The Parting Glass (7 page)

He ignored her question and began to catalogue their options. “We can’t get out through the front. The roof is precarious. If we start moving debris, more of it could fall, and somebody could be injured or killed.”

“We put a steel door in the kitchen two years ago after that carjacking. There’s no way we’ll be able to break it down, not with a car and a tree in front of it.”

“Are there other exits? Anything I don’t know about?”

She tried to think. There were no windows on the sides of the building. “Kitchen window?”

“Too small for most of us, and blocked besides. The tree did a lot of damage.”

Now she understood why no one had allowed her near the kitchen.

“We might be able to get the smaller children out that way if we have to,” he continued.

Megan had often fantasized about a picture window over the side work counter. She had told herself she would put one in someday, even if the view was mediocre and she had to add bars for security. “The fire department must be on the way,” she said.

“I don’t think we can count on them coming quickly. I’m sure we’re not the only casualty.”

“There’s a hole in the roof.”

“No help.”

“The gas won’t build up, will it? Even if there’s a leak, it’ll dissipate.”

“I’d rather not find out.”

“Are the phones—”

“Dead. And so far nobody’s gotten a cell phone working. The local tower might be down, or the system could be flooded with calls.”

Jon arrived. “Rooney’s missing.”

Megan looked at Niccolo, searching his eyes. “Did you see him recently? Do you remember? The last time I saw him, Aunt Dee had him tucked under her wing, but she was upstairs with Kieran when the tornado hit.”

“He was with your uncle Frank,” Jon said.

“Is Uncle Frank—”

“Fine. But he lost Rooney after the tornado.”

“Were they in the front?”

“No, in the back. He should be safe, but he’s disappeared.”

“Anyone else missing?” Niccolo asked.

“Not that we’ve discovered. Unless somebody was here alone with no one to vouch for them.”

Megan frantically tried to think. “Where could Rooney be?”

“Upstairs?” Jon asked.

“No, we were just up there. Maybe he’s hiding. In the kitchen or behind the bar?”

“We checked.”

“Storeroom?”

“Checked it.”

“The cellar,” Megan said. “Did anybody check the cellar?”

The cellar door was located—inefficiently—inside the kitchen pantry. The cellar itself was tiny, damp and unpleasant, and only used for storing kegs or a temporary overflow of canned goods.

“I can’t imagine he’d go down there,” Jon said. “Will he even remember the cellar’s there? I didn’t.”

“It’s hard to tell what he remembers. But for a long time the saloon was his life. He knows every nook and cranny.”

“I’ll check.” Jon turned away, but Megan stopped him.

“No, let me.”

“I’ll come with you,” Niccolo said.

“Shouldn’t you and Jon stay up here and try to figure out what to do?”

“It will only take a moment.”

They started through the throng of guests toward the kitchen. Megan was impressed with everyone’s calm. She heard weeping, and coughing from the dust, but order had been maintained. She comforted people as best she could and promised they would know what to do shortly. When she reached the kitchen, she saw the old maple tree lying in front of the window, heavy branches like arms lifted imploringly toward the sky. Greta and another kitchen staff member were waiting for them.

“I don’t know why this window’s still in one piece, but it is,” Greta said. “Do you want us to knock out the glass?”

“Not yet,” Megan said. She couldn’t imagine anyone escaping that way. Perhaps a small child would fit, but no one could know what awaited a child outside. For the moment it was better to keep everyone together. “Greta, have you been here the whole time? Since the tornado hit?”

“I ran out into the saloon right afterwards. We all did. To see what happened.”

“You didn’t see Rooney come in here, did you?”

“I wasn’t paying attention.” Greta sounded contrite, as if she should somehow have had her wits completely about her during the crisis.

Megan was fighting panic. “I smell gas,” she said. “Very faint, but noticeable.”

“The stove is off,” Greta said. “And I blew out the pilot light. That was the first thing I checked when I came back in here.”

“We’ll check the furnace when we go downstairs, but it’s fairly new, isn’t it?” Niccolo asked.

“Last winter,” Megan said.

“Then it should have a safety shutoff. That’s probably not the problem.”

