“A blow that is not struck is not actionable at law.”
Irish Proverb
Mickey had set his alarm for eight o’clock, but he was awake much earlier than that. By six he had already counted the cracks in the pale-blue popcorn ceiling of his bedroom four times while pondering the Greek’s next move. In Philadelphia in 1991, as Chief Inspector, Odysseus the Greek used the fear of a jihadist attack on the city and a bogus assassination attempt on the president at Independence Hall to expose his real targets, the police department’s incompetence, and the mayor’s blatant use of racial politics to advance his “it’s our turn” agenda.
In 1991, it was then-Sergeant Mickey Devlin who managed to unravel Odysseus’ ultimate plot and bring him and his band of marginalized cops, “We the People,” to justice. When Odysseus “walked out of prison unchallenged,” it opened up old wounds. Since then, Mickey tracked down leads and intel from local, state, and federal sources in an effort to recapture Odysseus, the Greek. But all have proven fruitless and with little or no merit.
Mickey finally gives up and swings his legs out of bed and onto the original oak hardwood floor. A nice pleasant breeze is coming through the opened fourth-floor window. He looks at the suit ruined by the explosion at the Drum ranch laying across the back of an old green wingchair in the corner. He remembers what Katherine McBride jokingly said over the phone. “The world is better off without it.” He laughs aloud. Katherine! She’s a piece of work.
Mickey stands up gingerly. Man. I didn’t hurt this bad yesterday. Guess it’s like my Da used to say when I’d see him after one of my Catholic League football games. “Ya think ya hurt now, lad. Wait ‘til tomorrow.”
Mickey looks at his damaged Timex sitting next to the GE clock radio on the night table. Gotta get that fixed as soon as I get back home. What day is this? My days are starting to run together.
Mickey takes a hot shower, gets dressed, and walks the two now-very-familiar blocks up Grafton Street to Bewley’s for a traditional Irish breakfast. Mickey’s been to Bewley’s so often in the last three days the waitresses all recognize him and know his propensity for a window seat.
“Right this way, sir. Got a window for ya.”
Mickey places his order and spends a few minutes taking in the hustle and bustle of old Dublin City. While he waits for his breakfast to arrive, he picks up a hand-me-down Irish Times left by another early riser. First thing he notices is the date at the top of the paper, Friday, 24-5-1996.
The twenty-fourth. According to media reports, Air Force One is supposed to land at Dublin Airport later tonight.
On the front page there’s a color photo of the Irish coastline. Mickey starts to think about his flight over. With all that Mickey’s been through, it seems like a long time ago. He remembers coming in over the Irish Sea and Dublin Bay. And how peaceful the water looked from overhead and how green the land was. As his plane got closer to the airport, he could see the sailboats with their huge white sails decorated with colorful Celtic symbols and traditional Irish clovers and harps. The memory of his flight started Mickey thinking about where all those sailboats where anchored. He wished he had brought the map of Dublin the car rental agency gave him. It not only showed the streets of Dublin pointing out points of interest, but it also showed the coastline stretching a good distance south and north of Dublin Bay.
This is gonna bug me till…
Then Mickey remembers the large color map of Ireland hanging on the wall in the adjoining room. Just as he starts to get up and look at the map, his breakfast arrives.
“Here ya go, then. Would there be anything else I can get for you, sir?”
Mickey looks over the condiments lined up in the middle of the table.
“Don’t think so. Thank you.”
Mickey can barely restrain himself. He pours himself a cup of hot tea, adds his customary milk and two scoops, then it’s off to the other room and the wall map. Luckily no one is sitting at the table directly under the huge map. He moves one of the chairs aside, so he can get a closer look. He finds Dublin Bay, then scans north and south of the city. Other than a few of the larger towns, most of the map is in Gaelic. One of the obviously Irish hostesses sees Mickey looking at the map.
“Can I help you find something?”
“Oh. Hi. I’m trying to figure out the names of some of the coastal towns along Dublin Bay. Can you read Gaelic?”
“Just a little. But I’m sure I can translate some of the names for you. Which ones are you interested in?”
Mickey starts to point to one or two south of Dublin.
“How about this one?”
“Cill Inion Léinin. That’s Killiney.”
“And this one?”
“Deilginis. That’s Dalkey.”
The hostess points a little further out in the bay.
“And that right there is Dalkey Island. Anywhere else you interested in?”
Mickey points to the very tip of Dublin Bay where a small sliver of land jets out and looks to be almost completely surrounded by water. “How ‘bout this?”
“Binn Éadair. That’s Howth. That’s a very beautiful place in the warmer weather. Lots of Dubliners take their holiday up there in the summer months. Dalkey is the same way. Both are really easy to get to. Best way to visit them is on the DART. Pearse Station is just a short walk from here. The train leaves every thirty minutes and takes about thirty minutes to get up there. Not much to look at on the way, but once you arrive there’re great places to eat and lots of pretty sailboats. Howth is my favorite. Dalkey is more upmarket. Lots of mansions overlooking the sea.”
Mickey keys in on the girl’s mention of sailboats.
“Just before my plane landed at the airport, I saw a bunch of sailboats out on the water.”
“Yes! That would be Howth. Most all the planes fly right over Howth coming into Dublin Airport. A pretty sight. Looks like a postcard, right?”
“Yeah, it did. Do you know if they rent out sailboats up in Howth?”
“I’m not sure. I think most of them are privately owned. But there are two or three that take people out to see the dolphins though. They leave Howth twice a day.”
“Sounds like something I would enjoy. My wife and I like watching the dolphins off the New Jersey beach. And our daughter, Michelle, loves dolphin jewelry.”
“New Jersey? I’ve been there. Wildwood, New Jersey. Worked at a restaurant on Pacific Avenue one summer between semesters. I love the Wildwood boardwalk.”
“Me too. I have friends who live in Wildwood during the summer, then go to Florida for the winter.”
“Nice!”
“Well, thanks for your help. And maybe I’ll take the DART up to Howth.”
“Looks like a good day for it. Hear it’s gonna be twenty-two today.”
Mickey looks at the girl inquisitively.
“That’s over seventy Fahrenheit. And no rain either.”
“Perfect!”
Mickey goes back to his window seat and finishes his breakfast. All he can think about is what Deforrest told him about Collins and one of his students going up to Howth to check on a boat.
Why would Collins need to go to Howth and check on a boat?
Mickey remembers what Tex Deforrest said about Collins might be sailing while on vacation. He also remembers Collins telling his class that he intends to be at Merrion Square on Saturday to hear the president.
Which is it, Collins, or whoever you are, plan A: sailing in Howth or plan B: listening to the president in Merrion Square? Or plan C: neither. And if he is going sailing, where’s he going? Or what’s he doing? That’s way too many plans. Gotta narrow it down.