘Go Sherlock. Did you lose much?’

  The two men looked around at the complete devastation. The house had been blown fifty yards in most directions. The two men just looked at each other. It was a stupid question and McManus regretted having asked it. But then, surprisingly, Grogan broke into a fit of laughter. McManus didn’t know what to do so he joined in. Grogan laughed so hard that he cried. He then felt incredibly sad. He had indeed lost everything that he owned. McManus noticed for the first time all the scratches on Old Man Grogan’s face, and the fact that he must be in shock, as he was visibly shaking. Both men turned to look at the hill behind them. They stared at it silently for a moment.

  ‘Did you have any insurance?’ McManus asked.

  ‘No,’ Grogan replied quietly and then turned back to gaze at the ruins.

  ‘Remarkably, me neither. Don’t worry about the house,’ said McManus. ‘I’m sure that some arrangement can be made to rebuild it. I can give you a great price on a new one if you want.’

  Grogan chuckled as if it was the sort of thing that Balor would have said at a time like this.

  ‘I don’t think I want to live here anymore,’ he told McManus.

  ‘Why not? This is a great place to live.’

  ‘This house was too cold. The hill blocked the sun in the winter.’

  Grogan turned to look at the hedgerow where Balor was hiding.

  ‘Enough of this for now,’ said McManus. ‘You’ve cut your face. You’re probably in shock too. We should get that checked out,’ He took Grogan by the arm. ‘Get in the car and we’ll go to the hospital. We need to make sure that you’re all right.’

  They both turned and strolled back through the debris of the house to the battered car.

  Grogan was unsure as to whether the car would start or not. McManus, however, seemed completely confident that it would. He turned the key and the big black Jaguar roared into life, and with the tiniest of encouragement it reversed back down the driveway.

  Balor and Moriarty watched them go. Moriarty then looked at Balor to see if he knew what was going on. Balor shrugged his shoulders and Moriarty sighed. He knew that he would have to wait and see.

  Nemed sat up a few hundred yards away. He had been thrown through the air by the explosion. Ears still ringing, battered and bruised, but still alive, and remarkably with his hood still pulled down over his face, he stood up and looked around for his swords. They had fallen nearby and stuck up in the ground. He picked them up and took one look back at the hill, easily visible from this angle now, as Old Man Grogan’s house was gone. It had been a lucky escape. Nemed, checked the canister of Comither in his pocket before he slid the pair of swords back into their sheaths and after a final look back, he limped away from the hill and into the undergrowth.

  ‘Mission accomplished,’ he said under his breath. ‘Whatever the mission was....’

  A Deal with the Devil

  McManus parked the damaged Jaguar in his garage. He sat in the car for a few moments looking at the tiny dagger that he had removed from the door of Grogan’s house. It was slightly shorter than his thumb with very delicate engravings on the blade. The handle was very neatly wrapped with fine blue cotton threading. There was a tiny silver cap on the handle, which also looked as if it was engraved, but far too small to see exactly what was engraved on it.

  He opened the door of the car and got out, still looking at the dagger before turning to the Range Rover, fumbling through his pockets for a key, and then walking over to the driver’s side door. He opened it and leaned inside to open the central console. He rummaged through some papers for a few seconds and then pulled out the sword that he had found the previous night. He looked at it very intently for a few seconds before closing the door of the Range Rover, going inside the house and heading for his study.

  McManus placed the tiny dagger and sword on his desk and opened his laptop. After he had logged on he immediately opened a web browser and brought up a search engine. The first thing he looked for was ‘ancient swords’, and when the results came up he clicked on images. There were hundreds of pictures of swords, but none seemed to look like this one so he changed his criteria to ‘ancient Irish swords’, and searched again. Halfway down the results page there was a picture of a bronze sword that had been found and was in a private collection. The shape of the blade was the same, but it had lost its handle. The one on his desk was clearly not made of bronze. It was silver in colour and not brown like bronze. He sat back and thought about the sword for a moment and then appeared to have an idea. He leaned forward, opened a drawer and took out a magnifying glass and picked up the sword. He studied the blade and handle very closely. The blade and the handle were decorated with very intricate engravings and the cotton thread that wrapped the handle was extremely well done. It was so well done that if you took a photograph of it and asked someone to guess how big it was they would never guess it was so small.

