Read Eureka Street: A Novel of Ireland Like No Other Online

Authors: Robert Mclaim Wilson

Eureka Street: A Novel of Ireland Like No Other (34 page)

Chuckie was struggling towards Times Square, or so he hoped. He had an appointment to keep and was fearful lest he be late. He had woken with time to spare but had spent a couple of hours wandering around Manhattan blissfully frightened. He had wanted to walk somewhere famous, somewhere he had seen in the movies. But Chuckie had been in NewYork for only sixteen hours and he felt that he had as yet to stand somewhere that wasn't famous. The city seemed rotted by celebrity. Every sidewalk, every lamp-post, every taxicab he had seen before. At first intoxicated by the realization of all his cele- brophile fantasies, Chuckie was growing weary of big New York. He was tired of the tingle in his spine. Feeling epic all the time was proving a burden.

His appointment was with Dave Bannon, a New York Irish detective he had hired the previous afternoon. Unsure of what Max's mother's surname might be in the midst of her third marriage, he had told the man what he knew and how her lastknown whereabouts were somewhere in San Diego. As Chuckie had described his task to Bannon, he was conscious of what sounded like the impossibility of the search. Bannon, though, had seemed confident, especially when Chuckie had slipped him three thousand dollars for the week.

They were to meet in Bannon's sordid office just behind Times Square. Bannon had been worried about out-of-town Chuckie wandering blithely around such parts of his city and had advised his client only to travel by cab. Chuckie had been much too bullish and foolish to listen to that. Now he wished he had taken the man's advice. It was early evening and the streets were growing dark. The rain that had begun to fall a few minutes before was getting heavier and Chuckie was worried. He would have hailed a cab but was too diffident to try. He felt that, provincial, timorous, essentially Lurgan, he would fail to carry off that gesture with the requisite confidence. He was also unsure of how far he was from Times Square. Every time he tried to stop a passer-by to ask the direction, they walked on without glancing twice. He would die of shame if he hailed a cab only a street or two from his destination. The cabby would doubtless drive the sappy foreigner a twelve-block diversionary route and thus Chuckie would never know. He had too much dignity for that. He preferred to walk.

So walk he did, almost on tiptoe, like some bloated ostrich, skipping over the tripwires laid by his fears.

'Mr Lurgan, you did everything like I told you?' Bannon asked.

'Ahwell ..'

'Two wallets - in case you get mugged you can give one away. Don't look at anyone, don't talk to anyone, don't walk anywhere.'

'Yeah. Absolutely,' said Chuckie.

'Show me your wallets'

'Well, I did everything apart from that one.'

'I)o everything or do nothing, Mr Lurgan. Precautions must be total. This is a bad town. I'm sure Belfast is a pretty tough place but the way you flash your dough they'll eat you alive around here.'

Chuckie stuttered, 'It's kind of you to-'

'I look after my clients, Mr Lurgan.' Bannon patted his shoulder.

There was a pause. He was a medium kind of man, Bannon. Medium height, medium hair. Chuckie tried to drag him back to the subject at hand.'What did you find?'

'I found everything, Mr Lurgan.' He smiled complacently.'I always do.'

'What does that mean exactly?'

'I found the mother. She's in San Diego'

'Brilliant'

Chuckle's glee elated the detective, who neglected to inform him that since she had not changed her name at her third marriage, and since her second marriage had been to her first husband's brother, her name had remained the same and all that Bannon had had to do was look through the San Diego telephone directory. He thought such details would spoil the moment. He passed Chuckie a piece of paper with two addresses written there. `I found the grandmother's house in Kansas too. You said your girlfriend hadn't sold it after the old lady died.'

Chuckie very nearly whooped with delight.

Bannon's triumph was almost palpable. `Way I figure.You say this girl and the mother don't get on. She tries her first. They fight, she moves on to the old lady's house in Kansas.You should check out the mother first.!

'Good idea.'

`You want me to come with you? Slightly higher rate outside the New York area. I could keep you straight.!

