CHAPTER FOURTEEN
My back tattoo is almost done. It's taken days of work, especially as we can't be seen to be doing this kind of shit in here. It's a miracle that Travis even has the equipment inside to get it done. Now I've nearly got a full picture of a strong man holding a baby in his arms. The man is me. This wasn't the hard part. The hard part is putting the tattoo onto his chest. I need to get it put on to my chest first and then onto his. It has to be just right and we are talking Dutch Masters here, photo-realism.
But anyway, as I was saying, local politician Daithi O'Shea hung up the phone and my mobile lit up with a new caller.
It was Peter, my boss. Just what I didn't need. I let it go to voice-mail but the phone was no sooner silenced and back in my pocket than it was vibrating again. He could call all he wanted but I wasn't going to speak to him yet. I had a quick look at the phone and realized it wasn't Peter this time but a local number. The bloody Garda Station.
"Dennis Small here, what can I do for you?"
"It's me Dennis, Mike Biggs. What did I fuckin' tell you?"
I nearly choked. In all the years I'd known him Mike was always the guy I could trust, always the guy on my side, sorting out rowdy neighbors I was too afraid to confront or talking to dangerous looking kids on the estate, the kind who break your windows and bully your children if you have the guts to tell them to get out of it. I was scared now, but also hurt.
"You didn't tell me anything Mike. You asked us to hold off on the neighborhood patrol, but you didn't tell us to do or not do anything specifically."
"Did Peter speak to you?"
"Who? Peter Dooley? My boss?"
"No. Peter Pan.
"Huh?"
"Yes, Peter Dooley. Your boss. Sure what other fuckin' Peter would I mean?"
"Mike, can you calm down please? What’s with all the language? What's the problem here?"
"You've been ringing around everyone in the fuckin' county to stick their nose into police business and what good has it done you? Nothin'. Fucking nothing. Now I've spoken to Peter again and he has a message for you, but I'll give it to you myself. Keep your fucking nose out of this or you will lose your job. Do you understand?"
"Mike...." I just didn't have the words.
"Do you understand?"
"OK, OK, yes I do."
"Good. Now watch yourself Small. Be on your best fucking behavior from now on."
The line went dead. I couldn't believe my ears. 'Small'? Mike had known me for years. We were never on anything but first name terms. What the hell was going on in the world? Was this still Darklow, Co. Wickford or was I in some kind of alternative anti-Darklow somewhere?
The world was going crazy.
And it was set to get even crazier.
Whoever was banging on the front door of my house sounded as though they wanted to bash a hole in it. This wasn't a politician looking for votes or a local kid collecting for a sponsored run. This was someone who didn't, obviously, like the idea of using doorbells. Who the hell would want to break my door down? I'm just Dennis Small, insurance guy. Oh wait, in the last 24 hours the list had suddenly gotten longer. It could be Mike Biggs, but I had just spoken to him. Daithi O'Shea? I hadn't really done anything to anger him. Derek Reilly, hard man local dad who had threatened to batter me. Damn. This couldn't be real. He was a shady guy if you thought about it. The story was that he was a bouncer and nightclub owner, but who's to say that was even true.
The banging continued. It got louder. It sounded like my front door was being damaged.
Now believe me, I'm not easily intimidated. Not by most things. But violence still gets me. Ever since that one thing. I used to be OK but ever since that one time, a couple of years before Will and Suzy were born, before we moved out of Dublin, I just couldn't seem to take it anymore. It was a physical reaction and I could feel it now; my throat getting tighter, the feeling of things closing in on me.
I really didn't want to open that door.
There was a clear sound of crack in the wood. That was more than a fist. Whoever it was had an instrument. A weapon? Did they even want me to open up? Maybe they planned to break the door down.
However, for clarity's sake I will repeat that my name is Dennis Small. I sell, or used to sell insurance. What the hell could really be behind that door that I should be afraid of? The law of this country was on my side. When you obey the law you are never alone, you have 13000 men and women to back you up whenever you need them.
The wood in the hall door was splintering and I hadn't moved a muscle since the first knock.
