Blood From A Shadow (2012) Page 23

  I was startled awake, took a few seconds to remember where I was, must have overslept, missed Artie. I jumped across the room and looked out at the clock at The Garden entrance, only 4.50pm. Great, twenty minutes sleep when I needed eight hours. May as well get on with it. I showered, needed to buy shaving gear.

  I took the side exit on to 33rd Street, walked 20 feet, then swivelled and dodged back into the hotel. Stood inside the doorway, nobody watching, waited 30 seconds, ok, out again and into the burger joint across the street. Ordered a cheeseburger, had a good view of the street. Nobody loitering, must be clear, I forced the burger down my throat and straight into the clothes shop next door. Quick look around, bought a loose fitting hoodie, track pants and trainers, changed into them, stuffed my old clothes in the bag. The shop goes right back to 34th Street, so I went out that exit, crossed the street to Macy’s, waited. No-one followed me out, maybe I was being paranoid, but it felt like someone was right on my shoulder. Down 34th Street, heading for Hell’s Kitchen, across 8th Avenue, Grogan’s Public House just ahead, could see the limp Irish Tricolour over the doorway.

  Inside, half a dozen men renting elbow space at the bar, a table of suited professionals, too loud, knocked off work early. The barman was a young guy from Belfast, accent still sharp. Belfast pulled me the number for Blind Mary’s, the phone was at the back. Scowling Eddie answered, set his phone down, I waited. Gallogly was speechless for a long time, maybe 20 seconds, yes, meet him in the Rock on 9th Avenue, say, 6.30pm.

  The Rock was an old Westies bar, but the gangsters had been supplanted by Broadway hopefuls in rehearsal and now it was an all micro brewery and gourmet pub. Good, that meant it was anonymous. I was across the street at 6.10pm, saw Gallogly dropped off at 6.20, waited another 15 minutes. Definitely nobody watching me, I went in the side door. He waved from a booth at the back, where he could see both doors, stood up, shook my hand. Low-key, nobody took any notice of us, he didn’t repeat the elaborate greeting ritual. I sat beside him, I could see both doors as well.

  “You look a lot better now, Con, whatever happened over there,” he said. “You looked like a half hanged man the last time I saw you.”

  “Yeah, I’ve woken up a bit, come to life again. I’m still alive anyway, guess that’s something, huh?” I said.

  He was wary of me, wasn’t tuned into my mood yet, couldn’t predict what I was going to do next. This wasn’t like him, not his usual loud mouth self.

  “So what happened, Con? What did you do over there?” he said.

  I shrugged, called a beer from the barman.

  “More to the point, what was fucking happening over here when I was over there? What about you and Rose?” I said.

  “Fuck’s sake, Con! Don’t be stupid! I’m trying to help out here, that’s all, just ask her. She needs help with young Con, you weren’t around, I told you that before, for fuck’s sake!” he was red in the face.

  “So, you’re like a father to him, right?” I said.

  “No, but I like having him around. He reminds me of you at that age, he’s a smart kid, funny with it, he could go far, he just needs a chance. That’s all I’m doing, so he gets to do all the things you should have done! Is that so bad? You going to kill me for it?” he said.

  Shit, Artie was always telling me to have faith in my friends, he never said it would be this hard. I let him calm down.

  “It’s just that I might not be around for long, Jack. They might be better off without me anyway, but I’d like to know somebody was there to look after them. There isn’t anybody else now, only you,” I said.

  We both studied the table in front of us. I had a knot in my throat, I stalled, composed myself.

  “How did you meet Duffin in the first place?” I said.

  “I don’t know, I think Ferdy’s mother directed him to me. I thought he was going to help you, you were in a bad way, I didn’t know somebody was going to get killed! I swear to God, Con, I didn’t know any of that stuff!” he said.

  He was anxious, worried about what had happened, but he hadn’t betrayed me, I would have smelt it on him.

  “What about her cousin, Monsignor Artie McCooey, what about him?” I said.

