Authors: Roger Barry
‘I know she’s hurt Joey. That’s why we have to leave her. Help is coming. The police will be here in a few minutes. They’ll look after her. They’ll take better care of her than we can Joey, they’ll get her to a hospital’.
‘But…’
‘Look at me Joey. She’ll be fine, trust me. We can’t take her with us, understand?’
Tom put an arm around his brother, leading him out.
‘Brad’s right Joey, she’ll be looked after when the police arrive. We have to get out of here, Joey’.
Joey nodded. Brad grabbed the hold-all, removed one packet of heroin and tore it open, before dropping it into Gorgeous’ lap.
He threw the remainder of the bag onto his shoulder, and headed for the stairs, the other two following closely behind.
Once outside, they walked briskly, looking neither right nor left, avoiding eye contact with the few people they encountered, until they were a couple of blocks away. Sirens could be heard getting nearer with each passing second. They reached the car, Grainne waiting behind the wheel, and climbed in. Then Pat arrived, ambling slowly with his bag over his shoulder, a workman at the end of his shift on his way home to crash out in front of the tv. He climbed into the front passenger seat and the car took off.
‘What the fuck, Pat’ said Brad as the car made its way through the traffic, ‘you killed that guy as he lay on the ground. That’s cold blooded murder in my book. You executed the guy’.
‘Yes I did’ responded Pat.
‘But, I can’t condone that. I’m a serving law enforcement officer. I can’t condone or be a party to cold blooded murder’.
‘Well, I’m not’ answered Pat. ‘In spite of what you may think, I take no pleasure in killing someone. But, if it has to be done, I don’t shy away from it either. In this instance, it had to be done. That ‘guy’ as you call him, would be able to identify every one of you in that room. The police get hold of him, and as soon as he went cold turkey, he’d be singing like a canary. Sometimes, needs must. And besides, he wasn’t just a guy, he was a class A scumbag mixed up in a drugs organization. Also, he was party to the abduction and brutal rape of that girl Melody. So, given the damage he could do to us, and his lifestyle, he got what he deserved, end of story’.
The remainder of the journey back to the hotel was navigated in silence.
It was late afternoon when Charlie’s cell phone began vibrating on his desk. After a few moments searching among the paperwork, he located it.
‘Yeah?’
‘Charlie, it’s Brad, what have you got for me?’
‘Oh great’, he said sarcastically, ‘well I have a bit of information about our mutual friend, but not a huge amount. You do know who you’re messing with, right? If anything goes awry, if you fuck up in any way, shape or form, you got zilch from me, understand?’
‘Understood, now what have you got?’
Charlie let out a low groan, then began.
‘1583 Bloomington, that’s his address. It’s on Chestnut Hill, nice area from what I gather. His wife’s name’s Irene, although she doesn’t live there, I think they’re separated. Has two kids, a boy and a girl, both grown up and left the nest. One’s in The Big Apple and the other lives in Philly. So basically, unless he has a sweet thing on the side that no one knows about, our boy lives alone. That’s all the info I could get on our friend’.
‘That’s great Charlie, thanks. I’ll be in touch’.
‘The well is dry now Brad, you understand?’
‘I won’t bother you again Charlie, unless it’s to put a bit of payback your way. You have my word’.
Brad dialed.
‘Hello?’
‘Hey Knox, remember the little conversation we had in the bar last night? Well, it’s time for you to earn your stripes, to show me you’re not all mouth. Meet me outside that bar at eight, and be ready to go to work’.
‘What I gotta do?’
‘What you do best my boy. Do your best and you can earn your salvation’.
Grainne walked up a short gravel path and pressed the doorbell. The door opened slowly.
‘Yes?’
‘Are you Will Harmon?’
‘Who’s asking, young lady?’
‘Tom Feeney’
‘What?’
‘Tom Feeney’ repeated Grainne, ‘he wants to meet you. He says he has some very important information about the organization you work for. Devastating information, I think he called it’.
Harmon was visibly shocked.
‘But, surely this can’t be. Tom Feeney is in Ireland, last I heard. And, who are you?’
‘A friend, an acquaintance from Ireland, if you like. Anyway, if you want hear what he has to say, I’ve to bring you to him’.
‘Obviously I wasn’t expecting this visit. Can you give me a couple of minutes to sort some things out first?’
I’m afraid not, Mr. Harmon’
Grainne checked her wristwatch.
‘It’s seven forty five now. It’ll take the best part of fifteen minutes to get you downtown to the restaurant where he’s waiting. If you don’t arrive by eight, he’s off. So, if you want to meet Tom Feeney, we go now’.
‘Ok, just let me get my jacket’.
‘Fraid not, Mr. Harmon, if you leave my sight for any reason, the deal’s off. These were the instructions I was given. It’s not too cold out anyhow, you shouldn’t need a jacket’.
Harmon let out a sigh.
‘Ok, but it better be worth it’.
It will Mr. Harmon, believe me’.
As Harmon made to go out, Grainne stopped him.
‘There’s something else. You’re to leave your cell phone and wallet at home’.
‘What? I don’t understand’
‘Those are my instructions’.
‘But why?’
‘As you’re well aware, Tom Feeney is on the run. He claims he’s innocent, and reckons he has evidence to support his claim, which he wants you to hear. However, as you can understand, he’s a little reluctant to expose himself without assurances from you. Basically, he’s being cautious. It’s what kept him alive up to now. Until he’s sure of your support, he’s not prepared to allow you the opportunity to contact anyone by phone, or allow you produce identity to verify who you are, should any authorities become involved during your meeting’.
