I deked, feinted, and deked my way to the Auto-Caribe. And while I didn’t spot anyone who looked ready to kiss me a fond farewell, I couldn’t escape the sensation of eyes on the back of my neck. Anyway, I hoped it was eyes. If it was a scope, I’d never have a chance to play that game of hoops.

I finally understood what it meant to feel truly “under the gun,” but it was growing impossible to draw a distinction between fact and fantasy. Right now, to imagine was to believe. The best I could do was continue evasive maneuvers and pretend to pray. If a conservative is a liberal whogot mugged, a religious convert had to be someone almost finished off the night before.

The news I received at Manuel’s did nothing to buoy my optimism. He’d moved my car to the lot behind his garage and the two of us stood staring sadly at the damage. Manuel waggled his head though he didn’t ask any questions. He told me that it would take time to fix and offered me a loaner. That was the good news. The bad came when I asked if he had removed the bullet from the door and he said no. I rushed Manuel back to his office then played Green Beret, trying to spot sniper positions. I found positions but no snipers, returned to the lot, and hunted the grounds fruitlessly. I expected to come up empty; my gut told me the bullet hadn’t simply fallen out. Eventually I got sick of crawling around on my hands and knees, thanked Manuel for his tired,oversized sedan, and drove out of the lot.

There was no comfort inside the big gray metal box. I still felt naked. Only now it was time to do something about it. But if I was going to function effectively, I needed to rid myself of long range rifle fantasies. I had enough trouble with my normal life to imagine living like this. Always on guard, fearful that my head was a centerpiece in anonymous crosshairs. I pulled a joint from my pocket and smoked until my nerves settled into a dull background rumble.

Quiet enough to allow focus, loud enough to keep me from huddling on my couch. Quiet enough to hear my anger. Loud enough to force the action.

I stopped at a fancy liquor store, took a short course on single malts, then bought two of the best. I knew if I had somehow slipped my attackers’ net, I might be waltzing right back in. I just didn’t see any alternative. The dull nerve noise mushroomed into a roar when I parked a block from the variety store. Before leaving the car I checked the safety on my gun and gripped my bag of presents tighter.

Pearse kept his attention on the customers in front of the counter as I walked through the door. I nervously paced the entire store twice before the place emptied. When the door finally closed on the last customer, Pearse called from the front, “Surely you can do something better than strut around my business like a rooster in the henhouse?”

I felt more like a chicken in the coop with a fox, but I grunted appreciatively and returned to the counter. “How are you feeling?” I asked, estimating the amount of liquor he must have drunk the night before.

Mr. Pearse looked at me strangely from behind his large red veined nose, and pulled a bottle up from behind his counter.

“You’re asking me how I feel? Take a gander in the mirror, son. You don’t look none too well yourself. A fight with a she-cat?” he asked, nodding toward my scratched face.

“No,” I managed a smile. “Fell into a bush.”

Pearse dipped his head and shoulders. “Had to be a big bush. Or, a very long fall.”

“Big bush,” I muttered.

“Perhaps some of this will ease the pain.”

“No pain, but it will definitely help with the memory.”

Pearse produced two clean water glasses but I stopped him from pouring. “We drank yours last night.” I eased my grip on the brown paper bag, reached inside with my other hand, and placed one of the bottles on the counter. Then I clanked the bag down about six inches away.

“You are a surprising find, young man. Not the sort of person Father Collins usually introduces me to.” Pearse came out from behind the counter, walked to the door, turned the hanging sign around, and pulled the shade. “I don’t want to chance the good Father strolling by,” he said on his way back. “We have this tussle, you know. It would be a shame to get caught.”

His resentment was real. I grunted my support and forced myself to look forward to the drink.

“This is a fine Scotch you’ve brought,” he commented, holding the glass in front of his eyes.

I nodded and lit a cigarette.

“I don’t imagine you brought it here just to have drinking company?”

I nodded again.

“And, if I am willing to help you, I will be rewarded with the contents of that brown paper bag. I hope it’s as good as this?”

“Better.”

“I suppose I’ll have to try, then. It’s a sinful thing, to play upon a man’s weakness. A person’s vice.”

I smiled at his enjoyment of our game. “I don’t know you well enough to play on your virtues.”

“That’s always the rub, isn’t it? Our worst is the first aspect anyone observes.”

“I don’t know”—I winked—”I’m sure you have more going for you than whisky.”

Pearse shot me a glum look as he downed his double and poured another. “If you are a gambling man I’d advise you not to take the bet,” he said. He stared pointedly at my untouched drink. “It’s troubling to talk when I’m drinking alone.”

I hoisted my glass and took a healthy swallow. It was smoother than last night’s, but the chestfilling burn was the same.

“What is it you want to know?” Pearse asked.

“I want to find Blue.”

He looked disgusted. “That’s what everybody wants. I was hoping for better. Or at least different.”

“Who else has been asking?”

“That wouldn’t be right, would it? I’ll tell you what I told the others. Ask around Buzz’s. Now, does that get me the mysterious bag?”

I shook my head.

“Ah,” he said, “I didn’t think so. I’d best drink more of this.” He topped his glass, waited until I’d drunk more of mine, then replenished my drink. “Why is it you want to know Blue’s whereabouts?”

“We have some unfinished business.”

“And what might that business be?”

I had to think about that one. Pearse hadn’t sent me packing, but I’d be out the door if he nailed me in a lie. “He broke a friend’s hands. I want to return the favor.”

It was his turn to pause. He looked into my face then drank from his glass. “You mean that literally, don’t you?”

I nodded. “Maybe. I don’t know for sure.”

“So you think I’ll inform on Blue because his gang broke a Negro’s bones?”

