THIRTY-FOUR

Going Arseways

Elmore was back on the phone with us moments after he’d hung up with reports of gunfire.

“Corbin’s on the move, heading south,” he said. “Something happened, though. I can pinpoint where the GPS had him stopped for maybe 30 seconds. I know right where it is.”

“You’re sure it was gunfire?” Caeli asked.

Leonard jumped in before Elmore could answer.

“We know what gunfire sounds like, for god’s sake,” he said.

Elmore was more considerate, but his answer was the same.

“No question,” he said. “And it was close, too – either inside Corbin’s car or right next to it.”

“So let’s go see what happened,” Caeli said.

We were on the scene 10 minutes later, and the only reason it took that long was the number of one-way streets we were forced to negotiate … well, that and playing dodge-’em cars with the various police and emergency vehicles that were streaming across town to get to the same place.

Galway isn’t Philadelphia, nor is it Chicago or New York City. Gun violence isn’t unknown in Ireland, but it’s not routine, either – certainly not in an idyllic spot that’s often called the cultural heart of the country.

According to Elmore’s updates, the Guards were congregating on Father Griffin Road, not far from the Galway Fire Station. I eventually parked on nearby Fairhill Road Upper and again donned my Irish costume – windbreaker, Guinness logo hat, sunglasses – and left Caeli with the SUV running, figuring that I’d sneak a quick look and perhaps even figure out what happened.

“Be careful. If somebody spots you, Professor B – not good,” Elmore had said via the phone connection as we talked strategy.

“You already said Corbin was gone, heading south,” I countered.

“His car’s gone – that’s all we know. Maybe he’s been wounded,” Elmore said.

“Then he’ll be in no position to check out the gawkers who stop to stare at the mayhem – me among them,” I said.

Leonard jumped in.

“Or Corbin might be dead in the road, which I’d like, and some Irish crook ran off with his car and his phone,” he said.

Caeli shook her head at that possibility.

“Unlikely. My money’s on some sort of quick shoot-out and Corbin racing away,” she said, which seemed to provide additional incentive to take a chance and get some first-hand insight into what was going on.

I was surprised moments later when Elmore joined me as I hustled toward the fire station.

“Nice outfit,” he said, sidling next to me on the broad footpath.

“If I told you the same thing, I’d be lying,” I said. “What are you doing? I thought I was giving the update while the three of you stayed put.”

“I’m keeping an eye on you, which is half of my job,” he said. “If people are still running around with guns, and something happened to you …”

“The chances of you being struck by lightning or swallowed up in a giant sinkhole are far greater than someone shooting at me,” I said. “And if Corbin is still hanging around, looking for trouble, and he sees the two of us …”

“Hey, no worries, Professor B. I know how to blend in – how to disappear,” he said. “That’s a big part of the job, you know. That’s why I dumped my jacket back in Dublin, after it got ripped. But I can’t keep you safe by sitting in the Denali. Didn’t like it the last time you did this, or when we went after Tommy. Not gonna let it happen again.”

He had a point. 

“So where’s Leonard? Is he skulking around here, too?”

“He’s back with Caeli, after finding a bathroom,” Elmore said. “Good thing, too. From the way he was complaining, I figured he was about to burst. Wouldn’t want to be around that.”

“Right,” I said, trying to shake the image. “Let’s not go there.”

I pointed toward a nearby corner that afforded a good view of the scene, and we angled in that direction, walking casually – a couple of guys out for a morning stroll who’d stumbled into … something. From what we could tell, some people were milling around a solitary car that was seemingly parked askew, talking among themselves.

“We’ll have to be careful. The crowds are down because of the time,” I said, referencing the early-morning hour.

We tucked in behind a group of five people, three women and two men, all of whom seemed to be in their mid-20s, likely professionals heading to work. I took the chance of asking a question, conjuring up my best Dublin accent.

“So what’s gone arseways then?”

“A shootin’, apparently,” one of the women said without so much as a backward glance, although Elmore shot me a look that might have covered either amusement or alarm, or both. “Yer man there” – she pointed a well-manicured finger – “looks to ’ve got hisself shot dead.”

“Sure an’ he’s dead,” one of the men said, again without looking around. “They’d be in a hurry to save his trusty bollox otherwise. No rush now, though. No need.”

“Did’ja see it?” I asked, addressing the question to all takers.

“Jaysus, I did,” the same woman said. “It put the heart crossways in me, I can tell ya. I’m like to tell the Guards about it, too, much as I’d rather not.”

Translation: What she saw scared her enough to volunteer talking with the police.

“I’d be after keepin’ me mouth shut, Mary,” one of the men in her party said. “All it’ll do is bollox up yer day.”