“Let’s find Rooney. One thing at a time.” She put a hand on Greta’s shoulder. “Hold the fort, okay?”

“We’ve got clean towels, and we still have water. We’ll help people clean up as best we can.”

Megan headed for the pantry. The cellar was so rarely used that boxes of supplies partially blocked the doorway, taking advantage of every inch of room. The saloon had always needed more storage area. Now it would need so much more than that.

“I guess he could have gotten through without moving anything. If he stepped over these, opened the door a crack and squeezed through,” she said, pointing to the boxes.

“The electricity’s off, so there’s no light down there.”

“We’ve always kept a couple of flashlights on a rack in the stairwell. I never go down without one. I’m afraid I’ll end up in the dark if there’s a power failure.”

“We’ll take a quick look.”

“I was going to increase our property insurance,” she said as he helped her shove boxes aside so the door would open wider. “I just never seemed to find the time for a consultation with our agent.”

“Don’t think about that now.”

“When you vowed for better or worse, I bet you weren’t thinking the big guy upstairs might take you up on that last part so soon.”

“Megan, this is the
better
part. It’s a miracle no one was killed. If the twister hit us directly, it would have taken the whole building and everyone in it. We probably caught the tip of the tail.”

That wasn’t lost on Megan.
Miracle
was not too strong a word, particularly if help arrived quickly and cleared an exit.

She edged in front of him. “Better let me go first. I know the layout. I can feel around for a flashlight.”

“I see light down below.” He stepped aside.

Megan felt a rush of gratitude. Light meant Rooney was downstairs. Now she was only afraid they might find him in a state of terror.

She felt along the wall to the rack where the flashlights were kept and found only one, snapping it on to illuminate the path. “Rooney,” she called. “Don’t be afraid. Nick and I are coming to get you.”

She started down, shining her light just in front of her so that Niccolo could find his way, as well. Halfway there she saw her father below them, banging ineffectually on a paneled wall with his palms. He was a slight man and—she noted—paler than usual. She wondered if he really believed that his meager weight was any match for the saloon foundation.

“He must have panicked,” she said so that only Niccolo would hear. She moved faster and hoped that her new husband could still see well enough to keep up. At the bottom she started toward Rooney.

“Hey, Rooney, it’s okay. The fire department will get here soon. And they’ll get us out. But you need to come upstairs with Nick and me. You shouldn’t be alone down here.”

Rooney turned to examine her. He did not look panicked. He looked, in fact, disturbed by the interruption. “Here somewhere.”

She was often puzzled by her father’s attempts to communicate. There had been a time when almost everything he’d said was a mystery. More recently, though, all the other changes in his life had led to clearer, more precise exchanges. They’d had real conversations where both of them were heard and understood. She was afraid this wasn’t going to be one of them.

“Yes, you’re here,” she said. “But it would be better if you were upstairs.”

He gazed at her as if she were a little girl again. “No way out.”

“Maybe not this minute, but the fire department—”

“No way out there.” He shook his head and pointed above him. He looked annoyed, as if Megan just didn’t understand.

“No, but there will be.”

He turned around and began banging his palms on the wall again. Megan imagined that prisoners pounded cell walls the same way. “Rooney, that’s not going to help. Come on upstairs with me, okay?”

“Are you looking for something?” Niccolo asked him.

Megan wished Niccolo would stay out of the exchange. She was afraid Rooney was going to become even more distracted. “Nick, I—”

“Here someplace.” Rooney moved down an arm’s length and continued pounding.

“Megan, he’s not upset. He’s looking for something,” Niccolo told her. “Do you know what it might be?”

“I don’t think—”

“Listen…” Rooney stopped pounding a moment, then started up again.

She was growing more disturbed. She didn’t like being away from the others. Maybe someone had gotten through to the fire department. She wanted to know if help was on the way. She wanted to figure out strategy. She wanted to see to her guests. “Rooney, I don’t hear anything! Please come up.”

“It sounds hollow.” Niccolo took her arm. “Do what he says and listen.”

“So what if it’s hollow? Who can tell why…” But she fell silent, aware that nothing she could say was going to turn the tide.

“What’s behind there, Rooney?” Niccolo asked.

Rooney grinned. “Jail time.”

