TWENTY-NINE

Startlingly Tall Tales

Michael Corbin settled back in his chair, his eyes locked on Caeli’s. He seemed content, as though he’d just consumed a fine meal and was ready for the dessert.

Good luck with that, I thought.

Elmore and Leonard exchanged glances but said nothing, although both men shifted their positions ever so slightly, settling in for a tug of war.

I stared at Corbin for a lingering moment, trying to gauge whether he was telling the truth or just extending his lifeline. Confident, even arrogant, Corbin seemed to take pride in being the man with the answers.

I’d seen the look before, on the faces of some of the professors at the college where I once worked. They prided themselves in being, in their own minds, at least, the smartest folks in the room – and it didn’t matter who else was in the room with them. Einstein and Oppenheimer and Isaac Bloody Newton could have been sitting in the Bldg. 6 auditorium, discussing what made the world work, and some of my former colleagues would have felt good about walking in, telling the three of them to shut the hell up, and grabbing a piece of chalk or firing up a power-point show for a mine’s-bigger-than-yours bout of King of the Castle.

Still, Corbin was beginning to grow on me.

In different circumstances, another life, I could grow to like this man, I thought.

But I felt guilty even thinking it, then and now, and I pushed it out of my head as we all strapped in for the sleigh ride that was coming.

We were the recipients of Corbin’s wide grin once more – the one that said, Here I am – come and get me. His shark’s teeth were readily visible and gleaming under the lights. 

Still, I had every confidence that we were up to the challenge. Hell, it was four against one, and the good people on my side of the ledger all had guns at the ready.

The questions began then, a lightning-fast exchange, with Caeli, deadly serious, leading the way, me coming in a distant second, and Elmore and Leonard chipping in as needed. To provide this accounting, I took some time afterward to make careful notes, and Caeli and I also discussed the conversation a couple of times once the dust settled.

As near as I can recreate it, it went something close to this:

Caeli: Who do you work for?

Corbin: That should be obvious by now.

Caeli: I don’t want to know what you think is obvious. I want answers. So let’s start again: Who do you work for?

Corbin: I work for the Archbishop of Armagh.

Caeli: How did that happen?

Corbin: Happen? What do you mean?

Caeli: You’re wasting time again. How did you come to work for the archbishop?

Corbin: Yes. I see. I was recruited.

Caeli: Why?

Corbin: I have skills. And I have access to certain … people, let’s say.

Caeli: What kind of people?

Corbin: Does it matter?

Caeli: Answer the question.

Corbin: People who can make things happen – and please don’t bother asking what kinds of things. That, too, should be obvious. I was told you were quick – that the two of you could put things together. Please don’t disappoint me.

Caeli: Nobody likes arrogance, Mister Corbin, though it suits some people better than others. It doesn’t suit you at all. Who killed McBride?

Corbin: Are you looking for names?

Caeli: I’m looking for answers.

Corbin: And again, the answers you are looking for should be obvious – to all of you.

Leonard: Answer the question, bozo.

Corbin (smiling): The Irish word is boyo, not bozo. Just so you know.

Caeli (talking over Leonard’s grumbling): Are the people who killed McBride the same people who shot at us, outside the pub?

Corbin: The who is not nearly as important as the why.

Caeli: All right … why?

Corbin: So you’d leave Cork, leave Ireland entirely, leave all of this alone. So you’d go home for good and stop … stop mucking up the works.

Caeli: What makes you think I’d leave Ireland, under any circumstances, until my uncle is found and brought safely home?

Corbin: Please understand, I’m not trying to get you to leave. Had the choice been left to me … well, let’s just say this would’ve been settled a long time ago, before you even arrived on Irish soil.

We got the wide smile with the shark’s teeth exposed once again, a most unsettling sight. It occurred to me that Corbin said more with that smile than he had during any of his answers, so-called, to date.

Me: Is that why you took a run at us in Dublin, and again on the road to Armagh?

Corbin: More or less, although it wasn’t me personally who took a run at you, as you call it. The thinking at the time was that if you were hurt, or better yet even, killed, your fiancée would have no reason to stay behind and pursue her uncle’s whereabouts.

Me: That shows how little you know about Caeli. What happened with the pipe bomb?

Corbin: An unfortunate miscalculation, I’m afraid. Believe me, it wasn’t supposed to happen that way.

Caeli: So you proposed to kill or maim Max, and you expected me to just, what, fly back to Oregon?

Corbin: Yes. Pretty much. That was at least the thinking at the time, with the information available to us.

Me: What about the craziness at St. Patrick’s?

Corbin: Call it what you will. From my own limited perspective on the operation, I’d call it a hasty improvisation that didn’t go exactly according to plan.

Leonard: Didn’t feel that way to me.