  “Yeah, Artie McCooey, yeah, I think he introduced Duffin to Mrs McErlane, then she told Duffin about me. The guy just phoned me one day, said his name was Duffin and he wanted to help her, said he could put up some money, get you to help Mrs McErlane. I thought that’s all there was to it, I wouldn’t have called you if I had thought any different, I was just doing it for you,” he said.

  “Well, you do know Ferdy is alive, don’t you?” I said.

  He didn’t know, his fat wet mouth plopped open and his yellow tongue lolled down his beard. His eyes almost ruptured out of their sockets, he rubbed his head with beefy fingers. He really didn’t know. I repeated it.

  “He’s alive but he’s in deep shit, way above his head,” I said. “He’s here somewhere, and we have to find him before it is too late. I need you to get on it, I’m in shit myself, the fuckers will kill me if I don’t find him first, understand?”

  He didn’t understand, just goggled me like I had said the Martians had landed.

  “Are you sure you’re ok, Con?” he said.

  I felt like slapping him.

  “Yes, I’m fucking ok, Jack, but there are five people dead because you fucking called me that day, and there’s going to be a lot more if you don’t fucking snap out of it!”

  “He’s really alive?” he kept repeating it, like he was a child trying his best to memorise a phrase. I kept at him until it finally sank in. Then I repeated the scenario about five times, because it was just too far removed from what his brain could comprehend. Yes, our boyhood friend and all round good guy was involved in a terrorist threat. We had to find him. Again and again. He settled down, I could nearly see the cogs turning in his head.

  “What do you want me to do?” he said.

  * * *

  Gallogly picked up Artie at 8.30pm, I was waiting in Grogan’s from 8pm. He walked Artie down 34th Street subway, went in a circle then back up again. Gallogly had a guy watching, pretty sure no-one had followed Artie. I was sitting near the back door when they came in.

  Artie didn’t like it in there, hesitated before sitting, I jammed a seat behind his knees, he looked all around before lowering himself.

  “What do think of Conroy and Duffin, what the hell was going on there?” Artie said.

  “Just what Duffin told me. It looks like Conroy played me for a fool from the start, but maybe that wasn’t too difficult,” I said.

  I told Artie and Gallogly all I knew, all Duffin had told me. Ferdy entered the United States through Ireland, and wasn’t on his own. There were two, maybe three, Iranians with him. A trail had been laid, their movement from Iran would be easily traced afterwards. These guys were Quds Force, an elite unit from the Revolutionary Guard set up to export the Islamic Revolution. The Iranians didn’t know who Ferdy was working for, but they wouldn’t care anyway. They wouldn’t be going home, this was a suicide mission.

  Gallogly still couldn’t get his head around it. Ferdia McErlane and Iranians? What fucking mission?

  “Duffin said the drugs trade through Turkey is where it started,” I said. “There are chemical labs all around the Iranian border, to turn the opium into heroin. So the fuckers set up labs to produce a poison called Abrin, seventy five times more poisonous than Ricin. Pretty straightforward, it is made from a plant called the Rosary Pea. Ferdy has smuggled these Quds in, they have the Abrin with them, probably in powder form. They can either get the gear to build a bomb here, or they brought it with them,” I said.

  Artie and Gallogly didn’t say anything, we just stared at each other.

  “Ferdy told me I would be proud of him after December 13, that’s what, two weeks away?” I said. “We need to find Ferdy and his friends before then, so, any ideas?”

  Still nothing.

  “I can’t fucking do this on my own,�
� I said. “Duffin tried to blow the whistle but he’s sidelined now, he’s washed up, a child rapist with a grudge against his bosses. It’s up to us.”

  “Why don’t we just tell the cops?” Gallogly said.

  “Because they hear crap like that all the time,” I said.

  “There are cops that come into my bar, they could find him,” Gallogly said. “Some of those guys are on sick leave, they would do it, I would pay them a few bucks, no problem.”

  “Be careful now,” Artie said. “We don’t want Ferdia being shot down like a dog in the street. The boy has been misled, and he will have to answer to the proper authorities, but I don’t want him being set up for summary execution. If we can get him out ourselves, then the terrorists can be dealt with separately.”

  Artie was right, this could easily get out of our control.

