Running on Empty (18 page)

‘Hi guys’ , he began, I flew in this morning. Have my luggage all right, but the keys are on the hall table back in Boston. Don’t suppose you’d have a cutters to get rid of this darned lock, would you?’

‘Yeah, sure thing mister. Fred, give him the bolt cutters out of the tool box. It’s in the bottom tray. Sure, it could happen to the best of us. I always forget something when I go on holidays. Fred’ll sort you out there’.

Fred snapped the lock in one.

‘Thanks a million, guys’

Ah sure, not a bother. Enjoy your visit’.

Back up to nine hundred and ninety eight. There’s hope yet, thought Tom.

He headed for the restroom, entered a cubicle, locked the door and sat down with the suitcase on his lap. ‘Well, here goes’ he said to himself, and opened it tentatively. The suitcase contained mainly clothes, some clean, some not so. They may come in handy, he thought, considering all he had were the clothes he stood up in. Some shaving gear, again useful. But he needed more, something he could convert into hard currency. Then, pay time!

Wrapped in a towel in the middle of the case, a branded hotel towel, Tom noticed scathingly, was what looked like quite a nice Nikon digital camera. Now that must be worth a few dollars. He switched it on. It seemed to be working fine. He put it to one side, and rummaged around in the case further. Nothing more of value was found, although he did come across the camera charger, needed if he was going to sell it. He checked the document pocket. Inside, folded into a wad of papers and receipts, was a small piece of cling film. Tom opened it out, revealing a carefully folded piece of white paper. Inside, was a small amount of white powder.

‘The fucker ‘ he said out loud, then realizing, shut himself up quickly. That fucker could have had me arrested, he thought to himself. His passport would have been scrutinized, and in a very short time Fielding would know everything. That fucker could have got me killed. He flushed the paper down the toilet, pocketed the camera and charger, closed the suitcase and left. There was a camera centre among the shops in the airport. Tom entered. While waiting to be served, he scanned the cameras on display, searching for the same model as his newly acquired Nikon. Then he spotted one, on sale for €249. Not bad, he thought.

‘Can I help you?’

‘Oh, Hi. I’m in a bit of trouble, I’m afraid’ he began.

‘I’m only after flying in from the States, and I’ve just discovered my wallet seems to have been mislaid, or possibly taken. Anyway, the upshot is that I’ve to get to my uncle, in Sligo, with no money or credit card. I have a nice little camera here, which I was wondering if you’d be interested in purchasing?’

‘Well, let’s have a look at it’

Tom produced the camera.

‘Oh, a compact. Well, digital compacts haven’t a great resale value. You see, they bring out new ones every year, so, in effect, this one will probably be redundant soon, if it isn’t already’.

‘But you have one in the case over there for €249’.

‘Oh right, yes. Do you have the box, charger and disk?’

‘I have the charger, but that’s it. Like I said, I’ve only flown in’.

‘Right. Well, I’m afraid all I could offer you is €50’

‘Done’

Tom exited the camera shop, giving an exaggerated wave to the coffee woman as he passed, on his way back to the bus ticket booth.

‘I’d like a one way ticket from here to Galway, and another ticket, also one way, from Galway to Sligo, coming in total I believe, to €34, if it’s not too much trouble’.

Tom threw the money on the counter.

Thank you very fucking much, and have a nice day’ he said, as he took the tickets and departed.

Tom was aboard the bus, and on his way. As he looked out the window, the industrial sprawl that was Shannon gradually gave way to a more rural setting. He could understand now why Ireland was referred to as having forty shades of green. Separated by drystone walls and hedges, the land appeared as a patchwork quilt containing varying hues of that one primary color. Imperceptibly the view altered, as the green became mixed with, then was gradually taken over by, solid grey rock.

‘It’s called ‘The Burren’’ he was informed by a middle aged woman who sat in the adjacent seat. She was a stocky, jovial character with a ruddy complexion and black wavy hair, who, on discovering Tom was ‘not from these parts’, seemed to take great delight in chatting about anything and everything that came into her head.

‘So, where are you from young man’?

‘Boston’

‘Oh, you’re a long way from home, so you are. I’ve a sister who lives in Boston, be the name of Kathleen Humphrey, well Kathleen’s her name but we all call her Kay, short for Kathleen like y’know? Well, her name isn’t Humphrey any more either. It was ‘till she married a fella over there, then she changed her name to his name, that’s Dumphy. She could have kept her own name of course, lots of women do that now, even when they marry, it’s fierce modern to do that now. Or, she could have gone double barreled of course’.

‘Sorry’? said Tom.

‘Y’know, double barreled, hyphenated like, although that might have been a bit odd, hyphenating them two, ‘cause she would have ended up as Humphrey-Dumphy, then she’d have to find a wall to sit on, …he, he’

Tom was sure he had never encountered anyone who talked so much, and was unlikely to at any time in the future either. Still, it made the journey pass pleasantly, as it dawned on him that she was the first person he’d had a decent conversation with since leaving Sally, abet a mainly one way conversation.

Tom noticed on his arrival in Galway that there was a two hour gap before his connecting bus to Sligo, so decided to go for a walk to stretch his legs. He wandered aimlessly along, heading roughly in the direction of the sea, until he stopped and took in his surroundings. It seemed vaguely familiar, although it couldn’t be obviously, as he’d never set foot in Ireland before. What made it so was the bay, and the disused red brick viaduct to his left. It looked like the last place he lived. He wondered how Sally was holding up. Did she miss him? What was she doing now? He checked his watch. With Boston being four hours behind, she’d probably be getting up round about now. He wished he was lying beside her.

