CHAPTER ELEVEN
The needles are still buzzing. The baby is nearly complete. That's right, I'm having a baby tattooed onto my back and it's nearly done. Some of it has crossed the shoulder blade so there was a little pain at that point but that's exactly what I need to let me know it's on there.
Getting back to my story though...
The text on my wife's phone was short enough that I couldn't not but read it all in one go.
"Where's my fucking money?" It said.
Short as it was, the meaning didn't quite register with me for a moment. It sounded more like a joke. Must have been one of her girlfriends having a laugh I figured. Hilarious. Usually they weren't such a foul mouth crew though. In fact, her friends were a pretty cool bunch and I got along with most of them well even if we had been too busy of late to see any of our friends. I checked the sender but it was just a number, no name attached.
Maybe she hadn't transferred her address book from the old handset yet. I decided to forget about it and put the phone back down on the sofa. It was late and I had a lot to do the following day.
After just a few hours of sleep, the kids were up, fed, dropped to school and I was back in the office looking to meet my daily insurance sales quota.
Sales is never easy, no matter what people say. I had been doing it for years and still I couldn't quite get used to it. The worst part wasn't the cold calling, it wasn't the abuse from disgruntled clients or even the poor pay packet and low commissions at the end of it all. No, no, no, the worst part for me, by far, was my stupid boss and his attempts to scare, motivate and most annoyingly of all, 'fix' me.
"Dennis ... you have me in despair." He told me that morning.
Peter Dooley was a portly man. Younger than me in years, but in gravity and girth, certainly my elder. As I said, I'm on the far side of 30, he's only 28 but going on 48 in looks and attitude which I think he actually wants.
"Look, I've got 12 people to manage here, including yourself." He told me this at least once a week. "You don't know what it's like to be only 28 years of age and have people nearly twice that working for you." Boohoo. "I started under you, remember? Jesus you showed me the ropes for God’s sake." I inadvertently caught his eye when he said this. He had to keep on reminding me, year after year. "I was only 21 when they promoted me to regional manager, do you know what that's like?" I shook my head. How could I? Me, just a simple insurance broker on the phones for the last 10 years.
"I know my uncle owns this place but really, who else could they put in charge? Draper? Hah!" Benji Draper was the oldest employee in the office. He was doing his time there before Peter was born. He hadn't changed his suit in 8 years and had hairs like toilet brush bristles growing out of his nostrils.
"I'm trying to help you Dennis. I need you to focus more on your work. I've been asking you now for months. You know your numbers are down."
I nodded my head. What else could I do? The numbers were down. He was right. But it wasn't my fault. It was this bloody recession.
"Don't talk to me about recession." He said. "There's no such thing in sales. Either you go out and get the goods or you don't, right?"
Again he was right.
"People like you and me, we have to think like hunters."
He meant well.
"We are the modern day hunters. We have to go out there and forage every day."
Forage or hunt, which was it?
"And every day is different. Every day is a journey."
Oh for God's sake. He had been speaking to me for over an hour already.
"Now all this is one thing Dennis, and don't get me wrong Dennis, because I believe in you Dennis Small, I really do."
My name had been seriously worn thin ever since Peter had invested in and read 'How to Win Friends and Influence People.'
"There are times in the past when you've done... OK, let's not say spectacularly well, but you've done alright."
Direct praise was anathema to Peter.
"You've been with the company a very long time now and if we didn't like you, well, you simply wouldn't be here."
Veiled threat of termination. Commonplace stuff.
"Are you having any problems at home?"
Oh Jesus.
"No Peter. Everything's fine."
Silence.
"Then what is it?"
I couldn't blame personal problems, I wasn't allowed to mention the recession. Where did that leave me?
"I have an idea Peter."
"What?"
"I have an idea. To maybe bring in more revenue."
He sat up. He looked skeptical, but he still sat up.
"You know how people are really into tattoos these days?"
His look became quizzical, slightly derisory, as though he expected pure nonsense next.
"I... suppose so."
"Well, I was thinking... em... you know how people then change their minds, get a boyfriend's name as a tattoo and then they split up? For example?"
"Eh, yes. I've heard of it."
"How about we offer insurance on tattoos?"
It was a desperate attempt to deflect the direction of the conversation. I would have felt like a total idiot if everything hadn't been so surreal already with his self-help mumbo-jumbo. He sat and made stupid faces for a moment or two, as though manually grinding the gears in his head.
"And we could offer insurance to tattoo artists for claims against tattoos gone wrong!" I added.
Peter leaned across his desk and looked me very closely in the eye.
"Dennis... look, if there's something going on at home just tell me. OK?"
This was my daily torture.