Corbin (chuckling): No, I suppose not. Still, something good came of it.

Me (before Leonard could respond): And the Range Rover’s disappearance?

Corbin: That, too, was an interesting decision on the part of my … colleagues, let’s call them. It’s not one I would have chosen, but … individuality and all that.

Leonard: How about the asshole who shot me? Was that part of the plan?

Corbin (amused): As a matter of fact, it was the one part of the plan that almost actually worked. Taking out the bodyguards – in this case, you and your partner – was another strategy to get Miss Brown to leave the country. Or so we thought. But, full disclosure and all, we also weren’t expecting another boatload of immigrants to show up, either. I must say, your Italian counterparts were truly the best thing that happened to you – to all of you. Why you got rid of them is a mystery.

Caeli and I exchanged brief glances here. But we knew better than to make a show of it and provide Corbin with additional ammunition.

Caeli: Your arrogance is showing again. So why kill McBride?

Corbin: He was about to whisper things, and to the media, for god’s sake. We couldn’t allow that.

Caeli: Did you know that I met with him, at the parsonage? And that Max met with him as well?

Corbin: We were aware of that, yes.

Caeli: So why didn’t McBride blow the whistle on this … on whatever this is, when he had the chance? Why didn’t he tell me that he sent the postcard, as you claim? Why didn’t he tell me that my uncle …

Corbin (interrupting): Would you have believed him if he had?

Caeli: Maybe – had he made a decent case.

Corbin: Yes, well, it doesn’t matter either way now, does it? McBride was never going to tell you, or Professor Blake here, or even the pope himself, had His Holiness shown up, what was going on at St Pat’s. McBride and your uncle took each other’s confessions, you see, and what’s said in the confessional stays in the confessional – just like Vegas. Besides, McBride was ... how shall I put this?

Me: Being blackmailed. Does that work?

Corbin (smiling again): In a manner of speaking, yes … that works just fine, I suppose, though coerced might be the technically more appropriate word. McBride’s family is known to us, and he was under the impression that maintaining his silence would guarantee their, ah, safety.

Caeli: How did McBride know to send me the postcard?

Corbin: As you noted earlier, Miss Brown, McBride and your uncle have a long history together that stretches from their boyhoods. They didn’t keep much from one another, I’m told.

Caeli: So why would McBride allow my uncle to get involved in this mess? Murder, attempted murder, overthrowing a lawful if distasteful government, blackmail or coercion or strong-arming and lord only knows what else – it’s too far-fetched to believe. Besides, McBride was the nationalist. Uncle Jack told me that, in detail, a year ago. What would McBride gain? And why the postcard? What was the logic in that, given what you’re peddling?

Corbin: Ah, fine questions and observations and speculations all, Miss Brown. They will doubtless keep you awake at night for a long time to come … if you make it out of Ireland alive, of course.

Caeli: Are you suggesting my uncle wants me dead?

Corbin: You? No ... he most certainly doesn’t want to see any harm come your way. The fact that you are sitting here now, asking your questions, attests to that rather nicely, I’d say. But he does want you out of his hair. And at this point, he would go to almost any extreme imaginable to make that happen … up to and including seeing a great deal of harm come to your professor friend here.

Elmore: Over my dead body.

Corbin: That would be acceptable – yours and your partner’s. As I’ve already indicated, with the three of you gone, there would be little reason for Miss Brown to extend her stay in Ireland and muck about in affairs that don’t concern her. And even if she returned at some later time to pursue her quest, once the three of you were long since dead and buried in good old American soil … well, let’s just say initiatives already in motion would be too far along for anyone to stop.

Leonard: Here’s a question for you, bozo. Do you really think we’re gonna let you waltz on out of here, now that we know what you’re up to? You think it’s gonna be that easy?

Corbin (amused again): That’s exactly what you’ll do. You don’t think I came alone, do you?

Leonard: You look pretty much like the Lone damn Ranger to me.

Corbin: Yes, well, looks can be deceiving, as they say.

Caeli: Let’s put them away, boys. You can size-check later. Mister Corbin … what if I told you I don’t believe any of this – not for a minute?

Corbin: I would suggest you talk with your uncle, for confirmation.

Caeli: And just how am I supposed to do that?

Corbin: Call him. What else? May I?

He looked around the room, indicating that he wanted to pull the cell phone from his pocket.

Me: Go ahead … but be damned careful what you yank out of there, mister, because one slip and it’ll be the last thing you grab.

Corbin: A bit melodramatic, Professor Blake, but given your previous profession, I guess you are to be forgiven a few verbal dalliances.

Me: Hey. I take offense at that.

Corbin: I’m sure you do. But I’ve read some of the purple prose you’ve pieced together. Let’s just say … I wouldn’t give up my day job.