“But I saw the whole bloody thing, Brendan. Sure, it’s no good to put it off. Somebody’ll tell ’em I was here, or they find me on telly, and then it’s off to the house with ’em, with me mum and pa looking over me shoulder the whole time. No, rather here than there, I t’ink.”

“So what happened, was it?” I asked. “What did’ja see?”

“Do ya see that car over there?” Mary pointed to a blue Volkswagen Golf, which was on the street with a single tire jumped over the curb and a shattered windshield. “The one with the dead body inside?”

“I do.”

“He squealed ’round a corner and was after chasing a sleek newcomer. Next thing ya know, both cars slam on the brakes, a couple’a guns pop out, one on either side, and yer man is crashin’ off to the side there while the other lad is gone in a bit of a flash, I’d call it.”

“So they was both shootin’ then?” Brendan asked, glancing at Mary in surprise.

“Sure – guns a’-blazin’, just like the Wild bloody West.”

“And the car that bolted – two guns there, was it?” I asked her.

“Sure,” she said. “One on either side, just like I said.”

“That’s a fret,” I said. “T’anks.”

“Ach. Go way outta that,” she said.

I nudged Elmore with my arm and said, “We should head on now, boyo. A pint o’ Gat’s callin’, I t’ink.”

“What was all that?” Elmore asked when we were well away from the group.

“Irish,” I said. “Or at least enough to pass in Galway. Apparently it worked.”

“I guess,” he said. “I caught most of it. But what’s a ‘sleek newcomer’? She said it while talking about the chase, but I didn’t follow it,” he said.

“A newer car,” I said. “Likely Corbin’s, seeing as he’s not here.”

“And a pint o’ Gat?”

“A tall glass of Guinness, of course. Let’s get a closer look – see what we can learn.”

“You aren’t serious about getting a drink – are you?”

“Just a turn of phrase, Elmore,” I said.

We took our time edging near, trying to blend in. I abandoned the sunglasses – the day had broken overcast and gray, with a hint of rain – so that I wouldn’t look like my own worst vision of an Irish gangster and attract unwanted scrutiny. 

We got to within 20 yards or so, approaching the Volkswagen from the east so that anyone watching us from near the car itself would be looking directly into the rising sun, when Elmore grabbed my arm and dragged me to an abrupt halt.

“Jesus H, Professor B,” he said, turning us sideways. “I recognize that guy – the dead guy, I mean.”

The body was slumped to the side, the head cocked against the window, eyes open and staring straight ahead, facial features easy enough to see from where we stood.

Nothing registered. If I’d seen the man, I didn’t recognize him.

“Who is he?” I asked.

“He’s one of Gallacher’s men,” Elmore said. “How or why, I don’t have a clue. But I saw that guy at the castle, running security on the grounds, more than once.”

“You’re sure?”

“Hell yes.”

Lovely, I thought. And a dozen more questions rambled through my head as we pulled back and started toward Fairhill Road Upper again.

Elmore was as puzzled as I was.

“How can this guy show up here, ahead of us? How’s that possible?” he said, as though talking to himself. “We drove all night to get here, following Corbin all the way, and this guy is right on his tail the whole time? I don’t get it.”

“I don’t either. I’d sure like a closer look at that car. Maybe somebody stuck a tracking device on it,” I said.

“Damn strange,” Elmore said.

Then he abruptly stopped and grabbed my arm again, tugging me to a halt.

“What’s Gallacher doing, mixed up in this? Gallacher is supposed to be our guy, Professor B, hired by our crew over here. What the hell is going on?”

I had no idea, of course, and provided the best answer that I could at that moment.

“Let’s see if we can find out,” I said.

Another thought struck me, and I didn’t see the point of waiting to get it done. I called Caeli, gave her a brief update about what we’d just seen, and asked her to place yet another call to Bill Kohlmeyer.

“See if he can come up with anything on Liam Gallacher,” I said. “He’s somehow mixed up in this mess, well beyond his duties at the castle. I’d sure as hell like to know why – and how.” 

“You think Bill can help us with an ID on an Irish national – if he even is an Irish national?”

“Won’t hurt to ask,” I said. “Right now, without better contacts – without any contacts over here – Bill’s our best hope.”

“What about Mister F’s contacts?” Elmore said when I clicked off. “He’s run an operation in Ireland for a long time – made a lot of money here in the time I’ve been with him. He owns a big estate, you know, not far from here – just outside of Limerick. That’s how we connected with …”

He halted for a moment, thinking it through.