Megan caught Niccolo’s eye and shook her head. Niccolo was expecting too much.

“Jail time?” Niccolo asked. “Jail for who?”

Rooney was picking at a sheet of paneling now, trying to pry it loose with fingernails that weren’t up to the task.

“For who?” Niccolo repeated.

Rooney stepped back, obviously frustrated. “Tools. Hammer might do.”

“What will we find if we pry the panel loose?” Niccolo asked.

“Nick, please don’t continue this,” Megan pleaded.

“Jail time,” Rooney said. He paused. “For bootleggers.”

Megan faced her father, Niccolo’s part in the conversation forgotten. “Bootleggers?”

Rooney smiled. “I wasn’t born.”

“Megan, do you know what he’s talking about?” Niccolo asked.

She was ashamed. She had been so sure Rooney was just talking crazy. “When I was a little girl the grown-ups talked about tunnels down here. Not when they thought we could hear them, of course. We weren’t really supposed to know. It was a family secret. But I haven’t thought about that for years. I thought the tunnels were probably just a story, a Donaghue fairy tale.”

“Bootleggers?” Niccolo asked.

“I don’t know for sure, but if there are tunnels, maybe they were built to smuggle in bootleg whiskey during Prohibition. There’s another bar on the West Side that claims they have tunnels that lead all the way to the water.”

“The Shoreway would make that impossible here.”

“It wouldn’t have then, because the Shoreway wasn’t there in the twenties. Besides, if there are tunnels under the saloon, maybe they led out to a road on Whiskey Island where liquor was brought in from the water. I do know Cleveland had its share of rum runners. Canada’s right across the lake, and Canada never bought into Prohibition.”

“So if it’s true, the tunnels might still be here?”

“Could be, although in what kind of shape, I don’t know. If they exist, they’ve been walled away my whole life. I guess it depends on how sturdy they were to start with.”

“Sturdy enough, I bet. If they were built for bootleggers, they wouldn’t have taken any chances. Liquor was a profitable business.”

“Yeah, for people like Al Capone. This is Cleveland.”

“Elliot Ness came here after Prohibition to clean up the city,” Niccolo said. “There must have been some business here to draw him.”

Obviously he’d been listening to Jon, for whom Cleveland history was a favorite subject. “Are you thinking we might tear out this wall and see what’s here?” she said.

“Rooney, does the tunnel lead outside?” Niccolo put his hand on the old man’s shoulder. “Can we get out this way?”

Rooney gave a slight nod.

That was enough affirmation for Niccolo. The possibility existed. “Can you get my kids and get us some tools?” he asked Megan. “And more flashlights, if you have them?”

“The kids?”

“Do you know anybody more talented at destruction?”

She left the two men below and raced up the stairs. In the saloon, she clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention. “Has anybody been able to reach the fire department?”

Nobody had. Sirens had been heard in the distance, and shouting somewhere down the block.

She explained quickly what Rooney had found and what they planned to do. Jon and Casey had organized people into small groups. One was tearing towels into makeshift bandages to supplement the small first aid kit. Another had stationed themselves as close to the front as possible to yell for help. Another was washing and doctoring cuts and bruises. One group was making attempts to comfort and entertain the children.

Barry the bartender kept a crowbar behind the bar for security. He gave it to Winston, who headed straight for the kitchen. The other kids followed with whatever they were handed. Megan pulled a toolkit and more flashlights out of the storeroom, Greta gave Josh a mallet she used for pounding round steak. Peggy, trying to manage a struggling Kieran, volunteered to go upstairs and look in the apartment for more flashlights, but that effort was vetoed as too dangerous.

Megan promised she would come back with news the minute she knew if the tunnels existed and if they led to safety.

“They exist.” Deirdre grabbed her arm as she was heading back into the kitchen. “Your father’s not imagining this.”

“Do you know where they lead?”

Deirdre shook her head. “We weren’t supposed to know. I think my father’s generation was afraid we’d find a way to get inside and someone would get hurt. Do you want me to go down and help?”

“Stay here and help Peggy with Kieran, will you?” Megan could hear her nephew wailing. The crowd, the noise and the confusion were bad enough for a normal child.