Shambles Corner. Edward Toman
Castlereagh Police Station helping with inquiries. Lily made it up to visit him once or twice, but she had no news of McCoy. It wasn’t till a month later, when he was home on bail, that word reached Portadown that his business partner was back in Armagh, a married man, and that the former señorita from Acapulco, whose tales of depravity had occasioned many a wet dream among the brethren, was now living in the ice-cream van on the Shambles Corner, and heavy with child.
‘Have nothing more to do with him, that’s my advice,’ Lily repeated. ‘He’s been nothing but trouble since you took up with him.’
‘Give over, woman,’ he said dourly. ‘The cunt owes me money.’
‘That’s nice talk from a boy who’s supposed to be saved! Money will be a quare lot of good to you if they take you away again.’
‘At least I had peace when I was inside.’
‘I suppose you picked up that sort of language in the jail above. And God knows what else! I’m telling you, Sammy Magee, I rue the day I ever invited that McCoy into the house.’
The RUC let him stew for a while. Then they dropped all charges and closed the file on Ramirez. No good would come of prolonging the agony, dredging up memories that were best left to lie.
They were home by the time Joe had finished telling his story, with the dog sniffing at their feet to welcome them and Teresa’s footsteps on the stairs.
‘So you see he killed the goose that laid the golden egg,’ Joe said with a wink as he helped the boy out of his wet coat. ‘Dipping his wick with the raven-haired señora.’
‘God forgive you, talking like that!’ his mother shouted, running in to shield the boy’s ears from further innuendo.
‘But the damage had been done,’ Joe went on. ‘Wounds don’t heal that easily. The gauntlet had been thrown down. If McCoy got away with a stunt like that, he’d think he could get away with anything. It was up to Father Schnozzle to show him he couldn’t.’
He paused as he lit a cigarette. Frank looked at him expectantly but his father had gone quiet, lost in thought.
‘You’ll not need to worry about Schnozzle for a few years yet,’ he told him.
‘Say what you like about him,’ his mother said, ‘he’s the only one who had the nerve to stand up to the likes of McCoy. They had a perpetual novena and a torchlit procession down the Falls Road every night.’
At the mention of Belfast his father spat, as he always did, ceremonially into the dying embers of the fire.
‘And there’s more scandal tonight,’ she said, lowering her voice. ‘One of the McGuffin crowd has spoiled a priest; they’ve run away together and him with only weeks to go. It was on the radio.’
‘Holy Jesus!’ Joe said. ‘Schnozzle won’t take that lying down.’
‘It’s well past that boy’s bedtime,’ she interrupted. ‘And say no more about the priests to him. There’ll be time enough for talk like that when he’s older.’
As it happened, Frank didn’t have to wait that long to hear the story of Schnozzle Durante and his struggle with the heretics, or to meet him in the flesh either. He had gone with his father the length of Benburb, chasing a rumour that the monastery there had set up a round-the-clock call-out service for emergency absolution. Joe didn’t think much of the idea. Call out a monk in the small hours, after a party or a domestic row or other occasion of sin, and the neighbours’ tongues would be wagging for a year. As a man with a need for circumspection in that area he didn’t intend to have the blue light flashing outside his door too often. In any event the rumour had proved groundless, and after a frustrating hour or so they had hitched a ride back to the town.
He wasn’t the only one in need of a relaxer that evening.
With Frank at his heels he was hardly through the door and out of the rain when he knew that something was amiss. ‘You’ve got company,’ Eugene informed him, indicating the snug under the stairs. Joe turned to run. Whoever wanted him had intimidated the Patriot Arms into unaccustomed silence. He tripped over Frank, sending the child sprawling in the sawdust. The man in the snug rapped loudly on the frosted glass partition; Joe looked round to see Schnozzle’s gaunt silhouette ordering him over.
‘Sit down, Feely! Don’t make a bigger eejit of yourself than you have to.’
‘Is it yourself, Father?’ Joe said, trying to stifle the tremor in his voice. ‘I heard just now you wanted a wee word.’
‘Shut up and listen! I’ve wasted enough time in this hovel. And so have you! There’s work to be done, Feely, while bucks like yourself sit drinking and yarning. Our Holy Mother the Church is daily under attack!’
‘I’ll just get myself something to wet my whistle …’ Joe suggested. Schnozzle silenced him with a curt wave of his hand.
‘You’ve heard the latest scandal from Belfast. Don’t try pretending you haven’t.’
Joe spat on the floor. ‘You mean that business with Cornelius Moran? Terrible altogether.’
‘Everywhere the priesthood is under attack. From within and without. First it was Ramirez treating the Holy Mass as a circus act, now this.’
‘I’m with you there, Father,’ Joe agreed. We all did our bit. The missus was out every night throwing stones.’
Throwing stones is all some are fit for! But you, Mister Feely, are fit for more …’ As he spoke he moved his face closer, daring Joe to pull away from him.
‘What can I do? Sure I’m only a bit of a farmer!’
‘Don’t play games with me! Do you think for a moment I don’t know the dirty business you’re part of? Do you think I don’t know about your little trips here, there and everywhere, and what you’re trafficking across the border every day of the week! You’re a lad who likes to sail close to the wind. Some day, maybe too close!’
‘A few cigarettes! Maybe a crate of spirits …’ Joe protested.
‘Cut the cabaret act! Don’t treat me like a fool! Rubber goods are getting through to the twenty-six counties under the noses of the Guards. Half of Dublin is flooded with filth!’
Joe blanched. Hearing a priest talk of rubber goods could only lead to trouble.
Eugene silently entered the snug and placed, unbidden, a ball of malt at his elbow and a drop of best brandy for the priest, before sidling offsides again. Joe took a sip and prayed for guidance.
‘How can I be of assistance to you, Father?’ he asked.
‘You can keep your eyes open and your mouth shut! I want to know the whereabouts of Cornelius Moran and the McGuffin woman. I want to know the whereabouts of anyone else who is hiding from the Church authorities. I want to know what McCoy is planning. I want to know what happens on the Shambles before it happens! When I need you, I know where I can find you.’
Schnozzle lifted the brandy and downed it in a single gulp. ‘And get that boy of yours home out of here. This is no place for a lad of his age.’ He rose to go and every eye in the bar was on him.
‘This very minute, Father,’ Joe said, signalling to Eugene his urgent need for a refill.
‘There’s a boy has just been to see Big Mac above in the Palace,’ Peadar the vegetable man ventured when the coast was clear. ‘And by the look of him I’d say the old man tore him a new arsehole before he let him go.’
‘By all accounts things aren’t going too well on the Falls Road,’ Eugene said.
‘A