Running on Empty (35 page)

Moment of truth, Feeney
, he said to himself.
Now let’s see what you’re really made of.

He kicked in the back door and swung the hammer, catching the bear man flush in the mouth, sending a handful of yellowed teeth arcing across the room. Bear screamed, falling backwards, his head hitting the floor, his hands holding his bloodied gums.

‘What the fu…’ was all Charlie could say before screaming, as Grainne sunk her teeth into the hand that had been holding her neck. Tom was over in an instant, bringing the claw side of the hammer down with all his force, puncturing the leather jacket as it imbedded itself in Charlie’s shoulder. Tom brought his knee up, connecting heavily with Charlie’s groin. He collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath. Tom turned back to bear man. He was trying to push himself back to a standing position with one hand, the other hand still holding where his teeth had once been. Tom reached down and, with difficulty, dislodged the hammer from Charlie’s shoulder. He shot back to bear man, and swung the hammer once more. A loud crack echoed through the kitchen as the hammer made connection with the bikers bent knee, who wailed, before collapsing in a crumpled heap, sobbing like a baby. Tom, hands shaking and breathing heavily, stood over the prone biker, unsure what to do next. Grainne approached, putting her arms around his neck.

‘That’s enough Tom, leave it, and thanks’.

‘What happens now’? he asked.

‘Pat will know the best thing to do’ she answered, ‘I’ll call him’.

Pat and Shay arrived in a pick-up a matter of minutes after Grainne’s call, the bikers still prone on the kitchen floor.

‘Are you ok Grainne’? was the first thing he asked.

‘’Fine Pat, we’re both ok’

‘Well now, what have we got here’? he said, turning his attention to the two on the floor.

‘Looks like you pair ran into a platoon of US marines, by the state of ye’, he continued, winking at Tom.

‘Grainne, pardon my French, but what the fuck did you ever see in this piece of garbage’ he said, gesturing at the prone Charlie.

‘That’s a question I have absolutely no answer to’.

‘Are you going to …dispose of them’? asked Tom.

‘Jesus, I think I’ve created a monster’ Pat replied, looking at Tom with a mixture of curiosity and respect.

‘Give me a hand with this garbage, Shay. We’ll throw them into the back of the pick-up’.

They carried them out one by one. Once outside, Pat produced a pistol from his pocket. He placed the muzzle into Charlie’s mouth, and cocked the gun.

‘Do you want to die’? he asked softly.

Charlie shook his head slowly, his eyes pleading.

‘If I ever see you this side of Ballina again, I don’t care if you’ve only come over for a swim on the strand, you’re a dead man. Do you understand’?

Charlie nodded, tearfully. He gave the same ultimatum to the second biker, who appreciated the sincerity in Pat’s words just as much.

‘Come on Shay, and we’ll rid ourselves of this scum’.

Before he climbed into the pick-up, Pat took one more look at the big biker, lying prostrate in the back.

Now there’s one bear who just got his bollox bitten.

He knocked and entered.

‘Ah, Carter, good man, come in, sit down’.

‘You were looking for me, Mr. Harmon’?

‘Indeed I was, Carter, indeed I was. Would you like something to drink, a coffee maybe’?

‘No, I’m good thanks’.

‘A man eager to get down to business, no messing about, I like that. Do you have the item we discussed’?

Carter reached into his pocket, and removed a memory stick, handing it over.

‘Excellent’

Will Harmon turned the stick over in his hands for a few moments, before continuing.

‘People think that because I talk softly, I must be a big softie, a pushover. Would you agree that’s the general consensus the workers here would have of me’? he asked.

‘I wouldn’t know sir. I don’t mix a lot with the other workers. I find the majority of them talk shite most of the time, if I’m honest’.

‘Well put, Carter, I couldn’t agree more’.

He looked up from the memory stick.

‘Do you know how long I’m here, Carter, how long I’ve worked here’?

‘I wouldn’t know sir’.

‘Thirty four years Carter, that’s how long. I started here on the bottom rung, working in files. In those days, computers didn’t exist, well, not in here anyway. Everything was done with cards and files, indexing, checking, cross indexing, and checking again. It was a pretty slow and tedious process, and that’s what I did. Gradually, I worked my way up, step by step, until I arrived at where I am today, here, sitting in front of you. It took hard graft to climb up that ladder, step by lumbering step. But it took a lot more besides. It might be a bit of a cliché to say this, but I didn’t get where I am today by not having my finger on the pulse of everything and anything that goes on in this building. I see things, Carter, I observe. And what I’ve observed over the last couple of months, is Fielding, your boss, my underling, baking a nice little pie for himself, and not offering me a slice. Would you regard that as a fair assessment Carter’?

‘Maybe he was afraid you’d report him for baking it’?

‘Yes, no doubt that was a possibility he would have considered, I’d imagine. Do you know I’m due to retire next year Carter’?

Carter shook his head.

‘Thirty five years service next year, then I walk. Do you know what I’m entitled to, after those thirty five years service’?

Carter shook his head a second time.

A pension of half my salary, that’s what I’ll get. After thirty five years, I’m going to have to manage on half what I get today. Maybe if I cut a few corners, I might be able to move down to Florida, spend my days shuffling around the malls, complaining because they’ve put two cents on the price of peanut butter since my last visit. Not a lot to look forward to, is it’?

‘No sir, it’s not’.

