Unpardonable Sin--12

Chapter 71

New York City, 19812

If June was any indicator, the residents of New York City could prepare for a hot and muggy summer this year. Thomas Devlin crossed over from Forty- Fourth Street to Fifth Avenue. He walked briskly, his ordered mind going over his immediate problems and categorizing them as to their significance. He attended to urgent issues but constantly sifted through the others in matter of importance. 3

His new offices would open by the end of the month. True they were in the Connors Building but not openly connected to them. He was his own man. He’d had his fill of answering to some prick. Well almost, he grinned, there was still Mike. 4

He entered the Shannon. Only eleven thirty a.m. and already the air-conditioner whistled loudly in the restaurant. Michael O’Neill liked early lunches and he didn’t care to eat alone.5

O'Neill sat in the back lounge of the Shannon sipping a coffee while watching the news. He glanced up at Devlin’s entrance and a smirk appeared on his face. He rapped his knuckles on the table as he said. “Damn, but all it takes is an ounce of lead to make a bloody hero. That prick Hinckley fixed it so only a real assassination will free the White house for the next eight years—if then. That nick on the neck made Reagan a bigger idol than JFK.” 6

Devlin had other things on his mind as he slipped into a chair across from O’Neill. Still, he rode with the conversation. “So the Democrats just give lip service for the next election and put their dollars into congressional races. We’ll do all right.”7

The television cameras left the American President to his shy smiles and showed an overseas scene of devastation. The news cameras panning from shore couldn’t give a clear picture of the efforts going on so the public was subjected to verbal opinions and descriptions. The area, not a bit foreign to either of them, caused O’Neill’s remark. "Damn shame, a plane coming down like that.”8

"Pity," Devlin agreed. "They’re saying it was a bomb. It took the leaders of the International Gaelic Association. The IGA had some darn good ideas. Build up a nonpolitical Irish awareness group geared towards the young."9

"When the hell were you ever interested in something nonpolitical? Didn't get far did they? All twenty of them turned into fish food." O'Neill gulped the remains in his cup and motioned for a refill. "A psycho blew that plane." It sounded like he was attempting to convince himself. "Not a reason in hell for anyone else to. I ordered. You want something?"10

"Coffee," Devlin said. "Think I’ll forgo lunch. Got a meeting with the Connors at one. They always lay out a spread."11

“Raymond’s letting Johnny Boy move back home.” O’Neill chuckled. “Must have figured five years of being civilized by the English was enough.”12

A quiet time, before the lunch crowd descended, the owner of the Shannon brought O'Neill's order toting along a draft for himself as he joined them. "Pat." Devlin smiled at the welcome company. “You throwing a big ta-do for Megan’s graduation?"13

"Nah," Pat O'Donnell said. "The lass don't want no party." The thick foam from the beer encircled his lips and he paused to run his tongue around them. "Stubborn business. Claims she ain't got enough friends to fill a washbasin let alone a pool. And she don't want me loading up the place with old people who'll only come ‘cause they owe me." He gave a short laugh. "Nice kid I got." He appeared to toast himself with the beer mug.14

"Now don't play hard ball on Meg," Devlin said. "She's a good kid."15

"You're right there. When you see what's running loose these days. But damn it, Tom, I only got me one kid and she makes me feel like a pauper. Says I should put the money into buying her furniture for her new pad. Can you beat that? Sometimes I wish to hell you'd never gotten her that newspaper job." 16

Michael O'Neill, had only been toying with his food. His face showed a rather blank expression as if his thoughts were somewhere else. Now, with a show of surprise, he asked, "Pat, you're not hurting on funds?"17

"Hell, no, it's just this argument the girl and I been having. Don't like her moving into Manhattan. It ain't just the living alone, don't want her going away period."18

"Time comes they all do," O'Neill said. 19

"What?"20

"Nothing Pat." O'Neill shoved from the table. "Got some things need taking care of." He paused and asked, "Pat? You sure you aren't hurting for cash?"21

O'Donnell gave a negative shake of his head and waved the offer off. A wise man, Devlin thought, the last person Pat would accept money from was The O'Neill. Pat O'Donnell liked owning his own soul.22

Eyeing the hardly touched and abandoned lunch plates, O’Donnell said, "Something bothering him?" It was more a statement than a question as they watched the restaurant door swing shut.23

Devlin guessed out loud. "Likely thinking how his kid, if there hadn’t been a change in plans, could have been on that plane that got dumped in the Irish Sea. "24

"Shame about that. Saw it on the news.” O'Donnell switched to, "You coming to dinner Friday? Megan's doing the cooking."25