He had been asking me this for years, wishing it, willing it. He wanted to fix Dennis Small. He wanted to fix everyone in the office, but for some reason, I was his favorite. God help me. Some of the others played along, but I had some self-respect. In spite of everything I was proud of my job and everything it had allowed me to do for my family. And my family? It was the only thing that worked in my life. If it wasn't for them, how could I have done that stupid mindless job day in and day out, year in and year out, squeezing whatever bit of pride out of it that could be found?
This month numbers had been bad though. Nearly an all time low.
I lowered my eyes to the floor and swallowed hard.
"I've got problems Peter. Family problems."
"Oh Jesus, Dennis. I just knew it son. Why didn't you tell me sooner? We can help. You know we aren't like other employers here. We just want you to be a success. We want you to be happy. A happy employee is a successful employee. Without happiness, what's the point of it all?"
I nodded again. Prayed for it to end.
"Look, Dennis. I feel awkward even talking about this but I have to tell you. I got a phone call from the Gardai last night."
I lifted my head, fully alert again.
"What about?"
"I think you know what it was about Dennis."
I had to think. Honestly. What trouble could Peter have been in? But he was half smiling, his head turned a little to one side, looking at me sideways, as though willing me gently to come clean, to myself as well as to him.
Oh for Jesus sake.
"Not about the ... " he nodded his big, moist, bald head, "... the neighborhood watch thing?" He tightened his lips in supportive resignation and nodded again, like a disappointed undertaker.
"Look, Dennis. I know it's kind of shocking. And I admire you for being the one to actually set up the neighborhood watch in the first place. Frankly, knowing you, that surprised me. But you can't use these things as an escape from your problems."
It was my turn to nod. The nod of guilty admission and shame.
"The Gardai have warned me to warn you that they don't need this kind of interference in their affairs."
"Is this normal Peter? Since when do the Gardai call up someone's employer?"
"Don't you worry about that Dennis." He said firmly. "This is a small town and most of us grew up and went to school together here. The ones we don't work with or didn't go to school with are all related to us anyway."
He didn't need to remind me of the fine tradition of inter-breeding in Darklow Town. I had lived there continuously for thirteen years but of course, I couldn't go back in time and go to school in the local Christian Brothers in order to be fully accepted by the natives of Darklow.
I just didn't have the DNA.
"Mike Biggs and I go back a long way Dennis. He just called to let me know what was going on because he's a friend and he wants what's best for the town and that includes both you and me."
"OK. I understand."
"Are you sure Dennis? Because if you don't it could get worse. Mike might be forced to bring charges against you for vigilantism or some other such thing and make no mistake about it, he will if he has to. If he feels that you or anyone else is trying to do his job for him he will have to take action."
"I do Peter. I really understand."
"And you know I couldn't have anyone on the payroll here who has problems with the law. Do you understand that? That's only fair enough, isn't it?"
He was right. I waited for the finale.
"OK Dennis. We'll leave it there. Now whenever you want to talk about your other problems, you know you have a willing ear right here, don't you?"
He pointed to his big, fat, soft ear and I nodded yet again.
"Is there anything you would like to talk about now?" His voice was soft.
"What did Mike say about the two patrol members who were assaulted?"
He glared at me in disapproval.
"That's official police business Dennis. Don't make this worse than it already is."
"OK."
"Now. Is there anything else you would like to talk about?"
"No thanks Peter."
"About your family problems."
He waited.
"Not yet Peter. Thanks. But it's too soon, too painful."
"OK Dennis. As I said, I'm here when you need me. Don't wait too long though. Don't bottle things up. It's not good for you."
"Can I go now?"
"Of course, of course, I'm not the headmaster here, go on. Get out there and knock 'em dead!"
He smiled a big awkward smile.
Good grief... my life....
"Because we can't have another week like last week... seriously." The smile dropped from his face like it had never existed.
By lunch time I was in the offices of local independent politician Daithi McGuigan.
"Do we know who's doin' this?" he asked me.
Now I didn't particularly like Daithi and I certainly didn't agree with his radical politics, but he was the first and only person to offer to hear me out. I had already asked all the local politicos, the great and good powers of our little town and region, but they seemed to know I was coming. Even that shower from Fianna Gael, Ireland's ruling party, didn't want to know anything about it. And I had canvassed for them. Three years in a row.
Sometimes it takes an event like this to really know where you are living, even if you thought you knew the place inside and out already.