*****

Sally awoke as dawn was breaking, to the sounds of movement outside. Quite a lot of movement, definitely more than one person.

‘Good morning miss, how are you today, it’s Avon calling’

Sally made her way out of the cave, to be confronted by four men in suits. She knew what was coming.

‘Well how are you, my dear. My names Lowanski, Stan to my friends, and these three fine men are work associates of mine. I trust we didn’t wake you, I apologize if we did. We just want to have a little chat, we won’t keep you long’.

Lowanski moved closer to Sally.

‘We’re looking to make contact with a work colleague of ours, a chap by the name of Tom Feeney, and we have reason to believe your paths may have crossed in the last couple of days’.

The thought occurred to Sally she hadn’t known Toms surname before now, but then why would she? given the fact they’d only met a matter of days ago. Her train of thought was interrupted as the side of her face exploded in pain from a left hook from Lowanski. She fell to the ground. Lowanski pulled her back up by the hair, and smashed a fist full on to her face, breaking her nose. She fell to the ground again. Wilson, who had seen the initial exchange from behind the concrete plinth up the hill, slid to the ground, his hands covering his ears to block out the sound. Lowanski squatted down beside Sally.

‘Now sis, we want to know the whereabouts of our mutual friend’

‘I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about’ said Sally, in a nasal twang. ‘All I know is some guy gave me a few bucks to ask another guy if he wanted a good time, is all’

‘And, would you happen to know of where we might locate him now?’ inquired Lowanski softly.

‘I don’t know nothing. You’re after breaking my fucking nose, you know that?’ What the fuck did I do, except try to earn a few bucks’.

‘Yes, I do apologize, but we have to be sure, you understand, don’t you’ he said, rising upright again.

He began to walk in circles around Sally.

‘It’s a matter of great importance that we meet up with our mutual friend as soon as possible, and we have to be sure that you’re letting us be privy to all the information you possess’.

He slammed the heel of his shoe into her ribcage, breaking three ribs and puncturing her lung.

Sally began gasping for air.

‘If you want to live, you’ll tell me everything, won’t you?

Are you sure that’s all you know?’

‘That’s….all…I….know’ whispered Sally, with great difficulty’.

‘Are you sure?’

‘…yes..’.

Lowanski produced a pistol, aimed at her head, then moved down, and put a bullet in her left leg.

Sally screamed.

‘Are you sure you’ve nothing to add?’

Sally shook her head slowly, moaning with pain. Lowanski shot her in the right leg. Sally passed out.

Lowanski turned to his accomplices.

‘Well, that’s one avenue explored’ he said.

‘You want us to take her for a swim boss? one of them asked.

‘Naw, she’ll bleed to death pretty soon here. Anyway, rats have to eat too you know’.

After they’d left, Wilson emerged from his hiding place and half ran, half stumbled down the hill.

‘Oh Lord Sally, what have they done’ he sobbed.

He knelt down, cradling her in his arms, rocking back and forth, tears rolling down his face. Finally, he lay her back down gently on the ground.

‘I’ll get help Sally, don’t worry, I’ll find some help’ and off he ran.

*****

Brad Johnson sat at his desk, studying a John Deere tractor manual, when the phone rang.

He’d grown up on a small holding, about twenty miles outside Stranton, Pennsylvania. His father had an old John Deere model ‘B’, and Brad remembered the long evenings the two of them used to spend constantly tinkering with her, patching her up and coaxing her back to life. As his retirement drew closer, he found himself thinking more and more of those nights he spent working with his father. It seemed to have been a more satisfying time, a more innocent era. Whether that was true or not he wasn’t sure, but it felt that way to him. He promised himself when he reached retirement, that was what he was going to do, get hold of a beat up John Deere, and coax her back to life. Sure enough, last fall, he’d went and got himself a John Deere. Not a ‘B’ model, a later ‘H’ model was all he could track down, but hell it was a John Deere, and that’s all that mattered. He got some looks off the neighbors as it arrived strapped to a flat back, but he didn’t care. It took three men to push it up the drive into the garage of his suburban semi.

‘Hello?’

‘Hi Brad, Mandy Travers here. Just phoning to let you know what we’ve found so far’.

‘Oh, hi Mandy, what’s up? I hope you’re not going to dazzle me with science’.

‘I think it’d take quite a bit to dazzle you, Brad. Anyway, we haven’t got a huge amount of info, but for what it’s worth, here goes.

First the Chinaman. He was killed in a rather unusual way. A sharp implement, most likely a long thin blade, entered at the back of the neck, just below the skull, and was forced upwards, penetrating the cerebellum’.

‘The what?’.

‘The cerebellum, Brad, it’s the lower rear part of the brain. Death would have been instant. It’s a method of execution favored by the armed forces. No noise from the victim to draw attention. The second victim, the girl, well, I’d like to have the bullet or shell casing just to confirm. But judging by the entry and exit wounds, I’d be pretty sure the damage was done by a high caliber sniper rifle. I’ve seen almost identical wounds in Afghanistan killings, and, now don’t quote me, but if I was to hazard a guess, I reckon I’d put my money on the M24 Remington sniper rifle’.

‘Time of death?’

‘I’d say we’re talking last Monday for both, Brad, the Chinese guy a little before the girl’.

‘That first one, Mandy, the Chinaman, have you come across or heard of that method of killing in civilian life?’.