Will was beside me now. Sort of. He was half in and half out of the living room, hiding behind the door-frame. There was terror in his eyes. Suddenly he looked like a schoolboy again. He looked guilty and he wasn't asking any questions.
"Will. What the hell is going on here?" My voice was a choked whisper. Will didn't answer. He was as choked as me.
The pounding was incessant now and I could hear voices. There were more splintering sounds but it wasn't the front door. The fear had made me forget who I was. That door was reinforced. I'm in insurance so I had made sure to deadbolt my fiberglass, outwardly hinging front door. A battering ram would be needed to get in. Whatever had broken belonged to the intruder. I'm a pacifist. We need to take extra precautions to protect ourselves because we don't believe in violence.
Violence leads to more and worse violence. Always has, always will.
Stay calm.
What did I have to worry about?
In ten years I hadn't been afraid to open my front door to anyone.
I was a hard-working, law-abiding citizen and there was no way in hell I was going to be intimidated in my own home. I'd die first if I had to.
I took a deep breath.
I took a step towards the front door.
Damn them. Whoever they are.
"Da!" Will gasped at me.
"Go back into the living-room son. I'll take care of this."
He stared at me with that same look of terror and guilt.
I could clearly make words out now. "Open this fucking door."
"Get back inside son." His head disappeared into the living-room.
I walked forward until I was just behind the door.
My heart was pounding. Anger and fear. How dare they, whoever they were, do this to me in my own home, with my family beside me.
"Don't make us come in through the windows you fucking shank."
A cockney accent?
I looked through the spy hole and then jerked back. An eyeball stared back at me.
Terror.
Come on Dennis, come on, come on, come on. Remember who you are.
I unbolted the door but left the chains on. There were two of them, both heavy duty.
A well-aimed sledge hammer scythed down into the gap and yanked the first chain off its brackets.
I should have known they wouldn't make any difference. Should have just taken them off to save on the repairs.
"OK, OK, hold it, I'm opening the door, take it easy."
"That's a good boy. Get this fucking door open."
Cockney accents alright. Here in Darklow? It seemed unlikely. Sure there were one or two transplanted Brits on the estate but not the sledgehammer wielding kind.
"I hate these fucking doors."
"Hah, I like 'em. Bit of a fucking challenge init?"
Great. There were two of them.
As soon as the second chain was off a huge pair of gloved hands yanked the door outwards. A second later another pair, also gloved, lifted me off the ground. The thick fists gouged under my chin and an enormous fat shaved head breathed straight up into my nose. I gagged. The smell was rank. Jellied eels maybe? Or something worse.
It's confusing when you're in a situation like that. Never underestimate the combination of adrenaline, pain, shock and anger all at the same time. It would be intoxicating if it weren't for the visceral fear of mutilation and death it induces.
I could see boots, big black overcoats, gloves, shades and of course, that tell-tale sign of personality disorder; facial tattoos.
Although nothing special really, and having seen some rather more striking ones since then, these still stick in my mind. There was a tiger, a 6 pointed star, a large Chinese character on one of the guy's temples, a spider web on the other guy that reached around his neck to the front of his throat.
Classy.
"Where's the money, you fucking maggot?"
I couldn't answer. No words would come out. My lips wouldn’t part but I could feel my bowels getting ready to open. The thug who wasn't strangling me was holding a sledgehammer in one hand. He held up a passport in the other, opened up on the photo page.
"You know this twat?"
It was Will, my son.
"You his Dad?"
I nodded.
"Know where he is?"
I shook my head. I was scared, choked, but I would die of fear before I offered up my child to scum like this.
"Very touching. Every parent wants to protect their kids, init. But they all squeal in the end."
He touched my right knee-cap with the end of his baseball bat.
"All right Dad, what's it to be? Left or right."
Left or right? Which one? Think, think. I couldn't speak. Still choked.
"No preference? All right then, allow me to choose in that case. He raised the bat and drew back behind his shoulder, aiming at my right kneecap. My best one as it happened.