He’d secured his cell phone, preventing a snappy comeback in the process, and activated it with a swipe across the screen. He punched in a couple of numbers and slid it across the table to Caeli.

Corbin: It’s set on speaker. And a word of warning, Miss Brown: You may not like what you hear. 

Caeli (speaking softly): I haven’t liked anything that’s come out of your mouth so far. Why should this be different?

The line made me smile, and smiles were damn rare during our discussions with Michael Corbin.

The phone began bleating a moment later, vibrating on the table top as well as blurting out a repetitive electronic tone, and was answered on the fourth ring without the usual preliminaries.

“Caeli, my dear. Is that you at long last?”

The connection wasn’t sharp, but she ignored the annoyance.

“It is, Uncle Jack,” she said, a hint of surprise and even a bit of shock ringing in her voice. “It’s good to hear you again. I’ve been concerned.”

The static in the line seemed to clear.

“No need for that, my dear. And I apologize for all of the unpleasantness. Are you doing well – holding up?”

“I’m fine,” Caeli said. “The bigger concern is you. Is everything all right? Are you all right?”

“Why, of course I am, my dear. I’ve never been better, truth be told.”

I noticed a couple items of interest early on.

The voice that crackled through the initial bad connection seemed to be Caeli’s Uncle Jack, all right. But it sounded mechanical somehow, with little or no emotion – certainly not the type of fire and spark that characterized any conversation I’d ever been involved in with the archbishop, either while Caeli was present or the few times when we’d briefly spoken alone.

I also noticed a delay in the responses. It reminded me of the satellite links that TV networks establish with their correspondents in the field, when the anchor back in the studio asks a question or makes some inane comment and it takes a few seconds before the pretty face stationed in some far-off hot spot eventually picks it up through the earpiece and responds seconds later with additional inane chatter.

I reached into my pocket, pulled out a pen, and used the only piece of paper I had on me – a Euro note – to write Caeli a message:

Sounds like he’s not in the country

She nodded in agreement, though her focus was purely on the moment.

“Uncle Jack, I’m confused about what’s going on,” she said. “The information we’re getting from your Mister Corbin is disturbing. Am I to believe everything he tells me?”

“But of course, my dear,” he said a moment later. “He has my full confidence.”

I glanced at Corbin. His shark’s smile seemed to gleam even more brightly.

My earlier comment about thinking that the two of us could become friends under different circumstances? Forget it. At that moment, in that setting, and with that smug smile plastered across his face, I had all I could do to keep from leaping across the table and repeatedly smashing him directly in those pearly whites with the butt end of my pistol.

Caeli shook her head, disbelief setting in.

“Uncle Jack, please listen to me,” she said. “I can’t believe this is happening – that you tried to hurt Max and our friends, just to get me out of Ireland. Please tell me that isn’t true – that it’s a misunderstanding.”

There’s that pause again, I thought as we waited for a reply.

“I would prefer it if you and your friends, all of them, left Ireland right away, my dear,” he said. “It would be best for everyone, for you especially. I care about you, you know, and don’t want to see anything bad happen to you.”

The words were chilling, even to me. But if anything, Caeli appeared to be more determined rather than either discouraged or disgusted.

“Uncle Jack … please. I know something must be wrong there. Please tell me how I can help you. That’s all we want to do – help you in any way we can.”

“I am perfectly safe,” he said after another lengthy pause. “If you truly want to help, return to Oregon and forget everything that’s happened to you. It’s best that you forget about me entirely.”

“This isn’t like you, Uncle Jack,” she said.

The pause seemed to linger a moment longer this time before the reply finally came through.

“I am afraid you don’t know me as well as you thought. Go home, my dear,” he said. “Stay there. Stay away from Ireland. I’m afraid I must insist. Do not contact me again nor try to find me. I trust I’ve made myself clear.”

This time Caeli’s eyes grew wide with shock and hurt and sadness and god only knows what else was going on in her head in that instant.

I felt much the same and would’ve paid for the chance to wring the archbishop’s collared neck in that moment, just to wrench some sense into him.

“Uncle Jack. It’s Max,” I said. “Are you sure you want to leave things this way?”

We waited for a response.

I started counting in my head and reached 16 seconds before he spoke again.

“Go home, my dear,” he said, eventually breaking the silence. “Go home while there’s still a chance for you – for all of you.”

The line went dead, and we didn’t speak for a long minute.

Even Michael Corbin remained silent, though his smile remained in place. 

Elmore eventually allowed a low whistle to cycle through the room.

“You sure that guy’s related, Caeli?” he said.

Her response was automatic, murmured in a low voice that I could barely hear, and I was seated immediately next to her.

“I’m beginning to wonder.”

She rose quickly and left the room without so much as a single backward glance.