Mart wags the spoon at him vigorously. “Ah, no. Not for getting involved. If they go into this the way they’d put a few bob on an outsider in the Grand National, there’s no eejitry in that. But if they’re believing they’ll be millionaires, that’s a different thing. That’s eejitry. And that’s where it could all go a bit pear-shaped.” He throws Cal a sharp glance. “Your young one told them her teacher says the gold is there.”
Cal says, “Trey was there? Last night?”
“Oh, she was. Sitting in the corner like a wee angel, not a peep outa her till she was spoken to.”
“Huh,” Cal says. He thinks less and less of his chances of making it through this summer without punching Johnny Reddy’s teeth out. “Well, if she says her teacher said that, he probably did.”
“A year or two back,” Mart says meditatively, “that wouldn’ta made a blind bitta difference. But now there’s plenty of people around here that reckon your young one’s worth listening to. It’s great what a mended table can do, hah?”
“She’s not mine,” Cal says. “And this gold story’s got nothing to do with her.”
“Well, if you’re feeling technical,” Mart acknowledges, “she’s not. And maybe it hasn’t. But in the lads’ minds, it has, and she’s having an effect. Isn’t that a turn-up for the books altogether? Who woulda thought a Reddy would ever have that much credit in this townland?”
“She’s a good kid,” Cal says. He’s clear that Mart is giving him a warning, although a delicate one, for now.
Mart is reaching for another cookie, absorbed in picking the one with the most chocolate chips. “She doesn’t go running around looking for trouble, anyway,” he agrees. “That’s a great thing.” He selects a cookie and dunks it in his tea. “D’you know something? The things these lads have planned for the gold, if it shows up, would give you the pip. Cruises, and barns, and tours of Hollywood. There’s not a one of them came up with a single iota of originality.”
“What’re you gonna spend yours on?” Cal asks.
“I won’t believe in that gold till I get my hands on it,” Mart says. “But if I do, I’m telling you now, I won’t be spending it on any feckin’ Caribbean holiday. I might put in a space telescope on my roof, or get myself a pet camel to keep the sheep company, or a hot-air balloon to bring me into town. Watch this space, boyo.”
While he listens to Mart, one part of Cal’s mind has been picturing the wandering line Johnny is talking about, from the foot of the mountain through all those men’s land to the river. “If there’s gold on your land and P.J.’s,” he says, “it’s gotta run through my back field.”
“I was thinking the same, all right,” Mart agrees. “Imagine that: you mighta planted them tomatoes on a gold mine. I wonder will they taste any different.”
“So why didn’t Johnny invite me along last night?”
Mart slants a look towards Cal. “I’d say this is some class of fraud, what Johnny’s got planned for Paddy Englishman. You’d know better than I would.”
“Not my department,” Cal says.
“If you were planning anything that might be fraud, would you invite a Guard along?”
“I’m a carpenter,” Cal says. “If I’m anything.”
Mart’s eyebrows twitch at an amused angle. “A Guard and a blow-in. Johnny doesn’t know you the way I do, sure. You’ve a dacent respect for the way things are done here, and you can keep your mouth shut, when that’s the wisest thing to do. But he doesn’t know that.”
That answers the question of why Johnny came running over to Cal’s place to shoot the breeze before he even got his stuff unpacked. Not to check out the guy who was hanging around his kid; to find out whether the ex-cop was the kind who would screw with his scam.
Cal says, before he plans to say it, “He’d know it if you vouched for me.”
Mart’s eyebrows leap. “What’s this, now, Sunny Jim? Are you looking to get in on the action? I wouldn’ta had you down as the prospecting type.”
“I’m full of surprises,” Cal says.
“Are you getting restless already, or have you been turning up gold nuggets with the parsnips?”
“Like you said. There’s nothing on Netflix.”
“For God’s sake don’t be telling me Johnny Reddy’s after bringing out the eejitry in you, as well. I’ve enough of that to be dealing with. You’re not feeling an urge to dust off the aul’ badge and haul the bold fraudsters up to the Guards by the scruffs of their necks, now, are you?”
“Nope,” Cal says. “Just reckon if my land’s involved anyway, I might as well find out what’s going on.”
Mart scratches meditatively at a bug bite on his neck and considers Cal. Cal looks back at him. All his gut rebels against asking Mart Lavin for favors, and he’s pretty sure Mart knows that.
“You want entertainment,” he points out, “watching Johnny try to figure out what to do about me oughta up the ante.”
“That’s a fact,” Mart acknowledges. “But I wouldn’t want him getting an attack of nerves and whisking Paddy Englishman away from under our noses before things have a chance to get interesting. That’d be a waste.”
“I won’t make any sudden moves,” Cal says. “He’ll hardly know I’m there.”