This was unreal.
"No. Please." The words spluttered out. "What do you want? Tell me." Finally some words.
"Well, well, well. It speaks, init. Let's see then. We have principle of €2000 with initial interest of 12.5% comes to €2250 to be paid a week from the original date of the loan application."
"We'll find it, don't worry."
He head butted me. I know, if you are a normal person this is unbelievable, right?
"Shut up maggot. I ain't finished yet. Your offspring is late with payments, init? Interest rate of 100% applies after failure to repay a loan on the agreed date, init?"
I did the math in my had. Insurance. It's all about numbers. Even with a set of knuckles in my wind pipe and the rank smell of Cockney scumbag breath up my nose I knew this came to €4500 total. Where the hell would I get that amount of cash?
"I don't have that kind of money now, but..."
Another head-butt.
"I fucking told you already, sir. I ain't finished. Init?"
I nodded my head. Blood trickled down my upper lip.
"Add to this a punitive weekly interest of 100% over a time period of exactly four weeks and your debt with us comes to a total of 36 grand."
"Wait, wait...." I couldn't process it.
Head-butt number three.
"You still wanna pay for him then?"
"I ... I ... "
Head-butt number four.
"Ahhhh ... " The blood came a little more freely now. "Yes, yes. Please. How long have I got?"
"Ha-ha. He's a fucking comedian, init? Dara bloody O'Brian."
"Ha, ha. Yeah, comedian, init? A bloody Irish comedian."
"You've had your fucking time sir. There ain't no more time sir. So tell me, please, sir, how would you like to fucking pay then, sir?"
His use of sir was a bit sarcastic. Obviously. And overdone.
"Tomorrow. The banks are closed now. I need just until tomorrow."
Head-butt number five. I was getting dizzy.
"That ain't good. However, we is reasonable men, ain't we?" His thug side-kick nodded, the bulb of his nose grazing up and down against mine as he did so. "Now if you want your twat of a son to still have legs by this time tomorrow, you better have that money mate. You have 24 hrs. That's called generosity sir. You fucking get that?"
I nodded. "Generosity, yes."
"That's it, sir. You is an intelligent man, init? We'll be back here tomorrow and you better had be as well."
Thug side-kick pushed his face in even closer to mine. The cartilage in my nose flattened out against my cheekbones. The smell of his breath made me struggle and gag again.
"Do you fucking understand my associate? Sir?"
I nodded my head, just barely, and he let me slide down the wall in a heap. I watched them leave. They didn't close the door. Pig ignorant the two of them. I tried to get up but I felt like I'd just run an ultra-marathon. As I said, never underestimate the combination of fear, adrenaline, violence and shock. I had run an ultra-marathon before. It was 50 miles and took me 12 hours. This was like running one in 30 seconds.
Will's face came out from behind the living-room door again. He was shaking.
"Da. Are you OK Da? Did they hurt you?"
"Son. Is there something you need to tell me?"
Just a bit sarcastic there. Obviously.
"Do you have 36 grand?" He said. Bloody teenagers.
"Son?"
"Da?"
"Tell. Me. The. Bloody. Story."
"Jesus Da, please. I tried to but you wouldn't listen to me. You were always busy. I needed the money to buy a ring for Fiona. You wouldn't listen so I had to borrow it."
"That was about an hour ago Will. And you wanted €2000 not €36000. You need to be straight with me son. Tell me what's going on, everything."
"I didn't know it was so much Da. Honestly. I thought I just needed to give him the money back."
"Who is it Will? Who do you owe the money to?"
"His name is...."
"Out with it son. Who?."
"He's this guy in the Cash for Gold place down on Main St."
"The pawn-broker place?"
"I don't know what a prawn-broker is Da, but this guy is what they call a loan shark."
"That's worse son. Much worse. Now please tell me why? Why a bloody loan shark? You have money don't you? What about your prize bonds and your savings? Where are they gone?"
"Da, you have to listen. Please, for once." His eyes pleaded with me. It was hard, but I reigned myself in.
