Unpardonable Sin-17

1

Just a reminder Rory Hanlon? He was arrested with Devlin back when they were nineteen.2

Chapter 123

Thomas Devlin slumped on the over-size couch, like everything in the office-den combination it broadcasted a masculine flair. He licked at the rim of his glass. Central air kept the room comfortable but made the leather cold against his back and he shivered. Between the plane incident and the time of year, he’d anticipated tonight. Mike’s phone call had been no surprise. 4

Michael O'Neill, in the pool when Devlin answered his summons, hadn’t bothered to change. The ivory of the terry robe blended evenly with his skin. He swam indoors for he held no fascination for a sun that freckled him unmercifully. Adjusting the leather recliner, he leaned back and the robe parted. Unconsciously he scratched at the sprinkling of auburn hair that adorned his chest. O’Neill appeared to be in a pensive mood. They knew each other so well, that Devlin didn’t deem it necessary to force conversation. As he waited his memory drifted back to the first time he'd been ushered into this inner sanctum.5

‘Two hundred Yankee dollars and a few pound notes were in his pocket and he wore a wrinkled new suit that hung too loosely on his teenage body. O'Neill barked at him, "Still wet behind the ears and ya dress like you were fuckin' going to a wake. You need ass-wipin' too?" Devlin stammered he was sorry; about what he wasn't sure. He downed each drink as it was poured; for three days after he thought he was going to die. Strangely it was the big man who tended to him: dumping him under cold shows, forcing food down his throat, cleaning the vomit he splattered all over himself.6

That first time was bad. Still other times were worse until he confronted the truth that he couldn't keep up. He'd be falling down drunk before O'Neill reached his roaring stage. Hampered by size, a foggy brain, and pitiful reflexes, too often Devlin ended up using ice for more than his hangover. I'll not go near the bastard again, he would promised himself as he gingerly touched a swollen mouth or traced a purple-yellow stain circling an eye. But then the phone would ring.7

With never the slightest apology, O'Neill would order, "Get your ass on over here. Got a job to keep you humping all summer." And he went. For a long time he told himself he went because he had no choice the big man owned him. As he grew older Devlin stopped lying to himself. ‘8

O'Neill had finished off two double shots and was working on his third. The whiskey caused the jaw muscles to sag adding a weary expression to the handsome face. “Your family get in okay?”9

Devlin shrugged. “Seamus picked a lousy time to visit. I’m up to my ears. John went out on limb in raising donations for the IGA and it’s not making his daddy too happy. Raymond figures any connection with the ‘Irish Troubles’ right now could work against John. The murder of their leaders turned an innocent movement into an undercover network.” Devlin groaned. “Figure that one. So we have to distance the Connors from them in one big hurry. Pat O’Donnell came to the rescue he took Seamus and the boys up to Canada for few days.” 10

O’Neill took a deep pull on the whiskey. "With Ann and the kid gone this house is a morgue. Kind of like to see Colin’s brother. Drop them here when they get back. Dede’s got plenty of junk that those boys will enjoy.” O’Neill’s mind seemed to shift gears. “If my kid had been on that plane I'd have blown the whole stinkin' island ta hell."11

Devlin didn't question which island. And Annie? He knew the other man would never say that’s what he meant. Men easily admitted emotional concerns for women they were legally bonded to, like a mother, a daughter, a wife-- but a girlfriend. He eyeballed his glass that O'Neill was freshening; already he was feeling the effects of the first one. He wondered why he didn't just tell Mike about the ulcer; why had he never told him? He still didn't. Mike wanted to see Seamus? That was strange—well maybe not. After all Seamus and Emanon had been close friends.12

"Been thinking about it all day. 'bout how the kid died. Blown from the rear he never seen it coming." O’Neill tipped his glass and emptied it.13

"It was lousy time. Catholics still believed the British army had come to rescue them from the RUC. The Protestants had gone a bit berserk thinking the British Government was betraying them. You ever been in a riot, Mike, everybody's crazy. No logic just insane panic. Bound to bring on sacrifices because the law’s not immune either."14

"Sacrifice! Shit! It sucks to go that young. Like he never lived." Noticing Devlin's nearly full glass, he ordered, "Drink up," before he refilled his own. "That kid lived.” O’Neill corrected himself. "All the time grinning. Funniest wean I ever saw. Round and fat couldn't close his legs ‘til he learned to walk. You know I was nearly fourteen before Emanon was born. More like a son than a brother.”15