  “What about your own contacts, Artie, these government people you know? Can’t you bring them in?” I said.

  “I’ll try, but Archer Duffin told me that just about anyone could be involved in this. I don’t want to alert them, that would only put Ferdia in danger, they might decide to cut their losses and sacrifice him. I’ll just have to play it by ear, ok?” Artie said.

  Right again, Artie had thought this thru, maybe more than I had.

  “What about you, Con, is it safe for you to be on the streets?” Gallogly said. “Where are you staying, in case I need to get in touch?”

  “I’ll keep a low profile,” I said. “I know where to contact both of you, but let’s say we meet here tomorrow night, same time, see if we’re getting anywhere.”

  * * *

  I caught up on my sleep that night, woke at lunch time, was out on the street by 2pm. I drifted up to our old hunting grounds, slouched low in the taxi through Woodlawn, Katonah, Van Cortland Park, across McLean to Kimball Avenue, back across Yonkers Avenue and down the Bronx River Road. I didn’t seriously expect to see him wandering the streets, I suppose I was just giving myself space to think, and hoping I wouldn’t run into Rose or young Con. I told Gallogly to tell her he had heard I was safe, and would be home soon. Maybe they were both laughing at me now, relieved that I wasn’t going to be a problem.

  The taxi went back across Fordham Road, I was tempted to call on Artie, but kept on going, I would see him later. I got out at Grand Central, then took the subway down to walk around Fulton and Wall St. My ankle was still troubling me, but I made it over to the 9/11 Memorial and Museum. This site was always going to be the prime target for any attack, so I guessed security must be pretty tight. Still, the place was jammed with workmen and trucks, must be hard to keep track of who they all were, never mind the tourists who flooded the place like an infinity pool.

  I rested against a chainlink fence and tried to visualize the hole in the ground that was here the last time I took a look around. Unrecognizable now, the new towers must all be nearly complete. They knocked us down with a sucker punch that day, but we were back, bigger and better, and that’s why they would never be safe.

  I tried to put myself in Ferdy’s shoes, see this thing through his eyes. Maybe he bought the theory when he was on the other side of the world, but now he was walking these sidewalks, rubbing shoulders with his own people, he must see how crazy it all was.

  I hobbled on, ended up in a restaurant in Greenwich Village to ease my ankle, noticed they sold Turkish Kebabs, ordered steak and fries. Then I went back up, decided to be in Grogan’s early, got there about about 7pm. The Belfast kid was there, served me a beer, and nodded me to step out back, “Somebody was asking about you today,” he said. “Two men, spoke to the boss. We’re supposed to call them if you come back.”

  “Got the number?” I said.

  “It’s behind the bar. And there’s a man sitting out there now I’ve never seen before, not our usual sort of customer, know what I mean? That one in front of the TV,” he said.

  I pulled out $50, he pushed it away.

  “You can get out the back, the gate is unlocked, just go to the end, then through the back door of the cafe. Tell them I sent you,” he said.

  I walked straight out the back into the darkness, looking ahead to the light from the cafe. There would be no escape here if I was being set up. The cafe door was open, the guy behind the counter turned and looked away, I was through it and out into 35th Street, nobody waiting on me, turned left and crossed the street, into a doorway down beside the NYPD Midtown South Precinct building. Nobody followed me, I waited for ten minutes, then headed deeper into Hell’s Kitchen.

  I knew I couldn’t have been tagged last night, I had been extra careful, no-one could have followed me. It must have been Artie or Gallogly, either they were already being watched or one of them had been blabbing their big mouths. Most likely Artie, Gallogly had enough street smarts to take care of himself. And yet, I still had the sensation that I was being watched the whole time, could almost taste it. We are all on CCTV, of course, but in the dark, after the precautions I had taken? No, it must have been that prick Artie.