"It was all around the time of my mate disappearing" I wanted to shout at him. This bloody mysterious mate. Why all the secrecy? But I waited. Finally. I was learning. I'm slow, but I eventually get there.
"I miss him dad. He was like no-one I've ever met. Fearless, generous, everybody loved him, he was a fantastic guy and a great fighter."
"A fighter?"
"Yeah. MMA. He was a champion. He was going to teach me as well."
"Why didn't you tell me son? You know I'd support you in anything you wanted to do."
"Not this."
"Of course I would."
"Stop Da. Just stop it. You wouldn't have."
"How do you know I wouldn't? I've nothing against martial arts. I love them. They teach discipline, respect, self-control."
"Do you love tattoos as well?"
"What's that got to do with anything?"
He opened his shirt and drew his collar down.
Oh please Jesus no. Please no.
We were in danger of having our legs broken and our life savings stolen by criminals. I didn't need my beautiful son to become a small-town ink-splattered tracksuit warrior as well. Not after all these years of setting good examples, reasoning, explaining.
"It's part of the culture Da. You have to get them or you can't fight."
I was horrified. "Son... it looks like a... like a birth mark gone wrong for God's sake. I'll pay to have it removed, don't worry."
He shouted; "I don't want it removed. For fuck’s sake Da."
Now I was shocked. He'd never spoken to me with such passion and force before. And I abhorred that language.
"You see now why I couldn't tell you? You're so narrow minded. Rocco was covered in these things and they were making him win fights. He was unbeatable."
My son seriously believed this tracksuit voodoo. I took a deep breath.
"Go on."
"Rocco taught me so much Da. Things, look, I'm sorry to say it, but things you just never could. About courage, fearless action, love, passion, doing what you love."
"But I know about those things."
"Do you? Really? Is insurance what you love then? Is that what you burned to do when you were my age? Fearlessly selling people policies they probably won't ever need as long as they live?"
"I love you son. I love all of you. That's why I go to work every day. That's why I do what I do."
"You see? All you have to teach me is compromise. Less than. Accepting the minimum to get by. Don't deny it, your whole life is a study in pure mediocrity. I don't want that Dad. I love you for God's sake, you're my old man, but I have to do things differently."
There was a pause while we both took in the words that had been exchanged. I still needed to know the details though. Even if I was the walking essence of lower middle-class mediocrity, I still had a problem to solve.
"OK. So tell me then, why a loan-shark? Why not your savings?"
"Well first of all, Rocco didn't believe in hesitating or chickening out of things. He believed in feeling and passion. When he disappeared I figured it was time to stop thinking about life and start living it. I decided I was going to go and get Fiona Finnegan or do my best trying."
"So you had to get the ring."
"Exactly. First off, there's no savings, they're long gone. But I did cash in the prize bonds you and Ma gave me. I sold my guitar, even my iPod and phone and it all come just short of the two grand. That's where I heard about the loan shark. I went to the cash for gold and they bought all my stuff from me. Gave me cash there and then."
"So why didn't you just go and get the ring?"
"I was going to but when I came out of the shop with the money I was mugged. In broad daylight. They took the lot."
"In Darklow?"
"Main St. At the t-junction."
"Jesus son. Who gets mugged on Darklow Main St?"
Will went silent. The poor kid. I didn't need to make it any worse, did I?
"Did you manage to get a look at the thief?"
"Get a look? They just walked up to me. Two blokes in black suits and shirts. I thought they were waiters or something. From the Italian restaurant. One of them just grabbed the bag with my cash and when I went after him they stuck a screwdriver up into my neck and told me to fuck off. They just walked off, down Lower Main St. They didn't even run."
"What happened next?"
"I was panicking. I didn't know what to do. Then Rafa came out of the shop."
"Who's Rafa?"
"That big guy who had you by the throat. He was really nice."
"The one who head-butted me?"
"Yeah, he was really sound."
"Five times he head-butted me."
"He can be really decent Da. He told me to come into the shop and sit down. I told him what had happened and he said not to worry about it, they would speak to the boss and see if they could organize a loan for me. I told them the whole story, about Rocco, Fiona, everything. They seemed really interested."