Devlin just shook his head in agreement not mentioning how he’d heard it all before—so many times before. “Fine lad he was. Tended me like a nurse time they laid the fear of the Almighty on this hide. Never knew a finer lad.”16

“Aye, he was that.” O’Neill rubbed the half empty quart across his brow. “Always seeing to others Emanon was.” He snorted and poured. Then in a flash of memory grinned. “Took ‘em fishin’ time or two. First when ‘e was no more than a whelp. All over the bloody boat he was. Got so mad, I threw him in. Damn, when I pulled him out wasn’t he laughing. Don’t ‘e turn round and jump back in. Loved it; fuckin’ swam like a fish.”17

“Never knew he could swim.” Seemed important to a man who could not. Devlin added, “Never said he could.”18

“Damn! Didn’t I just tell ya? Never a lesson, mind ya, lad knew to do things right. Bloody girl--spend a fortune on lessons. Wish they’d a lesson to train her mouth. You’re a lucky lad, Tom Devlin, you got no kids.” O’Neill emphasized by refilling their glasses and toasting Devlin. As if struck by a sudden pain, he closed his eyes and whispered, “Shouldn’t a murdered him. Ain’t right to kill a lad like that.”19

Devlin knew he had crossed the imaginary line he decided on years ago. Why tonight? He drew breath deeply through his nostrils, swiped at his forehead with the glass filled hand. His words were slurring now. “Weren’t right. Fuckin’ well killed ‘em for no reason. Sure, now, Mike wished it’d been me instead.”20

“Cut that crap! Don’t wanna hear it.”21

“Sure, Mike, sorry.” Devlin hunted a hanky in his pant’s pocket, an old habit, located only his billfold and forgot what he was after while he sucked at his drink. “Pity,” he moaned, “good gotta die young.”22

“Damn!” O’Neill bellowed as he leaned forward and grabbed the front of Devlin’s shirt. “Why’d ya say that fuckin’ thing?”23

His foggy brain warning him not to struggle, Devlin squealed. “Sorry, Mike, it’s a stupid saying—don’t mean nothing.”24

And the big man’s fingers let loose and smoothed the crushed fabric of Devlin’s shirt. “Here, lad, drink up. You’re slow tonight. My pa.” He could never forget. “He said that asshole thing ta me the night the kid died. Called to tell me that. There I was sobbing like a blooming babe and my own daddy, he says to me, stay there—ain’t nothing for you here. I’m sending your nipper to you. I’ve got nothing left to give. Like I’d be askin’ him for somethin’. Me ask him!”25

“Sure, but you’d already sent for the lass.”26

“Not so. Not that way at all. Wanted the lad with me. Figured if Emanon brought Dede, he’d end up staying himself.” Tears trickled unmolested down his cheeks. “Damnit, Tom, if he’d listen to me—come.”27

“No good, Mike, can’t be blamin’ yourself.” Devlin slid down on his side mumbling, “can’t count ifs.”28

O’Neill’s chin drooped on his chest. ”Told me ta keep my nipper, he did. And ain’t he been draggin’ her back ever since.” Then he moaned. “Still hunting for pieces. Not a whole friggin’ body’s been found. Not a face a pa could recognize.”29

“The way she blew. Forget the damn plane, Mike.” Devlin slipped the rest of his way down on his back. Carefully he propped the nearly full glass on his belly. One way or another, he thought, I always end up on my backside, and he chuckled.30

“What the fuck ya laughing at?” O’Neill snorted. “Human beings turned in ta fish food? You’re a sick man, Tom Devlin, a sick man.” He discovered one drink left in his bottle. “Called pa today. My kid’s nuts,” he grumbled. “Spends the better part-o-the-year staying as far from me as she can manage, both in the same house. Not gone a couple a days, from an ocean away, she blubbers, Daddy I miss you. Puts on the act, Dede does, for the old man. All sweetness and light ‘round him. Round you too, bastard.” He attempted to glare at Tom but his muscles couldn’t hold it.31

“Not true. She bullies old Tom worse than you. You got a mean . . .”32

“Don’t you go callin’ my kid no dirty names. Sure’n I don’t bully you no how. Jack your ass now and then—keeps ya straight. Use ta clobber the kid, not often, never cried though. Stand there looking at me with those big eyes. Made me feel like shit for hittin’ him. Didn’t cry, didn’t sulk, weren’t no red-ass like you.”33

