Richard Turner
Goliath
1
The sound of sporadic gunfire echoing through the narrow streets of Dublin sounded to ten-year-old Patrick Murphy like the rolling thunder from a summer storm brewing somewhere in the distance. Cautiously peering around a corner, he saw that the street was deserted. With a smile on his dirt-smeared face, he realized that his luck was holding.
For days, Irishmen fought one another as soldiers from both the Irish Republican Army and the Provisional Government battled for control of Dublin. Patrick looked back over his shoulder and waved to his brother sitting behind the wheel of a borrowed white paneled truck, O’Doul’s Butcher Shop emblazoned on the sides in large blue lettering. A moment later, Liam, Patrick’s older brother, waved back and drove to the corner before stopping to let him climb back on board the truck.
Sitting beside his brother was a man they had only met this morning. He wore a long gray trench coat and a cap pulled down low on his head. The man had short red hair and a stern-looking face. His name was Mister Lewis, or so he said, and that was all they needed to know. On the floor of the truck sat a large battered wooden box, Mister Lewis’ leg resting on top. His constant fidgeting with a pistol in his hands made Patrick uneasy. He had seen weapons before as his older brother was a volunteer with the government militia, but their passenger seemed overly nervous, as if expecting something to happen.
Slowly, they drove out of the city, making their way past a couple of heavily armed police checkpoints that were busy looking for gunrunners and IRA sympathizers. After driving for an hour, they began to approach the outskirts of Old Conna Village when Mister Lewis brusquely told them to turn off the paved road and into an empty farmer’s field. Parking the truck, Lewis ordered Liam and Patrick to remain in the cab while he stepped outside to conduct his business. Grabbing the heavy wooden box in his arms, Lewis climbed out of the truck, walked out into the middle of the open field, lit a cigarette, and stood there as if he were waiting for a train to come by and pick him up from the middle of nowhere.
Patrick looked over at his older brother, who looked relieved to be free of their mysterious passenger even if only for a short while.
“What’s the fellah doing?” asked Patrick.
Liam shrugged. “I haven’t the foggiest clue,” he replied. “I was told to drive Mister Lewis wherever he wanted and to not bloody well get caught doing it. That’s all I know Patrick me boy, aside from the fact that I’m getting fifty pounds for a few hours’ work.”
Patrick may have been a young boy, but he knew his family did not exactly work within the law. His father and oldest brother were in prison and yet, for all his youth, he somehow knew that someday he would be, too.
After a half hour of sitting and staring at Mister Lewis sitting on his box, Patrick heard the sound of an engine in the distance, gradually growing louder as it drew closer. Rolling down the window, Patrick stuck his head out and looked into the sky. Gray clouds hung low, blocking out the sun. Turning his head, he was surprised to see a plane emerge out of the clouds like a hawk diving down out of the sky after its prey. It was unlike any other he had ever seen in his life. It was a monoplane, with a single engine mounted in the nose of the craft, painted all white, except for a long red streak that extended all the way down the fuselage of the plane.
Seeing the plane, Lewis stood and waved his arms in the air.
A moment later, the plane seemed to leisurely bank over in the air and began to line itself up with the farmer’s field.
Patrick could barely contain himself; he had never seen a plane so close before. He made to leave the cab when his brother firmly grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back inside. His eyes narrowed, telling him that he had best stay put.
With a huff, Patrick sat back on the bench as the plane swooped down and effortlessly landed in the pasture. The pilot looked like he had done this before, thought Patrick, his eyes glued to the plane.
Lewis stood up, grabbed the heavy wooden box, and waited for the plane to come to a complete stop. The plane’s engines remained on, ready to take off at a moment’s notice.
Patrick chaffed at being cooped up inside the cab of the truck when all the excitement was going on outside. Thrusting his head out the open window, he saw Lewis throw his cigarette onto the ground and walk over to the idling plane. A door on the side of the plane opened and out stepped a beautiful woman with long golden-blonde hair. She was wearing a green leather jumpsuit with a gray fur collar. Seeing Lewis, she stepped down and waited while he opened the box. Peering quickly inside, she looked back over her shoulder and called out. A thick-necked man with broad shoulders climbed out of the airplane, took the box from Lewis, and handed him an identical one in return. Without saying a word, Lewis stepped back from the plane, the new box clenched firmly in his hands. The woman and the large man turned and climbed back inside the plane, closing the door behind them. The plane’s engine grew loud as it began to taxi down the field. Bouncing once or twice on the uneven ground, the plane slowly lifted off and flew off into the clouds out of sight, as if it had never been there at all.
“Now remember this, Patrick: if ever asked, you never saw a thing today, ok?” said Liam, his voice full of warning as Mister Lewis made his way back to the truck.
Patrick simply nodded, wishing he could have gotten a closer look at the plane.
Lewis walked over to Liam’s side of the truck and without uttering a word, he handed him the wooden box. Reaching over, Liam grabbed hold of the box. Placing it down on the floor of the truck, he sat up and looked over at Lewis. His eyes instantly grew wide as a pistol was thrust inside the cab. Before he could move, it fired. Blood and gore flew onto the glass windshield; the sound of the pistol discharging inside the cab was deafening.
Patrick jumped right out of his seat. His heart pounded like a jackhammer inside his chest. Spinning about in his seat, he fumbled to open his door, when another shot rang out. The glass window beside Patrick’s head exploded, showering him with sharp shards of glass. With his heart racing away in his chest, Patrick pushed as hard as he could before the door suddenly flew open. Patrick spilled out of the truck and hit the ground running. He needed to get away and hide. Seeing an apple orchard barely a hundred yards away, he sprinted as fast as he could towards it.
Tears streamed down his face as he ran. Another shot split the air. Patrick felt the bullet pass by his head. The trees loomed large. With one last burst of speed, he ran into the orchard. Without looking back to see where Lewis was, he ran deep into the woods, seeking safety inside from his attacker. Suddenly, he felt his foot catch onto something. Falling head over heels, he tumbled down onto the wet ground.
A voice called out, “Give yourself up, you little bastard, and I’ll make it quick.”
Patrick did not intend to give himself up. Quickly looking around, he saw a thick bush nearby. Scrambling on all fours, he dove under the bush and lay there silently. He fought to control his ragged breathing, fearing that the man would hear and come over to kill him. A moment later, he could see a pair of feet.
It was Lewis. He stopped where he was and looked around, searching for his quarry.
Patrick fought back the tears and the terror in his heart. He knew if he made a sound, he would be as dead as his brother. How was he going to tell his mother that Liam had been murdered? With her husband and eldest son in jail, they relied on Liam for income. With him gone, they would be penniless.
“I know you’re around here somewhere,” called out Lewis menacingly. “I don’t have all day, you little bastard. Show yourself.”