“Specially if the lads go investing in that company of Paddy Englishman’s, on the strength of that bitta gold your young one found, and then the whole thing goes to shite.” Mart grins. “Bobby won’t be a happy man if he misses out on his internet woman.”
“Bobby’s a good guy,” Cal says. “There’s plenty of women that’d be glad to run into someone like him.”
“None a them live round here, though. Now there’s an example,” Mart adds, struck by a thought and pointing his crook at Cal to emphasize it. “Everyone knew Bobby had his eye on Lena, till you came along and swept her off her feet—not that she woulda had him anyhow, but sure, he doesn’t know that. Bobby doesn’t act like he’s holding any grudge against you, but you wouldn’t know, would you?”
Cal has made up his mind. It sets that dark terror pumping through him, but he doesn’t see that he has much choice. “I don’t give a shit who holds what against Johnny,” he says, straightening up from Rip. “But I don’t want to see the kid getting any blowback.”
Mart cocks an eye at him. “Theresa that was in the pub last night, waving around bits of gold she’s after digging up? That kid?”
“Yeah. That kid.”
“Sure, if there’s any gold found at all, she’ll be grand. Johnny’ll get a bitta—what did you call it, now?—blowback, if there’s not enough for the lads to break even. But your Theresa never made anyone any offers or any promises. The place won’t hold her daddy’s shite against her.” He flicks Cal a glance. “Unless she’s after doing something foolish herself, like. If that yoke she brought into the pub doesn’t hold up, let’s say. If there was no more gold found at all, or if Johnny was to take the lads’ cash and run for the hills. That wouldn’t be great news.”
Cal doesn’t say anything. After a minute Mart nods and goes back to examining the sky, sucking meditatively on his teeth. “If I was in your shoes, Sunny Jim,” he says, “and I’m only delighted I’m not, but if. The first thing I’d do is explain to Johnny Reddy that him and his business associate need to saddle up their horses and get outa town.” His eyes pass briefly, with no change of expression, over Cal’s bruised face. “If the message didn’t get through, then I’d drop a word in the ear of someone that might have a bit more firepower. And then I’d have a wee chat with that child. Set her straight on a few things. Tell her to keep the head down till this is all sorted. And for Jaysus’ sake not to do anything else foolish.”
“And she wouldn’t get any shit from anyone.”
“Ah, God, no. No harm, no foul. Like I said, Johnny’s not her fault.” Mart smiles at Cal. “As far as we’re concerned, boyo, she’s your young one, regardless of who made her. Once you’re in good standing, so is she.”
Cal says, “According to Mrs. Duggan, there’s never been any rumors about gold around here. Not till Johnny Reddy brought them in.”
That takes Mart by surprise. His eyebrows shoot up, he stares at Cal, and then after a moment he starts to laugh. “Dymphna Duggan,” he says. “Jesus, Mary, and all the saints in the calendar, I shoulda known she’d have something to contribute. I’m kicking myself, so I am, for not thinking of her before you did. I couldn’ta talked to her myself, mind you, she hates the bones of me, but I shoulda got someone to do it—not that it woulda done any good, most likely: she’d get more entertainment outa watching the action than outa anything them big lumps coulda offered her. For the love a God, bucko, tell me, before I die of curiosity: how’d you get it outa her? Dymphna never in her life handed over that caliber of intel outa the goodness of her heart; she’d want some high-quality material in exchange. What’d you give her?”
“Trade secret,” Cal says. He thinks of Lena waiting for him on his back porch, the taut hum of tension coming off her. He’s always known, and accepted without difficulty, that Lena has spaces she keeps private from everyone including him. The thought of her laying those bare to Mrs. Duggan makes him wish he had been a lot more thorough with Johnny.
Mart eyes him, assessing. “D’you know, now,” he says, “I wouldn’ta thought you’da had anything she’d fancy. She’s an awful fussy feeder, is aul’ Dymphna. There’s one or two things that I know you’d know better than to offer her, and apart from those, I can’t see what you could have that’d tickle her taste buds.”
“That’s just ’cause you think I’m predictable,” Cal says. “Doesn’t mean everyone else feels the same way.”
“Lena Dunne, now,” Mart continues thoughtfully, taking no notice of that. “Your Lena. She’s a woman of mystery, or as near as we’d get around here. I’d say she could get Dymphna Duggan’s mouth watering, all right, if she wanted to bad enough.”
Cal rolls up his handful of Rip’s burrs and shoves them into the hedge. “Go on,” he says, giving Rip’s flank a slap. “Git.” Rip streaks off to find Kojak.