Daithi McGuigan was an older man. In his fifties, but he had been a powerful Rugby player in his time and still had that aura of invulnerable solid strength that the Rugby boys have, even if his hair was a little grey and his belly bursting out over the edge of his trousers. More importantly he was the only independently elected figure we had in town and I knew he had a strong reputation for local grass roots community work. I also reasoned that if I could get local politics on board that this would give the Gardai and my worm of a boss Peter Dooley pause for thought before they tried to shut me down. Didn't I have a right to protect my own little patch of the world if the Gardai hadn't been able to do so? Maybe I wasn't the hardest guy in the world, even if I hadn't been a committed pacifist. Maybe I wasn't the bravest in the world, hell, not even the bravest in Darklow, but one thing I can honestly say about myself, then as well as today, is that I'm determined and when it comes to family I will do, give and take whatever is needed.
"The Gardai say they haven't a clue." I said.
"Are they patrolling the estate?"
"They say they are, but a quick five minutes around the estate once or twice a night doesn't add up to much. I just don't think we should have to lie down and take this."
Daithi had a strong face. Craggy, rugged, once handsome but now lined by late nights of concern for his community, his country and for the world. He was silent for a moment before giving me a square look in the eye.
"You're the right kind of stuff Dennis. This country needs more like you. I know we've been on opposite sides of the political divide over the years but I respect anyone who goes out night after night knocking on unfriendly doors to convince people of something they believe in."
I was so distraught, so wound up that these few honest kind words nearly brought tears to my eyes. Even Marianne was against me for God's sake. I needed support from someone. Daithi put out his big hand and gripped my shoulder firmly.
"I have a few lads who I know will be up for this Dennis. Give me a few hours and then we'll meet up at the estate. Don't worry, we'll get some citizens action going. Could be the start of something big. Maybe get the press involved as well. Crime in general is getting out of hand in this town and nobody is prepared to do anything about it. Everybody waits for somebody else to do something."
"Don't I just know it Daithi." A man truly after my own heart, I was beginning to think that maybe things were going to be alright after all. This was the way things usually worked in this small town. First lethargy and apathy. Then resistance. Then lots of talk but no action. If it wasn't for people like me and Daithi we would still all be living with 17th century penal laws.
"And don't you worry about Mike Biggs either Dennis," he added, "he's a good man and of course I know his Dad well. My niece is married to his 2nd cousin."
Darklow. Sometimes the interbreeding could work in your favor as well.
When I got home that evening I felt better than I had in the last 24 hours. Knowing I had Daithi and his 'couple of lads' behind me made all the difference. It was right then that my son picked his moment to come to me with latest problem. The one I had ignored and then forgotten. But my mind was still distracted.
It’s one of the great regrets of my life to this day; not listening to my son precisely right then at that particular moment. Always listen to your kids.
After some faltering, he managed to get the following words out:
"I'm in love Dad."
All I heard was; 'blah, blah, blah, I'm a stupid kid Dad.'
"That's great son. Who's the lucky girl?"
"Fiona Finnegan."
This was not good news. I became more alert, but not more receptive. I thought he wanted to speak about the disappearance of his mysterious older friend but this was new, unexpected. Despite that, or if anything because of it, I totally stopped listening at all at that point. His missing friend was a real issue. Fiona Finnegan? This was just idiocy. As it happened Will was a very good looking young man and even though he didn't realize it yet, half the girls in his school were in love with him. Of all them, why Fiona bloody Finnegan? Kids will break your heart, I swear to you. And parents, well, what we do to our children, the people we love the most, sometimes you wouldn't do to your worst enemy.
"You're young son."
"It's real Da."
He looked at me with burning teenage intensity, the bane of every parent. Probably the same intensity that fascinated all those teenage girls on our estate. He's tall for his age, taller than me already. Except for the school uniform you would think you were speaking to an adult. I decided to give him a chance. "Go on then. I suppose you aren't just sharing your feelings with me. What is it you need?" When I think of it now I could slap myself. Poor Will just sucked it up and continued on. It can't have been easy for him.
"I need cash Da. To buy her a present. Something to really impress her."
Money wasn't something we ever had much of and since my slow spell at work we were kind of on the ropes financially.
"How much do you have?"
He swiped his hand through his long hair and looked at the floor. "Not much."
"So what are you going to do?"
"Well... I want to buy her something now because if I leave it too long...."
"If she loves you, then she'll wait."
"Fuck’s sake Da...."
"Son, you know I don't like that language. Now do you want to talk about this or not?"
"I don't want to talk about it Da, I just want to borrow the money. That's all."
This wasn't like him. He wasn't usually so forceful and determined. I hated to cut him down so quick, but on the other hand, this Fiona was one of the few girls my son associated with that I would have had no hesitation in referring to as pure trash. Politically incorrect I know, but God, of all the girls in his school and in Sunnyvale and in Darklow, why this one? She was loud, trashy, caked in cheap make-up and runny fake tan.