“right ya are.” Devlin was only tonguing words to fill in O’Neill’s now and then gaps.34

“Remember those eyes Tom? Were his eyes open when he died, Tom?”35

“Weren’t there. I wanted to stay. Your pa made me leave. Said that’s what Emanon wanted.”36

“Forget—forget—I wasn’t even there. More like a son than a brother. Never wanted a son, never thought about it. You want a son, Tom?”37

Devlin couldn’t answer. His mouth was gaping and he was breathing noisily through it. 38

“Damn kid.” O’Neill pulled himself unsteadily to his feet. He attempted to rescue the glass, lost it somewhere between Devlin’s belly and the desk but didn’t notice. Bracing himself with one palm on the wall, he yanked off Devlin’s loafers and stripped away the man’s belt. The buttons at his waist gave him trouble and he swore. “Wear your fuckin’ britches too tight.” He popped the buttons as he yanked the zipper. With a check of the open collar, to make certain if the man puked he wouldn’t strangle, O’Neill stumbled his way to the closet. He drew out a comforter that he tossed over Devlin. Switching off the light, he used the walls for balance until he made his bedroom.39

Devlin came awake as the first howl rang through the darkness. Only Tom Devlin had ever heard the pain when the big man cried. Opening his eyes he stared through a murky haze as his own tears welled up. He was keenly aware why Michael O’Neill, the great man, needed him. O’Neill couldn’t bury his kid brother. Tom Devlin remembered how he didn’t wait for his friend to die. He felt that he’d fled Ulster bearing Emanon’s spirit along with his identity. Tom Devlin couldn’t bury Emanon O’Neill either. 40

Belfast Northern Ireland, 196941

Standing on the steps of Saint Matthew’s Catholic Church, Emanon O’Neill nudged his companion playfully. “Tin Gods,” he said as the British patrol swung front to rear in drill along the roadway.42

“Hush,” Tom Devlin muttered. “Sure but them lads have bloody well put a choke ‘old on the friggin’ law. Cleaned them bully boys right outta the Falls.”43

Emanon answered, “Meet our new masters.” and bent in a servile bow as a British sergeant eyed them suspiciously. “Them lads are here to stay.” Emanon threw a mocking salute at the British officer.44

Though Tom snickered at the angry glare of the soldiers, he disagreed. “It was our butts burning for they came. What did that damn Dublin give us--hospital tents? Here, Catholic lads are rotten in the jails, dying by the fistful, our wretched housing is burning around us, and the Dublin flunkies do nothing.” 45

Several black Fords came tearing around a street corner expelling hurdling figures from their innards.46

Suddenly Emanon yelped. Throwing himself at Tom, he sent them both crashing on the stone steps while a petrol bomb exploded against the weatherworn hide of the old church. Beneath them the soldiers’ parade dispersed into crouching pockets of men. Their rifles swung to the ready as barking orders lifted over the thunder of deadly missiles.47

The British Sergeant yelled into his mike for aid while his patrol formed up sending volley after volley harmlessly into the air. “Stupid orders,” he growled under his breath. “Bad as pissing on a fire. Blow a few ‘eads make ‘em take to their ‘eels in a ‘urry.”48

Weapons began burping from alleys and windows to give cover to men still tossing homemade bombs. A bullet sliced across the Sergeant’s jaw splintering bone. He forced himself not to scream at the burning pain. His men snarled at the sight of a comrade’s blood flowing and their rifles leveled out hunting human targets.49

The youths spotted the old man; his dark suit was pressed shiny from too long a use. Sometime ago with age his hair had lost all color. He rubbed his smoke filled eyes as he stumbled in his confusion.50

As if perceiving the other youth’s intention, Tom grabbed at his jacket only to be left holding it as Emanon raced into the road. His youthful arms encircled the old man but in a panic the creature attempted to fight him off.51

“Leave me be!” The old man begged. Then clutching his chest he crashed to his knees exposing Emanon to an open view.52

Twin bullets slamming into Emanon’s body caused his legs to shudder in a knee-jerking dance. A horrified Tom watched the blood burst over Emanon‘s belt and trickle down his pants legs. Forgetting the danger, he ran towards the scene as his friend’s body toppled over the form of the old man.53

Hot tears blurred Tom’s sight as he dropped to knees on the pavement. Lifting Emanon’s head he cradled it in his lap as he begged, “Don’t die Emanon. Ya haven’t the right to die on me.” 54