Oh my God. My son. My poor son. I was only beginning to realize just how badly I had let him down. He was telling his problems to loan sharks in the cash for gold instead of his dad. What did that say about me as a parent?
"Son do you think maybe you were had?"
"What do you mean?"
"Were they together?"
"The thieves? And Rafa? No way. No way. No way."
He looked to be on the verge of tears. I put my arm around him. It had been years since he let me do that. Not since he was ten years of age.
"Get off me Da."
OK. So he was too grown up already. I needed to accept it.
"What did Rafa tell you then?"
"He made a phone call to the boss. It was all serious, then he said my name and mentioned Rocco's name and they all had a good laugh and then it was all OK."
"They said your names?"
"Yeah, Will Small and Rocco McGinty. That seemed to do the trick and then he went to get the cash. He said I could get the money back to him in a week and there would be no interest and then only 10% a week after that if I couldn't find it. Fiona was going away on holiday with her family so I needed to get the ring then, you know? Before she left. So I took the money and legged it to the jewellery shop. "
He was almost crying now. I still couldn't think. He had been set up, that I was pretty certain about, but why would his name... our name mean anything to them? Rocco McGinty, somehow they name had a familiar ring to it, but I couldn't place it. Why would they suddenly lend €2000 to a schoolboy? Were they really that evil to lend knowing that the money would never come back, that the debt would only get bigger? Why the hell would they do that?
Will was shuddering now, trying to hold in the tears. I didn't want to see him cry. He wanted so much to be a man and I wanted him to be a man too. For his sake and for mine too.
"Look son, it's OK. Don't worry. Really. We'll work this out. For sure. Whatever it is we'll sort it out together, OK?"
"Will we Da? Will we really?"
"Don't worry son. Have I ever let you down before?"
"Jesus Da. I'm so sorry."
"Come on. Is there any more to this? I'll need to know everything, OK? No hidden details. Not if we really want to sort this out together."
Will pulled himself up. I knew he would. My boy. This whole thing might eventually make a man out of him.
"I went back to Rafa, that's the guy who...."
"The head-butt guy."
"Yeah. Jesus Da... He didn't believe me and you saw what he's like. He was all angry like, as if I'd made up the story, but he was laughing as well. I didn't know what was going on. In anyway, didn't he up the interest to 100% a week. I thought if I could just get the two thousand back to him, but you heard him, now it's 36k... fuck."
"No language Will. Effing and blinding won’t help us. I don't care where we are or what’s going on, we stay who we are, right? We're the good guys here. Now what about the 12.5% interest on the first week? Where did that come from?"
Will's eyes glazed over.
"He's just a big bollix Da."
His eyes began to mist over again. I couldn't bear it.
"I told you. Don't worry son, come on."
"What are we gonna do Da? Can you just give him the money and then I'll work to pay it back? I swear Da, I'll pay every penny of it back."
"We'll work it out son. We will work it out, but unfortunately it's not that easy. I'm an insurance salesman and your mother is a housewife. Do you know what that means? We might have about €9000 in the bank between us, so there's no way we can pay it off in one go."
"But you heard him Da."
He was going into a panic again.
"Listen to me son, you have to let me think. This is something new for me, but trust me, there's a solution for everything. OK? Now calm down. Take some deep breaths."
"OK, OK."
"If we did want to pay this off we'd have the €9000. Your mother and I also have a pension fund of a few thousand that we could cash in, but it would take a week at least for that."
"What about the house Da? Can you take out a loan or something like that?"
He was a clever boy in some ways.
"The house is worth a hundred and fifty thousand Euro less than we paid for it."
His jaw dropped. He was only 15 for God's sake. Nothing but music, girlfriends and pimples on his mind. Of course we had never shared any of our family's financial difficulties with him.
"What about our car? Can we sell it?"