"Isn't there anyone else you like? What about Natalie Gilchrist? She's a lovely girl."
"I don't want someone you fancy Da."
"Don't start son, that's not fair and you know it."
"Just because Fiona wears a tracksuit," She was never out of them and true enough I hated them, "and has a couple of tattoos," she had tramp stamp on her lower back which never seemed to be fully covered and then a bar code, for God's sake, on the back of her neck, "and a few piercings," navel, also never covered, nose, tongue, lip and eyebrow, "doesn't mean she's trash, you know? You don't have to be so narrow minded. Mum gets along with her just fine."
I didn't know what to say. He was right about all my prejudices but none of these things were what really bothered me about Fiona Finnegan. The real difficulty was her selfish, shallow, violent personality and if that wasn't bad enough she was known to have been with every unwashed, tattoo covered boy racing, tracksuit clad layabout from the wrong end of town. She was probably involved in drugs; her parents were known users and dealers.
Additionally, and with the best will in the world, no-one could say that she was a beauty queen. The local lads, so I understood, shagged her because they could. She was a good place to start off if you hadn't lost your virginity yet and an acceptable place to finish off the night if no one else was willing.
How did I know this?
Being the nosy, anal, obsessive do-gooder I was, I liked to keep abreast of all the trashy goings on in our town. In my seemingly single-handed war against our country’s tracksuit and tattoo tsunami, this girl and her parents were the very antithesis of everything that I peacefully stood for. I knew her stupid, ignorant parents and their ham-fisted attempts at insurance scams. I had commiserated with other parents who had encountered this particular girlfriend in the hallway of their homes after their sons had been out for a night on the town.
My son. Will.
A great human being in every possible way. One of the good ones. Now 'in love' with Fiona Finnegan?
No way.
Despite all of this, if it hadn't been for the disconcerting fact of people being murdered and ritualistically mutilated just a few hundred meters from where we lived, I would maybe, just maybe have had the presence of mind to deal with this problem other than I did.
Ignore your children's problems at your peril. If you get nothing else from this tale, take that at least.
"Son, come on. I'm sorry. Tell me more about Fiona."
"Forget it Da. I know you think she's just a 'slag'. How could I ever explain it to you?"
"Son, just tell me how much you need, come on."
He was silent for a minute, hopeful. Jesus, how I wish I could've been a bit more useful to him.
"I need two grand Da."
But for Jesus sake... he wanted 2000 Euro...
"Ah come on here Will, for God's sake! For her? Are you joking' me?"
"There you go again: 'for her', like she's not worth it or something. What is your problem?"
"Son, you're only 15, this is crazy."
"How come Suzy gets the ten grand piano and I can't even get this?"
"She can play the piano and anyway it didn't cost ten grand."
"So because she's more clever than me she gets all the money? Is that it?"
"Son, listen, it's not like that at all."
It was too late though. He stormed off and I just didn't have the time or energy to give to him that day. So help me if I ever have the chance again.
Even then I knew I hadn’t done well.
The phone rang and I decided to deal with Will later. It was Daithi.
"Dennis, I'm really sorry but the deal is off for now."
"I don't understand Daithi? Why?"
"Something has come up."
"I thought you said you had some guys and that I was the kind of person this country needed?"
"I do and you are, but this is something else. Something you don't want to get involved in. Not if you really don't want to get hurt. Do you know about the skin?"
"You mean the tattoos?"
"How did you know?"
"Well I didn't really know until just now."
"They had tattoos taken off them. The first guy and your two boys as well, Peadar and Michael."
"I had kind of guessed it Daithi. It's brutal isn't it? We have to do something."
"Is there anything else you've guessed?"
"What do you mean?"
"I think we need to leave it to the professionals Dennis. There was a bit more than just tattoos gone from that first fellah."
"What do you mean? I know they took the clothes off him alright."
"It was a bit more than that. There was other stuff missing. It seems like Peadar and Michael may have been in for the same treatment but for someone heard a bit of the commotion and called the Gardai."
"Was his head gone?"
"Jesus Christ Dennis, where are you getting this stuff?"
"That was it though, wasn't it? Or is there more?"
"I don't want to talk about this anymore Dennis, but just take my advice and let the Gardai handle it. And don't call me anymore, at least not about this. Oh yeah, and Mike Biggs wants a word with you."
"Did you sort him out? You're friends with his Dad right?"
"That's right. Good friends. Now give Mike a call as soon as you can and no shenanigans. Do what the man says. Good night Dennis."
He hung up the phone.
My mobile lit up with a new caller.
Peter Dooley. My boss.
Oh great. Just great.