‘Only yesterday Emanon had promised, “My brother will see to your employment.” And Tom had put the ticket and the passport, with Emanon O’Neill’s name but his picture, securely in his pocket.55

“The nipper will give me away,” Tom had worried. “She’ll not be of a mind to be calling me uncle.”56

Emanon laughed. “Deirdre? Why she’s the Devil’s own. I’ve done the explaining. She’ll not give you away. You’ve only to put up with the wee nuisance ‘til you reach New York.”57

No matter how often he shoved it back, the soft wave ended up over Tom Devlin’s left eye. “Stick with Mike,” Emanon had said. “Fuck the Yanks if you’re of a mind to but you play it straight with my brother. You wear my name, don’t ya go bedding no ugly wench and ruining my image.”’58

Tom touched his pocket and felt the ticket, the blessed one-way ticket to freedom. Then he yelled, “Ya killed ‘em! Ya bloody well killed ‘em!” and the tears came thick and hot as he struggled with the soldiers attempting to pull Emanon from his arms. 59

Thomas Devlin could not protect his ears from the roaring barked, "Drink it." as he was yanked to a sitting position. Nor could he force away the steaming cup in Michael O'Neill's large paw. The smell of the black coffee nearly gagged him but he obediently raised his pounding head, accepted the offering, and started to sip. Past experience had taught him that if he didn't O'Neill might commence forcing it down his throat.60

As Devlin began to consume the coffee, O'Neill poured a fresh cup and sat heavily down in the oversize chair at his desk. Bastard must do a blood change, Devlin silently complained. The big man's hair was darkly damp from the shower. His jaws lacked the itchy stubble Devlin could detect on his own. "What time is it?" He burped hot acid.61

"Darn near three--pm. Thought you fucking died on me lad, you drink too much."62

"Sure." Devlin's head throbbed while his bladder threatened. "Christ, I gotta take a leak." Carefully he tested his legs before he attempted to rise. Grateful for the mansion's surplus of toilets he doubted he could hinder nature any farther than the next room.63

His half open zipper was caught. Cursing he destroyed its value by forcing it down. "Five hundred bucks," he grumbled at the cost of the slacks. As the urine gushed forth he shivered in relief.64

A glance in the mirror soon confirmed he had seen dead men who looked healthier. He turned on the cold tap and splashed water over his head and face.65

His reappearance had O'Neill chuckling. "You drop the wrong end in?"66

"My maneuverability is sadly impaired." Devlin's shirtfront was wet to the waist. "Where did you hide the damn seltzer?"67

"None it there? Should be." O'Neill got up to check and returned with a foaming glass. "You blind? It was right behind the aspirin."68

Not about to dignify the remark with an answer, Devlin reclaimed a half laying position on the couch as he sucked up the cool liquid that went down kinder than the harsh coffee.69

Watching him O'Neill's face didn't betray even a touch of pity for the other suffering male. Only, suddenly, he said, "On August third, Hanlon walks."70

"Fine." Came the mumble for Devlin's foggy brain hadn't registered the words. Then it did and he jerked upright, agony forgotten. "What? How?"71

"Going to tell you last night but damn didn't you pass out on me." Continuing to consume his coffee, O'Neill's stomach protested with a loud rumbling. "Told you I talked to my old man yesterday."72

"How'd you pull it off?"73

"Don't give me credit. Pa's the big honcho over there. Told you to keep your Yankee Law home." O'Neill's insides still complaining he let off an exploding fart and sighed in relief.74

"Slob!" Then Devlin’s nose forgot the abuse as he pleaded, "Mike, I have to be there. Be there when he comes through that fucking gate. Rory Hanlon’s got no one else."75

"So, go, only don't get your ass bumped over there." O'Neill grunted. "The Army, the RUC, they're going be watching Hanlon close. Free or not he's still their meat."76

"Not if I can help it."77

"Hold on! Don't you mess in that shit. Money is one thing. I've warned you before about keeping your nose clean."78

"I'll secure him. I've connections in the South. The law can't touch him there."79

That statement drew a nasty sneer from O'Neill. "You don't believe that. First step out of line, or they just get a notion, back across the border Hanlon goes. No extradition just a fast car on a dark night."80

"I'll get him off the Island. Can't get him over here but maybe Spain?"81

"Best you wait and see what Hanlon wants." O'Neill warned. "The stupid bastard might be all primed for round two-- they usually are." 82