"Suppose I better then. Got her a little something for graduation."26

"And most likely ya spent too much." O'Donnell's grumble was false and he added, “Tom, you’re good for Megan. You make her laugh. The lass is too damn serious.” O'Donnell's meaty palm fell on Devlin's shoulder in a parental squeeze. Years of friendship allowed this older man to easily read Devlin’s moods. "Rough few days?”27

"Seen better." While Devlin was cautious with what he shared with others, he felt confident, he could trust this man. "Should have heard Raymond Connors on the phone to Beechen. Small wonder the Atlantic didn't turn to steam." He gave a short laugh. "His Lordship told that fag, he better get his ass back here pronto or his boyfriends were going to have to locate new digs."28

"That old guy can raise a rumble." O'Donnell snickered. "Raymond must be beating himself up bad. He kind of hand picked Beechen for his daughter. Shelia Connors was some looker before she crawled into the bottle. Use to come in here back then with Mike. Kind of thought her and Mike had something good going. Damn, don't she up and marry that English fellow."29

"Her break down is not all Jim's fault," Devlin said. "Nor Shelia's for a fact. How'd you like to be the only daughter of a tyrant." He shrugged. "A princess in a household determined to raise up King Connors the first." 30

“Them Connors got a proud name.” O’Donnell snickered like it wasn’t true.31

“Never told you, did I?” Devlin thought a minute. “Got a brother-in-law and a couple of nephews back home name of O’Donnell. Must have been what drew me to your place at first. ” 32

“You were a snot nosed kid. Needing a touch of family.” 33

Well, he would be having his fill of it the next couple of weeks. Seamus and the boys were headed his way. At first the idea of having his dead sister’s kids for a visit appealed to Devlin. Recent developments were causing him to rethink the playing a host part. 34

John Connors was moving back to the States. Raymond Connors had given Devlin the task of overseeing the news stories and events that would set John up as a Congressional hopeful. They just commenced laying out their plans when, James Beechen, fed up with his alcoholic wife, had deserted the family. Shelia in a fit of hysterics took an overdose of sleeping pills. Devlin was a certain it was only a ploy for attention on her part, but it caused a heck of a ruckus. 35

Ever since a couple of their colleagues had brought down a President of the United States with ‘Watergate’ reporters were hungry for exposés. The type of stories that once only filled tabloids and were mostly laughed at were becoming headline news. A homosexual brother-in-law and a suicidal sister could spell disaster for John Connors.36

While Pat O’Donnell continued to reminisce about their past, Devlin’s eyes shifted to the back booth. Their booth, and he shoved the Connors problems temporally from his mind as he remembered with a smile. 37

New York City 196938

Only a teenager back then, Tom Devlin had spent his first rough week in New York with Michael O'Neill badgering him about how he walked, how he talked, how he dressed. 39

O'Neill had brought him into this Stage Irish pub the previous afternoon for lunch. Tom sought it out alone that evening for the simple pleasure of sharing a bit of home. 40

The small head bobbing up and down over a large book at a rear table surprised him. Little girls were not a common sight in a street bar.41

"My kid." The proprietor said as it became obvious how the young man's glance shifted continuously towards the girl. "Thinks she's got me fooled into believing she's doing her homework."42

A bunch of soft chuckles coming from the back booth drew Devlin to the girl. He grinned down at her with the question, "Sure your studying lass must be more fun than mine?"43

Her chestnut hair was clipped nearly as short as the boy’s so the delicate features of her face were conspicuous. Blue eyes above a tiny nose, ringed round with freckles, sparkled with mischief as Megan said, "You're real Irish?"44

"That's a fact." 45

"I'm cheating. See?" Megan held a history book open to expose the comic book. "Don't let on to my pop." 46

"Never a squealer lass."47

“Good, you can sit down then." Megan O'Donnell ordered the young man.48

Tom Devlin sat and they talked and laughed together. Soon, drawn by the sound of his usually so serious child's nonsense, Pat O'Donnell, joined them. 49

Many times young Devlin made his way to that booth. And soon he was no longer a lonely boy in a foreign land. Friday night suppers at the O'Donnells' became a ritual; holiday dinners a necessity; as these two people filled a void he so desperately needed. 50

“You’ll pull it all together, Lad.” O’Donnell had mistook a grownup Devlin’s silence for worry. “Them Connors know you’re the best when it comes to solving their problems.”51

Devlin’s pleasant memories faded and he frowned. “Hope you’re right, Pat. One thing for certain, I’ll never get fat the way they keep me hopping. Not likely I’ll live long enough to turn a pleasant gray.”52