‘In those thirty five years, being the good boy that I am, I’ve become aware of and passed on information which made people rich. For Liberia, Iraq and Sierra Leone read Gold, Oil and Diamonds. You catch my drift? As a direct consequence of the information I’ve passed on, there are people sitting on their own private yachts moored in the Bahamas, while I have the mall to look forward to. Not a great hand I’m being dealt here, is it Carter’?

‘I’d say the head chef should have control of the kitchen, sir’.

‘Exactly, well put Carter. I can see we’re going to get along famously. I think I’m going to have to take control of that pie, and cut myself a chunk, with a slice for you, of course. And that’s one big fucking pie we’re talking about here, Carter, one great big juicy mother of a pie, if my figures are correct’.

‘It certainly seems that way sir, but what about Fielding? Where does he fit in all of this’?

‘Ah Mark, yes indeed, I was wondering when you’d ask about him. Mark Fielding is a clever man. I mean, he set this whole operation up from scratch, using the contacts he had. No mean feat, to be sure. But, apart from the issue I’d have with regard to my share of the rewards not being forthcoming, our friend Mark has another problem. He’s been compromised. There’s the small matter of a certain Tom Feeney to be considered. Although Feeney is essentially on the run, in hiding, he knows things, and people knowing things is not very good for business, especially the business we’re involved in. But he only knows about Fielding and Lowanski. Lowanski’s dead, as far as I’m aware, which only leaves Fielding. If Fielding’s taken out of the equation, then anything Feeney knows, should it ever come to light, leads to a dead end, you get my drift’?

‘I think so, yes. You’re basically telling me to remove my boss’?

‘Good man Carter, I knew I could rely on you. The king is dead, long live the king and all that eh?’

‘I’d say you were fortunate that the whole Feeney thing came up, if you don’t mind me saying so sir’.

‘You could say that Carter, but you’d be wrong. Why do you suppose Feeney got mixed up in all this? Do you think it was just by chance? I put him there to be my unwitting eyes and ears in Fielding’s little adventure. I knew a certain amount about Fielding’s operation, but I needed someone to fill in the blanks. I knew Feeney’s father, a straight shooter, by all accounts, so I figured Feeney would act similar, and should he become party to information about his boss performing dirty deeds, he’d come running to me. If he didn’t, I’d just have to move him on and get someone else in. You can’t rush these things Carter, the information comes to you in its own good time’.

‘So, when should all this take place boss?’.

‘You’re due to go to Nebraska on Wednesday, to get the rundown on the whole operation, is that right’?

‘That’s right’.

‘Well, there you have it. Get yourself familiar with the day to day operation of the business, then relieve Mark Fielding of his duties’.

‘How do you want it done, boss?

‘Carter, you’re a murdering assassin who’s about to take over the running of a drugs empire, I’m sure you’ll think of something’.

He stepped off the bus at the corner of Blue Hill Avenue, and cut through the park, heading for the Franklin Fields housing projects. He walked up the steps and knocked, the flaking paint a fading reminder that this door had at one time been a uniform shade of blue. It was opened slowly, tentatively, until her glazed eyes finally focused, and her features relaxed as she held the door open fully.

‘What’s up, Melody’.

‘Hi’ya Joey’ she answered, ‘you here on business or pleasure’?

He entered the room without answering. It contained a concoction of various smells, none appealing, the predominant aroma being stale cooking oil.

‘Got anything’? he asked.

‘Na, I was hoping you’d be carryin’ Joey’ she said, disappointment etched on her face.

‘Well, looks like we’re both fucked then’ he answered.

She returned to the decrepit couch she had vacated on Joey’s arrival, and sat staring blankly at a flickering tv which alternated between white static and an over groomed salesman with an orange complexion extolling the virtues of “Handy-Vac, does twice the work in half the time” , whereupon he vacuumed up a neat little row of strategically placed crumbs on a pristine white couch. Melody didn’t appear impressed.

‘Got anything to eat, Mel’?

‘There might be a tin of spaghetti, ah, in the press’ she answered in a low monotone, ‘I’m.. there might be, I’m not sure if I ate it already’.

Joey surveyed the room. On the coffee table in front of the couch sat a half eaten plate of what had once been spaghetti, dotted with cigarette butts standing erect as if acting as sentinels guarding the remainder. Next to that were a couple of unwashed coffee mugs, and beside them was, what at first glance appeared to be a small green furry animal, but on closer inspection was in fact last month’s bread. Strewn about the floor were various empty cartons and containers, all giving the impression they had simply been dropped from the hand and left where they had landed, hoping to remain unnoticed and not face the indignity of the recycling bin. There appeared to be absolutely nothing in the room which had even the vaguest possibility of being converted into cash.

‘What a shit-hole, Melody, what a total fucking shit-hole’.

Melody dragged her eyes from the orange presenter and his Handy-vac.

‘Ah Joey, don’t be like that. Chill a bit. Come on, sit down. Chill. What’s the matter Joey, you wanna fuck’? You wanna give it to Melody? Sit down’ she said, patting the couch beside where she sat.

Joey sat. As they began kissing and fondling, there was a knock on the door.

‘Who that’? asked Melody, untangling herself from Joey.

‘It’s Tony, from up the street. Open up Melody, I need help’.

‘Who’? she asked, approaching the door.

‘Tony, y’know, I live three doors up. I wanna talk Melody, I need help’.

Melody stood facing the door, unsure whether to open up or not. She tried to clear the fog from her brain for a couple of moments, just enough to see if she could remember anything about a ‘Tony’. It wasn’t working. Suddenly, the splintering of timber shattered the silence as the door was kicked in, hitting Melody flush in the face.