“We were at the castle because of Mister F’s contacts,” Elmore said. “Do you think Gallacher’s maybe a part of whatever’s going on?”

He didn’t wait for an answer and pulled out his satellite phone.

“I better let Leonard know,” he said. “Maybe he’ll want to call Fredo.”

“If you or Leonard talk with Freddy, ask him about the Italians, too,” I said – and it was damn difficult to say that and not add, “… and ask him about Don Vincenzo.”

Caeli provided an update when I returned to the Range Rover minutes later.

“Kohlmeyer isn’t thrilled with this latest bit of malarkey, as he called it, but he promised to see what he could do,” she said.

“Did you fill him in on …”

I stopped, unsure what I was hoping Caeli might tell Salem’s police chief. But she smiled at me, which told me that she’d thought it all through before making the call.

“I told him enough to get him interested,” she said. “Whether he’ll follow up is another matter, let alone whether he’ll find anything.”

It was my turn to think things over. I did just that but didn’t get far.

“If Bill said he’d take a look, he’ll do just that,” I eventually said. “He’s good to his word – always has been.”

“But it’s pretty much impossible,” she said. “If Corbin and Gallacher were from Oregon, from Salem, then yeah – he’d deliver. But with us over here, and these guys from god only knows where, Corbin especially, and Gallacher maybe nothing more than a pawn in the game, if that …”

She let the thought trail away, and with good reason. The task seemed hopeless.

A tap on the window startled us. Elmore and Leonard were staring back at us, their faces a curious blend of exhaustion and annoyance and allegiance and perseverance and, in Elmore’s case, at least, boyish enthusiasm and a trace of charm.

They climbed inside and did their best to get comfortable, no small task when you consider their size.

“Did you reach Freddy?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Elmore said. “Took some time getting him on the phone, though.”

We both knew why, and we both wanted to ask but didn’t. I figured that if Elmore wanted to let us in on the don’s condition – if, in fact, he’d picked up a report from Fredo or even from Leonard – he’d bring it up on his own.

“We filled him in on Gallacher and on what happened with Corbin. He didn’t sound happy – said he’d look into it and get back to us,” Elmore said.

“Any idea how he’s going to do that?” Caeli asked.

“We’ve still got resources here,” Leonard said.

“What about the Italians? Are they still here?”

Leonard sounded annoyed this time.

“Fredo said they were still on the clock, but he hadn’t heard anything from them since they left the castle. He’s not happy about that, either.”

“Maybe they talked directly with the don,” I suggested.

“Maybe,” Leonard said. But he didn’t sound convinced, and he didn’t provide additional commentary on the matter.

“What did Kohlmeyer say?” Elmore asked.

“About the same,” Caeli said. “He’ll poke around, see if he can find anything on Gallacher. He was already digging into Corbin for us.”

“Any luck there?”

“Not yet.”

Leonard used his left hand to smack my shoulder.

“Seems pretty dumb to ask Kohlmeyer for help over here,” he said.

“Can’t say you’re wrong, Leonard,” I said. “We’re using what’s available to us.”

“Quit calling me Leonard,” he grumbled.

“Did you find a bathroom all right, Leonard?” Caeli asked, with enough innocence in her voice to sell the question. She glanced toward the back seat with a look of genuine concern on her face.

He glared at her in return, and I damn near broke out laughing, despite the incongruity of the question.

Elmore broke the silence.

“So I tracked Corbin on the GPS,” he said. “He headed due south after the shootout, or whatever it was, and is on Mutton Island, a straight shot down some sort of causeway like you see in the Florida Keys.”

Caeli pulled out her map again and quickly located the island, which sat like an enormous floating green for golfers in Galway Bay, a kilometer or so from the city’s southernmost tip. 

“What’s he doing out there, I wonder?” she said, her finger pointed to a spot on the map so that I could get a look.

“Good question,” I said. “One thing’s certain: One road in, and one road out. He’s still there, Elmore?”

“Yeah,” he said, checking his phone for confirmation. “Signal’s steady – right smack in the middle of the island.”

“Right smack in the middle of the sewage treatment plant,” Caeli said as she fiddled with her phone.

“How’s that again?” I asked.

“That’s what on Mutton Island – Galway’s sewage treatment plant,” she said.

“How fitting. What say we pay Mister Corbin a visit?” I said. “Might be time to show our hand – play the cards we’ve got.”

“And what hand is that, exactly?” Leonard asked.

“How about we have four guns, plus body armor, and the odds are good that he has at best two guns – if, in fact, someone is traveling with him – and he’s minus at least one bullet.”

Leonard slipped the Beretta out of his shoulder holster and hefted the pistol.

“I can work with that,” he said.