“A young Black female, Mr. Pearse.” I gritted my teeth and sucked oxygen. “She’s a kid, no threat to anyone. Blue had her hands broken to send me a message. We’re not talking informing,” I said pointedly. “This isn’t betrayal. We’re talking about a twenty-one-year-old girl. This isn’t the kind of incident that helps this neighborhood’s reputation.”

I had hit a soft spot. Scatter enough shot, something has to land. Pearse filled up his glass while I drained mine. This time I reloaded for myself. The warmth felt invigorating after a couple doses.

“I hadn’t known the girl was as young as that,” he replied grimly.

“As young as that, Mr. Pearse. Let’s face it, you don’t like those animals any more than I do. That’s why you’ve been willing to talk to me. I could tell that last night and I can tell it now.” I paused then guessed, “I have a feeling it wasn’t because Father Collins asked you to.”

“That’s for damn sure,” he growled. “He’s made it impossible for me to enjoy a drink inpublic. That’s why I sneak it into the church.”

Everybody has their own way of saying fuck you. “It’s not me, it’s not Collins, and it’s not my bottles that’s gonna get you to talk.” I pulled the bag next to the open bottle between us. “It’s who you are and your concern for the neighborhood.” I paused and cast another line. “Listen, I know what people around here are willing to fight for and it isn’t scum like Blue.”

Pearse nodded his agreement. “It surely isn’t. There are real battles to be fought.”

“I’d guess Ireland is pretty important to folks living here.”

Pearse’s face closed down. I’d hooked an old boot and rushed to throw it back. “That’s why telling me about Blue has nothing to do with informing. He doesn’t stand for anything worth supporting. Look, Mr. Pearse, I know you have no reason to trust me. I’m an outsider, a stranger. But I won’t let a punk like Blue stomp on a friend. Especially a young woman. The gift is yours whether you tell me where to find him or not. And I’ll come back sometime and help you use it. But I will find Blue, Mr. Pearse, with or without your help.”

Pearse’s tension eased as he made his decision. “I believe you will, I believe you will.”

For a moment I thought he was finished. Then he added, “He won’t be easy to corner even if you do locate him.”

“Why is that?”

Pearse hesitated, tore off a piece of the bag, reached under the counter, and emerged with a pen. He scribbled on the brown paper and pushed it toward me. I glanced at the address then stuffed it into my pocket. “Why will it be hard to get to him?” I asked.

“He has himself barricaded in the cellar of an abandoned warehouse. The address is in your pocket.”

“Is he alone?”

“I would expect. Right now none of his old friends want to be around him.”

If he knew about Blue’s new friends he wasn’t talking. “You really don’t like the Avengers, do you?”

Pearse rubbed his red nose. “I surely don’t, but I don’t want to be a party to a murder either.”

“I won’t kill him. You already know that.” I thanked him, and waited until he hid the bottles before we walked to the door. I was on the street when he said, “Take care of yourself, will you? Way things are, I don’t have many people to share a nip with.”

I pumped his hand and promised.

 

The whisky’s warmth had spread to my head. I realized that the moment I considered storming Blue’s bunker. I didn’t think it likely, but Pearse might be walking me into an IRA trap. I didn’t need a welcome wagon. Especially one without Tupperware.

I lit a cigarette and thought about returning home. But, by the time I finished the smoke, my blood had thinned enough for me to use my head. Home meant living with an extra layer of paranoia. And my couch just wasn’t that comfortable.

I drove around the neighborhood looking for eyes, saw none, then motored past the address Pearse had given me. The disintegrating warehouse was semi-boarded up with chicken wire and cheap plywood covering its doors and broken windows. The place was about as inviting as an abandoned ice skating rink.

I drove back to a local hardware store, purchased a couple of tools, and shoved them into the sedan. I was pulling my head out of the rear door when I felt a heavy tap on my shoulder.

“Whoa, Matthew. Sorry to have startled you,” Father Collins said as I swung around. “A bit jumpy, aren’t you?”

“I guess,” I muttered as soon as my breath returned. “You look different?”

“It’s the street clothes.”

“I’m not used to seeing you this way.”

His mouth twisted into an empty smile. “What are you doing here?”

“Buying some supplies. I help take care of a couple of buildings.”

“This hardware store is a little far from home, isn’t it?” His words were clipped.

“I don’t remember telling you where I lived.” So were mine.

The assertion threw him off guard, but only for a second. “You’re right. I just know that you don’t live here.” Collins immediately adjusted his attitude. “You do seem on edge today. Is something the matter? Your face is cut.”

I lowered my throttle. “Bad day shaving.”

“Perhaps it’s time to change the blade. What really happened?”

I just didn’t trust his friendliness. But my suspicion might only be guilt by association since I believed the assassination caravan had followed me from the church. “I had a small car accident.”

“Last night?”

“On my way home from your church, actually.”

“I’m sorry to hear it. I hope no one was hurt.”

“No one was hurt.”

I tried to think of a way to draw him out but the padre suddenly looked at his watch. “Part of my clerical and civilian garb, unfortunately. I’m glad you’re okay.”

I nodded, carefully watching his face.

“I’ve got to run. Oh,” he added casually, “are you still busy with your case?”

“Sure, why do you ask?” He didn’t make it easy to restrain my suspicions.

“I’d hoped you’d gotten enough information from Mr. Pearse to allow you to finish your work,” he replied easily. “I’m sorry, Matthew, but I really must go. Please call on me if I can bemore helpful.”

“Thanks, I might take you up on that.”

I climbed back into the car and tried to reason with my distrust. When I couldn’t, I contented myself with a long drive as the last of the late afternoon faded into evening. By now, I assumed the feeling of being followed was going to last until everything was over. It was still not understanding anything about the “everything” that bothered me. All I had was one thin string written on a bag scrap. And, as the evening drew into inevitable darkness, I knew it was getting time to pull.