  McManus put the sword down and picked up the dagger. He looked at it through the magnifying glass and was astonished by the detail. The engravings were much more elaborate than the sword and he could even make out tiny silver rivets that held the handle together. He was surprised to find that the engravings did not look the least bit Celtic when he compared them to Irish art. He placed the magnifying glass back down on the table and looked at the dagger for
a little while before he placed the hilt of the dagger on his little finger and let it balance itself. The dagger swayed a little and then settled down. It was perfectly balanced. The handle was the same weight as the blade and this meant that it was very easy to handle and perfect for throwing.

  After looking at the dagger balance for a minute he put it down and looked about his desk and then under it. He pulled an empty envelope from the wastepaper bin and opened it out. He then picked up the sword and held the blade over the top of the envelope, before slicing it down. The blade of the sword cut through the envelope extremely easily and a few seconds later half the envelope lay on his desk. He took another look at the sword and then placed it neatly beside the dagger, got up, and walked out of the study.

  McManus went into the kitchen and straight to the fridge. It was a large stainless steel double door type with lots of holiday fridge magnets that held up pictures that Emily had drawn. He looked at the pictures until he saw the one he wanted and then he carefully removed it. It was one that Emily had drawn recently and seemed to depict a soldier that had what looked like the hilt of a sword sticking up over his left shoulder. He turned around and leaned back against the fridge door while he studied the drawing.

  Then he suddenly darted back out of the kitchen and into his study. He sat at his desk and placed the drawing beside the laptop and went back to the search engine page. He typed in ‘hare coursers arrested little man’ and pressed enter. He scanned down the results and clicked on a few but couldn’t see what he was looking for. He sat back and thought about it for a moment and then leaned forward again. He used the calendar on his laptop to work out a date and then typed the address of a local newspaper website into the browser. When the site came up he clicked on local news, then back editions, and then he saw it. He leaned forward and clicked on the article and began to read it. His eyes opened wider when he read the last paragraph about one of the hare coursers who was suspected of being drunk after telling the police that he had been stabbed in the neck by a little man that had climbed up his back.

  McManus clicked on print to get a paper copy of the article and then looked though a drawer and pulled out a large brown envelope. He carefully folded up the picture that Emily had drawn and placed it inside. He then went to the printer and took the article he had printed out and read it again before again carefully folding it and placing it back in the envelope. He wrapped the sword and the dagger in some blank sheets of paper he took from the printer and placed those into the envelope, before placing the envelope into a drawer and locking it.

  McManus sat back down and leaned back into the plush leather executive chair. He was thinking hard and looked around his study for inspiration. As he did this he heard the garage door open and another car drive in. A few seconds later Sally rushed in to the house yelling his name. He didn’t respond by the time she rushed into the study.

  ‘Michael,’ she said visibly shocked, ‘what happened to the car? Are you alright?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ he replied calmly.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ he said in a reassuring tone. ‘There was a gas explosion at Patrick Grogan’s house. The car got caught in the blast. I was completely fine. There was an upside. I finally managed to get that Kylie Minogue CD out of the CD player though.’

  ‘Who is Patrick Grogan?’

  ‘He owns that house by the hill we were going to start work on today.’

  ‘Is he alright?’

  ‘A few cuts and bruises. The house was completely destroyed.’

  ‘Completely destroyed?’

  ‘Flat as a pancake.’

  ‘My God,’ said Sally as she sat down. ‘What a lucky escape.’

  ‘It was.’

  ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘I brought him to the hospital and they said he was fine so I checked him into a hotel in town. They gave him some pills for his nerves and I’ve told the hotel people to keep an eye on him.’

  ‘How bad was his house damaged?’

  ‘He doesn’t have a house anymore.’

  ‘The whole house was destroyed?’

  ‘Yes it was,’ said McManus leaning forward. ‘Can I ask you a question?’

  ‘A question?’ Sally replied, bemused.

  ‘Don’t you think that your cooking seems to have become a little bit exotic of late?’

  ‘My cooking?’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘Exotic?’

  ‘You know what I mean,’ he replied. ‘Curried Rice Crispies for breakfast, deep fried fish with icing sugar as batter, that sort of thing?’

  Sally thought about it for a moment before she replied. ‘I really don’t know what you are on about,’ she said. ‘Is there something wrong with my cooking?’