Chuckie stared. He was tempted: he felt like a fat baby amongst all the sharp Americans. But he didn't want Bannon around like a bloodhound when he finally tracked Max down. He had elegant, lyrical plans for that. He wasn't sure where Bannon's flat face and spiv manner would fit.

'That's OK. I think I can manage. I'll give you a call if I have any bother.'

Bannon looked carefully at Chuckie. His face squeezed into a smile that was not entirely free of affection. `Why don't I make a call and get you on the first flight to San Diego? Then I'll give you a ride to the airport. My car's not far and I like you, Mr Lurgan. You paid me more for a day and a half than I've made in the last month or so. I owe you a ride for that.'

Chuckle smiled happily.

Bannon made the arrangements quickly and efficiently, barking his commands into the telephone with some hauteur (the three thousand dollars had made him feel slightly less medium than usual). He locked up his office and the two men left his building, stepping gingerly onto the glossy alleyway, their unhatted heads stooping in the sudden heavy rain.

Within seconds two brown-skinned young men with extreme haircuts stood before them. There was a brief pause. Fat Chuckie noticed that the two young men shook their limbs like athletes warming up for a race. The rain ran off their skin like sweat.They seemed coltish, more highly sprung that highly strung.

`Your money,' one of them stated simply.

Bannon almost smiled back. He seemed unscared. He turned the key in the lock of the outer door of his office building. `You packing?' he enquired amiably.

The boy who had spoken first opened his jacket slightly and rested his other hand on the butt of the 9-mm automatic pistol that nestled blackly on his ribs.

`OK,' said Bannon. He passed the boy a small brown leather wallet, which he took with some grace before looking enquiringly at Chuckie. `He's a patient of mine. He's simple. He's not allowed to carry money.'

`Watch,' answered the boy.

Chuckie looked around to see what he was supposed to be watching. Bannon grabbed his arm and slipped off his wristwatch, passing it levelly to the boy.

'Oh, sorry, I ... muttered Chuckie.

'What about you?' the boy enquired of Bannon.

The detective shot out his cuffs on straight arms and showed his bare, watchless wrists.

'OK,' the glistening boy murmured. 'That's about it. See ya.'

The boy and his friend slipped away unobtrusively to wherever they had so noiselessly been. Chuckie had an unreasonable urge to thank them, to shake their hands or kiss them. Bannon walked on. Chuckie stood dazed.

Bannon stopped. 'Let's go, Mr Lurgan.' He grabbed Chuckie's arm again. He smiled almost tenderly. `That's why New Yorkers are always asking you the time. A wristwatch isn't worth the trouble it takes to get stolen.'

`The thing with the wallets. Don't they come back if they find nothing there?' asked the bewildered Chuckie.

`I always leave a few bucks in them and some plastic. Cancelled or out-of-date credit cards. Those kids are too dumb to bother.'

They were very polite.'

They turned into a larger, wider alleyway where the rain battered them with greater freedom. Bannon wiped his face as he walked. `Yeah, well, everybody round here is trying to minimize stress.You piss those boys off or don't help them out, they get real fucked off.You take it easy and so do they. They don't want no executive tension.!

`Fair enough.'

'That's what I always thought.!

`How many disposable wallets do you carry?'

'A couple usually, but I got turned over a couple days ago and that was my last.'

`Let's hope we. . .' Chuckle's voice trailed off as he saw Bannon's face tighten.

He looked in the direction of the man's gaze and saw three young white men walking towards them from the parking lot in which Bannon's car was parked. One of the youths carried a baseball bat.

`Shit,' said Bannon softly.

`Haven't you got a gun? You're a detective.'

`Nah. In this city somebody's gonna take it and blow your eyes out with it.'

The boys stopped a few feet away from them. Chuckie felt a little squirt of urine damp his thigh. He thought about running. He thought about how fat he was.

`Give us your fucking money,' said one of the boys, who had obviously seen the same motion pictures as Chuckie. Chuckie looked sideways at Bannon.There was no help there. I'm going to die, thought Chuckie. Murdered by white guys in NewYork. I'm too Irish for this to happen, he thought. I'm too Protestant.