  I kept going, but my ankle was already sore, my ribs snagging my lungs again, I needed somewhere to think. There was the Baron up ahead, in there, pulled an empty stool at the end of the bar, ordered a pitcher of Rudy’s Red, surrounded by a clutch of drinking liberals still dissecting the election. These guys were smart, seemed to have all the answers, I hoped they would know how to handle a cloud of Abrin drifting up 9th Avenue. Kay Starr on the jukebox, “Wheel of Fortune”. I heard you, Kay, but the big wheel is supposed to deal good luck as well, sometimes. I would have to forget Gallogly and Artie for now, get back to Grogan’s and get that number off the Belfast boy, whoever answered the call would lead me to Ferdy. The guy next to me had oil ingrained on his fingertips, and stroked in parallel black furrows down his red beard, he started a lecture on Islamophobia in the NYPD. I let him buy me a drink, I needed more thinking time. Imelda May on the jukebox, “Mayhem”, the volume pumped up by a squad from the Institute of Technology’s Dance Club. Artie and Gallogly should be in Grogan’s by now, maybe asking about me. Time to go.

  I took a taxi back to the hotel, slowed down going past Grogan’s but couldn’t see anyone. Used the phone in the lobby to call Grogan’s, the kid answered.

  “Hey, it’s your cousin in the cafe,” I said.

  He paused, but not too long, “Alright.”

  “You busy in there?” I said.

  “No, not now, just some regulars. Pretty busy earlier though, but they’re away now,” he said, smart kid, quick thinking.

  I was there 10 minutes later, looked in the door, he saw me, nodded. I ordered a beer, then went out back to the rest room. He came in two minutes later.

  “Those two were in looking for you, the men you were with last night. A stranger was hanging about but didn’t stay,” he said.

  “How come you are so helpful, you got something against the law?” I said.

  “I was cleaning up in here last night when you were washing your hands,” he reached over and pulled my sleeve up. “I saw your ‘Ra tattoo’.

  The “Ra, that’s what Ferdy called the IRA, his fucking tattoo prank had worked in my favour at last.

  “The last time I was in Belfast it wasn’t so well thought of,” I laughed.

  “Me neither, that’s why I’m here,” he pulled up his own sleeve, an elaborate swirl of Celtic art devoted to rebellion.

  “I need help here,” I said. “I need that phone number, I need a gun.”

  “Tonight?” he said.

  I would take better care of this kid. Didar would have understood.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  He said his name was Ryan, and he had left Belfast in a hurry. I didn’t need to know. We were waiting in the park on McLean Avenue, watching Exit 14 from the Deegan Expressway that pumps traffic through the Bronx and north along Interstate 87 right up to Canada. Ryan had called the number and told the guy he had information to sell. He would sell me for $500, all the guy had to do was meet Ryan at the bus stop at the
corner of McLean and Central Avenue at 1am. Ryan sat beside me in the Honda Accord he had borrowed, 220k on the clock, but still smooth enough through the Bronx streets we cruised to pick up our weapons. An old GI Colt 45 and a Smith & Wesson 9 mill compact.

  The heavy Colt caressed other memories I had forgotten. The first time I had held one was nearly twenty years ago, not too far from where we were waiting now. It was a hot summer that year, we were out of school and on the streets all day, every day, a surefire recipe for trouble, and the Polish kids were just as wired as we were, so we fought running battles through Coyne Park for about a week or more. Both armies reinforced every night, ambitious kids from further afield heard about the action and were attracted like moths to a flame. Then the Italians decided they didn’t want to be left out, neither did the Latinos nor the Blacks nor the Portugese, it was like world war three in there towards the end. Anyway, we were struggling this night, seemed like the rest ganged up against us and the Italians. Gallogly disappeared, then jumped right back into the battle, waving a big 45 like this one, mad-eyed, I knew he would nail somebody. A big Polish guy had been in the thick of it all week. Gallogly walked up and plugged him behind the knee. Everybody scattered, and we weren’t far from home when the cops pulled us in. Gallogly slipped the Colt to me then started mouthing off at these two cops. They smacked him into the patrol car and Ferdy and me took off with the gun. The cold kiss of the chunky metal brought me right back to that night. And my father always brandished a 45 in my dreams. This could even be the same gun, could have been circulating Bronx drop joints ever since, spun back to me now in the sort of weird cycle that didn’t seem that weird in my life anymore.