"For scrap maybe. We might be lucky to get few hundred for it. No, it's better we keep it, it would cost us more not to have a car. Look, you're talking about our life savings here son. Even if we did decide to pay them we'd be thousands short. We would have to try and sell the few bits and pieces in the house that might be worth something, cash in our pension fund and even then we wouldn't have the money."
"There is something we have Da."
"There is?"
"Suzy's piano."
I didn't say a word. We had never been able to give much to our kids but the piano had been an exception. It was something I was proud of. I would have done the same for Will but the problem was that he wasn't interested in anything except girls. Nonetheless, he had always resented it.
"How much is it worth Da?"
"No way son. no way. We have to think of something else. That belongs to your sister and this is your problem, not hers."
"Tell that to those guys, not me."
"Let's say we agreed to sell Suzy's piano in order to pay your debt," he looked at the ground, finally a glimmer of shame, "we paid €9000 for it. Even if we got the full amount back we would still be very, very far short. Now listen to me son, son, we'll sell it if we have to, but it still wouldn't cover your total debt and if we can't pay this off in full, in one go, I think we both know that this will just go on forever. They'll keep coming back for more."
"No way Dad? Really? They can't do that, can they?"
"What do you think? We'll sell the piano if we really have to but there must be some other way out of this."
"There's no other way Da. You have to sell it. Either you pay the money or they come back here and ruin us."
"Will, forget about the Piano. I know you don't like it but it wouldn't solve the problem. We have an advantage though."
"Do we?"
"Of course we do. These guys are just criminals. We have the law on our side."
"Oh. That." He said.
"We'll find a way to beat this stupid criminal trash. We'll beat them. I don't care about the savings and the piano, they can all go if they need to, but we have to try something else first, before we just give in to them."
We sat in silence for a minute. Will looked at me and suddenly he was my little guy again; my little boy, willing to trust in his dad.
It felt good. Even in the middle of this horrible mess, it felt good.
I know it sounds weird, but my son and I hadn't been that close in the last couple of years. These things happen. They reach a certain age and then suddenly your little one is gone forever.
Sure it could have been something less grim that brought us together, but Jesus, you have to take the positives where you can find them, don't you?
"What about your boss Da? Would he lend you that kind of money?"
"That's a full year's wages son, so no, I don't think so."
His jaw dropped again.
"A year's wages? Are you serious Da? I thought you were on like €100,000 or something like that."
"35 and a half son. And that's before taxes."
"What is it after taxes?"
"Maybe 30 or so?"
He looked like he was going to cry again. The gravity of the situation and the utter mediocrity of his old man was beginning to become even more obvious. The former to him and the latter to me.
"Jesus Da, you can't be serious."
Even though it was all his fault, still, the implication made me feel like a failure. I was never that attached to money, but looking at it now, maybe I was just being selfish, lazy. My family needed money desperately and because I had always been content to just scrape by it was coming back to bite me now. Like it or not, right or wrong, I felt ashamed. Worse than ashamed I felt every inch the mediocre nobody my son accused me of being.
"I'm sorry Will. I wish I had more. They can have everything I've got. It's only money. They can have this house if they'll take it. You guys are more important to me than anything."
He didn't look convinced. I took a deep breath and swallowed a few, small, gristly chunks of pride.
"Do you have any money son?"
Of course it was a stupid question.
"What about this €2000 ring? Do you still have it? If we can bring it back to the shop then at least we'd have the original loan back."
"I don't have it Da."
"Jesus son, I hate to have to do this, but look at the situation we're in. You'll have to ask Fiona to give it back to you. I know it's hard but...."
"It's not that it's hard Da. It's impossible. She doesn't have it."
"I don't get it. If she doesn't have it and you don't have it then....?"
"I lost it."
He was nearly in tears again. I wanted to hit him. Really. But I’d already been stupid enough. I took a good hard swallow of pride, ignorance and stupidity.
"It’s OK son, that's OK. Even better, we won't have to disappoint her. Where did you lose it? We'll go and look for it."
He was reluctant to speak.
"I tried to give it to her Da."
"OK."
"I wanted something, you know, romantic."
"OK."
"So I took her out on the