The three youths were surprised to have their request ignored, but they were experienced enough to attribute this hesitancy to surprise and fear. They underlined the point. The boy with the baseball bat smashed his weapon against the wiremesh fence. The noise was tremendous, heart-stopping.

'The fucking money.'

This lot didn't have too much trouble with stress, it seemed to Chuckie. Desperately, he glanced back at Bannon.

'Hey, guys,' Bannon said sadly, 'don't fuck this guy off.' He pointed to Chuckle. 'He's from Northern Ireland. He's in the IRA.'

There was a momentary pause and Chuckie could see a tiny calculation in the hoodlums' eyes. They looked at each other.

'Say something,' the baseball-bat boy said to Chuckie.

`What would you like me to say?' asked Chuckie, with inappropriate grace and distinction.

'He don't sound Irish to me.'

`He's a Brit or Scotch or something.'

'He sounds like a fat fuck from North Carolina.'

The boys moved closer, ready for battle.

Gripped by lunatic panic, Chuckie suddenly launched into intermittently of the demagogic tones of the Reverend Dr Ian Paisley. 'No shurrender. Not an inch. No Pope here. Home Rule ish Rome Rule. Ulshter will fight.'

The boys stopped dead, frozen in their tracks. They glanced hurriedly at one another.

'I seen this guy on TV. He's a crazy fucker,' said one.

A decision was quickly reached. The baseball bat was lowered. They backed off slightly.

'Listen. No sweat,' said the boy with the bat. 'You guys take it easy.' He smiled uncertainly at Chuckle. 'Hey, power to the people, man. Down with the King and everything.'

They turned and ran off.

Bannon turned to Chuckie. 'Nice routine, Mr Lurgan. Very nice work.'

Chuckie lay down in the rain.

At the airport in San Diego, Chuckie called his mother. There were several banks of payphones and each rank was occupied by men in suits, clutching perfectly serviceable mobile phones, reluctantly having to repeat I love you over the crackle of the lines to California, Boston and Philadelphia. I love you ... I LOVE YOU. It didn't always sound sincere and several of the men were accompanied by lithe young women in costumes of ascending degrees of provocativeness. Chuckie smiled sadly.

'Hiya, Caroline,' he said, when he finally found an unoccupied slot. `How's it going?'

`All right, son:

`How's Mum?'

Caroline's voice grew fainter. `All right.!

'Is she eating?'

'Aye.!

'Is she sleeping?'

'Aye:

'Is she taking her pills?'

`Jesus, Chuckie, do you want to know if she's pissing and shitting as well? Gimme a break.'

`Sorry.'

`Aye, right.!

`What's wrong?'

'What do you mean?'

`Why are you so grumpy?'

`It's hardly even nine o'clock in the morning, Chuckie.What do you want? Heavy fucking breathing?'

`Has Jake been round? asked Chuckie.

`He's here nowI

'Brilliant.'

'I'm away across the street to make my man's breakfast and then get some sleep. I'll get yer man for you.'

Chuckie shoved a great many more dollars into the coinbox. He glanced around at all the other besuited men at the telephones; they looked harassed but glamorous. He wondered if he looked like one of them.

'Chuckle?'

Chuckie was surprised at the warmth that flooded his heart at the sound of his friend's voice. He had not felt lonely until now. Tears sprang to his eyes and his nose itched.

`Hiya, Jake' His voice was muffled in an attempt to conceal his emotion. He had intended a rather swanky, transatlantic, living-out-of-a-suitcase conversation with his friend, but he knew now that it would take all he had just to avoid bawling. `How's Mum?'

'She's a lot better, Chuckie. She's talking more'

Chuckie paused and gulped hotly. `Do you think she'd want to talk to me?'

'She's asleep right now, Chuckie. She sleeps so little, it'd be a shame to wake her.'

`Absolutely.'

'What time is it there?' asked Jake.

'It's after midnight.!

'Where are you?'

'San Diego.'

Jake laughed.'Cool,' he said.

'What's funny?' asked Chuckie sharply.

'It's just hard to think of you there'

`What's that supposed to mean?'