  ‘No,’ said McManus with a reassuring smile. He stood up and picked up his car keys. ‘I have to go out for a little while,’ he said.

  It was late in the afternoon when McManus parked his Range Rover outside what was left of Grogan’s house. He looked all around from the driver’s seat before opening the door and climbing out. It was deathly quiet as he strolled around the remains of the house. The only sound was his footsteps. Debris lay everywhere. There were pots, pans, broken furniture, glass, old clothes, the remains of a bed, and a television with a smashed screen. He looked over towards the barns that had been pockmarked by flying bricks and blocks.

  McManus went inside a barn and looked around. It was quite dark and there were no lights. The only thing inside the barn was the large black Ford Transit van. It was still very shiny and obviously almost brand new. He looked through the passenger door window for a few seconds before trying the door handle. It was unlocked so he opened the door and looked inside. There was nothing unusual or out of place so he stepped back and walked around to the back and opened the back doors and looked inside. He was surprised to see an unusual collection of shelves with hooks and little pieces of wood sitting across them on either side. He stepped back from the van, thought for a moment, and then went back out to the Range Rover and returned with a flash lamp to take a better look. It was clear that McManus could not work out what the shelves and hooks were for and he stood back from the van, rubbing his chin while he scanned the floor with the flash lamp. Then something caught his eye. He leaned in to look and became very surprised. There, on the new plywood floor, were little patches of oil. He put his finger into a patch and then rubbed the oil between his fingers.

  ‘Hydraulic oil,’ he whispered to himself.

  He then took a closer look at the oil and other patches of dirt and then he saw it. He used the flash lamp to scan up and down the floor of the van. Upon closer inspection he could make out dozens of tiny footprints, less than an inch in length, but clearly shaped like they were made from tiny boots. He immediately took his phone from his pocket and took several pictures before a small snapping noise from behind spooked him and he stood back. He looked around the barn with the flash light for a few moments before he dismissed it and went back outside, returning with a floor brush that had belonged to Grogan. He then brushed the floor of the van very roughly until all of the footprints were gone.

  McManus walked out of the barn and left the brush leaning up against a wall before walking back in the direction of the Range Rover. He stopped for a moment to look at the hill behind the barn. He could just about make out the survey marks that his engineers had left. He studied the hill for at least a minute before he went back to the Range Rover. Instead of climbing in straight away, he walked all the way around it, checking in each window and then opening the back and checking the spare tyre before climbing in the front, starting it up and reversing out.

  The car park behind the Hideout Bar was deserted apart from McManus’ Range Rover. The only light came from a few street lights nearby. McManus stood in front, leaning on the bonnet with his hands in his pockets, waiting. A few moments later a silver Mercedes car pulled into the car park and stopped in front of the Range Rover. The engine was swi
tched off and George Delaney, the local councillor stepped out, closed the door and then leaned against the Mercedes directly opposite McManus. The two men looked at each other silently for a moment before McManus broke the silence.

  ‘Hello, George,’ he said.

  ‘Mr McManus,’ replied George, in a slightly condescending tone. ‘So, what do you want to talk about?’

  ‘I want to make a deal.’

  ‘A deal,’ replied Delaney with a laugh. ‘Why would I do a deal with you?’

  ‘Because I’m going to make you an offer you cannot refuse, because if you do refuse it I’m going to make you a personal project of mine.’

  ‘I’m not afraid of you, McManus,’ replied Delaney angrily.

  ‘I don’t care if you are afraid or not, but let me illuminate you as to the precarious situation unto which you have unwittingly found yourself.’

  ‘I what?’

  ‘You are a local councillor and the owner of a construction company that came second in the bid to win this road contract. Your brother in law works in the health and safety office and if I lose this contract you’ll surely pick up the work.’

  ‘So why would I need to do a deal with you? I just get the contract for free.’

  ‘This project hasn’t stalled due to bad management. Somebody is surely sabotaging it. You’re the only person who stands to benefit. Every one of my machines had their hydraulic hoses cut the other night. All of those friends of the bog protestors have an alibi. I may not be able to prove that you did it and I don’t care because all I have to do is kick up a big fuss and that will create enough suspicion to get you kicked out of the council, and you probably wouldn’t get a clean shot at the job if I make a few accusations. That’s not to say that you wouldn’t get it. That is to say that I would make it a very expensive exercise for you to get it.’