Harmon reluctantly removed his wallet and cell, placing them on a hall table, before arming the alarm and closing the front door.
‘I presume you’ll give me a ride back when the meeting is over?’
‘But of course’.
They crunched back down the gravel path, climbed into the vehicle, and Grainne took off.
Grainne led Harmon through the door of Mario’s, a small Italian restaurant situated on a side street in downtown Boston. Harmon scanned the scattering of people spread around the dimly lit room, until his eyes settled on Tom Feeney.
This should be interesting to say the least,
he thought quietly to himself. He was surprised to notice a female seated next to Feeney, a pair of crutches propped against a chair to one side.
His or hers,
he wondered.
He approached the table, extending a hand, as Grainne about turned and headed for the exit.
‘Tom, good to see you’re safe and well. We were worried sick about you back at the section, didn’t know what was happening. There were so many stories floating around about you, nobody knew what to think, and that coming from an organization that prides itself on information gathering’.
‘I must say Mr. Harmon, you’re very sprightly venturing out on a cold night like this in just a short sleeved shirt’.
‘Oh, that’s entirely on the instruction of your lady friend here’ he said as he turned to face Grainne, a slightly confused look briefly clouding his features as he discovered she had disappeared. He sat down in the chair opposite Tom, quickly recovering his composure.
‘And, who’s this lovely lady you brought with you, but more to the point, is she necessary? You’ll forgive me for being so blunt dear, bluntness is a malaise which comes with old age, I’m afraid. When you get on in years, you’ll realize time is more important than etiquette’.
‘This is Sally’, replied Tom, ‘and she is entirely relevant and necessary to the story I’m about to tell you.
‘Sounds intriguing’ replied Harmon, with slight apprehension.
‘Oh it is’ answered Tom, ‘it’s intrigue with a cherry on top, I’d say’.
A dark colored Buick came to a halt outside 1583 Bloomington. Out stepped Jimmy Knox, carrying a small canvas bag, and Brad, a larger hold-all slung over his shoulder.
‘This is where you earn your corn, Knox my lad, it’s show-time’.
‘You sure there’s no-one about?’ asked Knox.
‘I’m sure’ replied Brad.
‘And no dogs?’
‘No dogs’ he answered, slightly less sure.
Shit, I should have tried to find out if this Harmon guy had a canine companion,
he admonished himself silently.
Bit too late now, we’ll just have to presume and hope.
While Brad kept watch up and down the deserted street, Knox slowly inserted two pieces of bent wire into the keyhole. A couple of seconds later and a sharp click was heard.
‘We in?’ asked Brad.
‘Not so fast, mister policeman, the door is open but that’s the easy bit. The hard bit is still to come. There’ll be a keypad in the hall, and a central control panel God knows where. I’ll have to whip off the keypad cover, quickly check the wiring, and insert two bridging pieces in the correct terminals, all before the disarming countdown is complete’.
‘How long does that give you?’ asked Brad nervously.
‘Usually thirty seconds’ replied Knox, ‘but not always. It depends on the system, and the personal setting. As soon as I push open this door, countdown starts. You ready?’
Brad nodded, unsure.
‘What do I have to do when the door opens’ he asked.
‘Just keep to fuck quiet and let me think’ responded Knox, ‘Oh, and be ready to run like hell’ he added, smiling at Brad.
Brad didn’t appreciate the gallows humor.
‘Right, here goes’.
As Tom was about to begin, Harmon briefly scanned the room again, but paying more attention to the occupants this time. Four office girls sat at one table, giggling and frowning in turn, as more dirty deeds and injustices from the office were being revealed with each glass of wine being consumed. A middle aged couple sat adjacent, their nervous gestures, furtive glances and general uneasiness indicating that this could well be a clandestine meeting. A middle aged businessman sat dining alone, a Boston Globe financial report being consumed with more appetite than the plate of pasta and meatballs which stood before him.
Harmon returned his gaze to Tom.
‘Mr. Harmon’, began Tom, ‘I don’t know how or where to start’.
Tom paused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
‘Take your time lad, I know you’ve been through a lot, there’s no rush. When in doubt, begin at the beginning is my motto’.
‘Ok, here goes’.
They pushed open the door, closing it quickly behind them. The keypad began emitting a high pitched beep as the digital readout counted down from thirty. Knox pulled a screwdriver from his canvas bag, and flipped open the cover, which fell to the porcelain hall tiles with a clang. He began to examine the wiring.
‘It’s down to twenty, and counting’ observed Brad.
‘Shut to fuck up’ hissed Knox.
Still the countdown continued, and still Knox remained immobile, tracing the wiring on the pad. Beads of perspiration hopped out on Brad’s forehead, the incessant beeping creating an inner panic.
How the fuck am I going to explain this,
he thought,
cop caught red handed in the act of breaking into the home of a highly respected intelligence chief, in the company of known felon.
Brad refocused on the digital counter.
Eight fucking seconds!
We’re Doomed.
Suddenly, Jimmy Knox sprang to life. He dived back into his bag and whipped out two u-shaped pieces of bridging wire. He inserted one immediately, but hesitated momentarily on the second, alternating between two sets of terminals, before pushing it into the lower set. The counter stopped and the beeping ceased. He emitted a long, low whistle.