Chapter 27 Chapter 27: The Wake
The bar, usually a cacophony of laughter, clinking glasses, and raucous singing, was unnervingly quiet, the silence itself a heavy, mournful presence. The usual emerald-green glow from the shamrock neon sign was dead, the power likely diverted, leaving the room swallowed by shadows and the flickering, sombre light of a few candles. Only about ten people lingered inside, their hushed conversations and the soft clink of glasses only amplifying the funereal atmosphere. I approached Molly behind the counter, her eyes were puffy and red from crying, her normally vibrant spirit dimmed.
“Hey, Molly.” She glanced up, forcing a thin, watery smile. “You look lovely,” she sniffed, her voice thick with emotion.
“Thanks, Mol.” I slid the stack of Chids across the polished wood. “Here’s the money I owe you. Mind stashing my bag behind the bar for me?” She took both the money and the rucksack, her movements slow and heavy, then held up a glass in silent question. “Your usual?”
“Yes, please.” As she poured the dark-amber whiskey, she jerked her chin toward a corner table. “Your crippled friend is over there. Seamus isn’t too happy about him being here, but… you know.”
I downed half the drink the moment it touched the counter, the familiar burn a welcome anchor. My eyes were fixed on Max, but I kept speaking to Molly. “Is he in yet? Seamus?”
She smirked, a faint ghost of her usual self. “He’ll be down in a minute. He’s upstairs with Lacy.”
I flashed her a grateful, understanding smile and headed to Max’s table, the silk of my dress whispering against my thighs. I dragged a heavy wooden chair over, the screech of its legs on the floor unnaturally loud in the quiet room and joined him.
“Tilly.” Max eyed my drink greedily, his own glass sitting empty and forlorn in front of him.
“Max.” I turned and called over to Molly, my voice cutting through the murmur, “Two more beers, small ones.” Locking eyes with him, I waited, the silence between us stretching.
“So?” he blurted, unable to bear it. “Three guys, all armed. Good ones. 450 Chids total, 200 now, the rest when it’s done.”
Molly slid the two frothing glasses between us. “That’s great, Max.” I counted out 200 Chids and handed them over. The notes felt flimsy, a paltry sum for the danger they represented. “Take this to them. Tell them there’ll be a covered wagon waiting tomorrow at sunrise, northeast gate. All permission slips ready. It’s just me and one driver making the run.”
He downed half his drink in one long, nervous gulp. “And me, Tilly. I want in. I’ve got a gun, I can help.” He tapped a lump under his grubby coat.
“I don’t think so, Max.” My voice was flat. The last thing I needed was a liability.
He leaned in, his breath smelling of cheap beer and desperation. “I can guard the wagon, sit up front with the driver. Keep a lookout.” Before I could stop him, he pulled out a short, mean-looking sawed-off shotgun from under his coat. The worn wood and tarnished metal gleamed dully in the candlelight. “Ride shotgun. For real.”
I grabbed his wrist and shoved the gun down under the table, my heart hammering against my ribs. “Put that away, you idiot. Now.”
“I need to come. You need me.” His voice was a whine, edged with a pathetic kind of pleading. “I’m useful.”
I sighed, the fight draining out of me, replaced by a weary pragmatism. Maybe an extra pair of eyes, however flawed, was better than nothing. “Fine. Alright, Max. Go pay them off. We’ll meet you at the wagon tomorrow. Don’t be late.”
He drained the rest of his beer in a final, triumphant swallow and stood, a crooked grin splitting his face. “Thanks, Tilly. You won’t regret it, I’m good in the field.” Then he was gone, hobbling out and quickly swallowed by the gathering crowd outside.
The bar started filling up in earnest around five-thirty, the sombre mood gradually giving way to the low, respectful hum of a wake. Seamus came down the narrow stairs, Lacy trailing behind him, still straightening her black dress and smoothing her hair. Her lipstick was slightly smudged, but she was smiling softly, a private, contented look that was utterly at odds with the occasion. The moment Seamus’s boots hit the main floor, the whole place seemed to brighten by a few degrees, his presence a gravitational pull.
“Looks like thirty workers getting ready to send a good lad off!” he bellowed at Molly, his voice a familiar, comforting roar. “Better pour me a drink before my throat closes up from the dust in here.” Then, his sharp eyes scanning the room, he spotted me. A wide grin spread across his face. “Ah, Tilly, was just thinking about you.”
Lacy, now beside him, looked momentarily stunned, her eyes flicking between us.
“And Christ, girl,” Seamus added, his gaze taking in the dress, the makeup, the transformed me. “You look smashing tonight. A sight for sore eyes.”
I stood and joined him at the bar, the silk rustling. He handed me a shot of what smelled like his best whiskey without asking.
“Sláinte.” We knocked them back in unison, the liquor a smooth, fiery balm. He winked, then poured another two fingers into each glass. “So,” he said, his voice dropping to a more conversational level. “What’s new in your world, besides breakin’ hearts?”
“Had a little chat with the Brits earlier,” I gulped, the second shot going down easier. “John Smith says he’s sorry about Liam.” His eyes flicked over me, noting the carefully concealed evidence of my “chat.” “And you’re still in one piece. Impressive.”
I remembered the beating, the casual cruelty. “Yeah, he’s got a funny way of saying hello. But he mentioned he and some of his boys would swing by tonight under a truce flag, pay their respects to Liam’s mum.”
We drank again. “Sláinte.”
“As it should be. Right,” Seamus said, turning serious, his boss-voice taking over. “I want you mingling with the guests. Keep the peace. Ricko and Sean, you take the doors. No fighting. Not a single raised voice. Tonight, everyone in here is family, including the Brits. Got it?”
Nods all around, a silent pact made.
“Now get to work,” he ordered, clapping his hands together softly. “And lay off the booze, I need you sharp, Tilly. Eyes open.”