"I got it!" Malachy exclaimed at last, pulling a slim white envelope out of a book. "Here 'tis," he said handing it to me. I resisted the temptation to rip it open on the spot.
At that moment, the little dog started yapping again outside, and we could hear footsteps coming up to the door, then a loud banging.
"Goodness me, another one," Malachy said. "Tree years since somebody came to visit, and now dere's two in one day!"
He opened the door slowly, then tried to close it again. A foot stopped it from closing. "Have you got something from Eamon Byrne?" Conail O'Connor asked harshly.
"No, I don't," Malachy said, rather craftily I thought. I had it, he didn't. But he must have looked suspicious, because O'Connor thrust the door open roughly and grabbed Malachy by the collar. The older man staggered and started to fall, but O'Connor held him up. Kevin grabbed a frying pan. I grabbed the teapot.
"Now see here," Alex said stepping forward, arms up, his hands balled into fists, in a kind of a boxer stance. "You have no right to treat these people this way!"
"Get out of my way, gobshite," O'Connor said, let-ting go of Malachy and stepping toward Alex menacingly. I swung my arm back with the teapot and started to move toward them.
Alex stepped to one side, dodged O'Connor's arm, feinted with his left, then his right hand snapped forward. There was a loud crack, and Conail O'Connor went down for the count.
Chapter Six. A RAY OF THE SUN
Now Mr. Stewart," Ban Garda Maeve Minogue said. Her tone was severe, but there was a hint of a smile playing about the corners of her mouth. Minogue was in her early thirties, I'd say, with reddish hair, now pulled back and tucked neatly into her cap, and that flawless complexion so many women in Ireland are blessed with. "That is quite a punch you throw."
"I wish I'd hit him too," Kevin grumped.
"You should be glad you didn't, Kevin," Minogue said sharply. "If you'd hit him with that frying pan, O'Connor might be dead, and you'd be in a fine mess. As it is, he won't be eating solid food for days. Last I saw of him, he was down at Tom Fitzgerald's pub, taking in his daily requirement for calories in liquid form.
"Now, Mr. Stewart," she began again, "seeing as there are three witnesses here who claim you were provoked and the fact that you have a member of a sister law enforcement agency here," she said gesturing to Rob, "who can attest to your good character, as wellas several people around town who can speak to O'Connor's less than exemplary behavior of late, we will not be laying charges. Conail O'Connor is threatening to bring assault charges on his own, which he is quite entitled to do, but I do believe he will change his mind, seeing as how he's already been the butt of several jokes regarding the difference in his and your ages, to mention nothing of size. We will not be laying charges against him either, unless you wish to make a case for it. Extenuating circumstances."
I wondered what these extenuating circumstances might be, but decided it was better not to ask.
"I won't be laying charges," Alex said.
"Me neither, I guess," Malachy said. "Though that boyo better not come 'round to our place again."
"Right, then. Now if you gentlemen will agree to behave yourselves for the balance of the evening," the garda said, "I'll be away." She glanced at her watch. "Off duty at last," she sighed.
"Can I buy you a drink in that case?" Rob asked.
"That would be grand," she said. "I'll call in and then be off home to get changed and come back, if that's all right?" Rob smiled his assent. I got the distinct impression he was smitten.
"Well, can I buy you two the whiskey I've been promising?" I asked, turning to Kevin and Malachy. Rob may have found himself a new woman, but I had my two new men.
"You can," Malachy said. "She's buying us a drink," he said in Kevin's ear.
"And how about you, Alex?" I said. He was favoring his bruised knuckles.
"I believe I will," he said. I ordered three whiskeys for the men, a cola for Jennifer, and a glass of wine for myself. Rob declined my offer and headed off to his room, to beautify himself, no doubt, for Garda Minogue's return.
"Who's that woman at the bar?" Jennifer asked me. I looked across the crowd.
"Fionuala Byrne O'Connor," I replied. "Why?"
"One of the hags, you mean?" Jennifer said. "That makes it even worse."
"Makes what worse?"
"She's been chatting up Dad," Jennifer said. "Fortunately, he didn't seem to notice."
She sounded annoyed, and I had to smile. Fathers and daughters, I thought. The jealousy seemed to go both ways. She had a point, though. Fionuala was definitely out for a good time. She was holding down a stool at the bar, her tight, short skirt riding provocatively high on her thighs, and a cigarette, held delicately between brightly painted fingernails, sending swirls of smoke around her head. I wondered if she'd heard about her husband's jaw's intersection with Alex's hand.
I was also speculating whether Jennifer would like Maeve Minogue any better, when Michael and Breeta joined us.
"What happened to your hand?" Michael said, eyeing Alex's knuckles, now an unbecoming shade of blue.
"It came in contact with Conail O'Connor's jaw," Malachy proffered.
"He was trying to kill Malachy at the time," Kevin piped in. "O'Connor, I mean. He had his hands around Malachy's neck and was throttling him. Malachy was almost unconscious." My, I thought, how these stories grow! Denny would be telling this one to the post on the pier before long. "Alex and I went after O'Connor, Lara too.""Knocked him out cold." Malachy grinned. " 'Twas a fine sight to see. I think we should drink another toast to Alex's right hand." I ordered them another round, but passed myself. It was beginning to look as if this was going to turn into a long night, and I thought I might be called upon to do a little chauffeuring later.
Michael looked at me. "Can you enlighten us a little? We saw O'Connor leaving Tom Fitzgerald's place. Face all swollen, and in a right bad mood. Staggering drunk, of course. Headed off down one of the lane-ways," he added.
"Not in this direction, I hope," I said, thinking that a drunk Conail O'Connor might be a real problem.
"He might be," Michael said. "But if he is, it's going to take him a while to get this far, the shape that he's in. So tell us what happened this afternoon."
I told them the story, with a lot of help from Malachy and Kevin.
Throughout this conversation, Breeta said nothing, although she looked shocked enough when she heard the story. She seemed sort of out of it, somehow, her mind somewhere else entirely. I'd offered her a drink, but she didn't take me up on it, and sat, instead, holding a glass of soda water, which she barely touched, as she stared into the flames of the fireplace across from us.
"I've lost my job," she said, suddenly rousing herself from her torpor.
"Oh dear," I said. "That's too bad. What happened?"
She was silent for a moment or two. "I've been working in a dress shop," she said finally. "A very fancy dress shop, in Killarney. I think," she said slowly, "I think-they didn't say so, but they didn't think I looked good enough to work there. They wanted someone who looked better in the clothes." Her lip trembled, but she didn't cry.
"What do you mean, Bree?" Michael exclaimed. "What do you mean you didn't look good enough to work there?"
"I've put on so much weight," she said. A tear slipped out of one corner of her eye. She brushed it away angrily. "And they're right. I don't look good in the clothes. I don't care about the job. It wasn't very interesting," she went on. "But I'll have to give up my flat in a couple of weeks, and I don't know where I'll go."
"I think you're just beautiful, Bree," Michael said, his voice hoarse. "And you can stay with me. I know I'm not good enough for you, working on your family's estate and everything. But I have that little flat in the staff cottage. Now that John Herlihy's gone, maybe I can get his. It's bigger, with a little kitchen and everything. There's room for…" He stopped and looked down at his rough hands. "There's room for all of us."