The Ghosts of Belfast (The Twelve)

Fegan held the politician’s eyes as he drained the glass.

“People round here look up to you. You’re a Republican hero. The young fellas need a role model, someone they can respect.”

“Respect? What are you talking about?” Fegan put the glass on the coffee table. The chill of condensation clung to his palm and he let his hands slide together, working the moisture over his knuckles and between his fingers. “There’s no respecting what I’ve done.”

McKenna’s face flushed with anger. “You did your time. You were a political prisoner for twelve years. A dozen years of your life given up for the cause. Any Republican should respect that.” His expression softened. “But you’re pissing it away, Gerry. People are starting to notice. Every night you’re at the bar, drunk off your face, talking to yourself.”

“I’m not talking to myself.” Fegan went to point at the followers, but thought better of it.

“Then who are you talking to?” McKenna’s voice wavered with an exasperated laugh.

“The people I killed. The people we killed.”

“Watch your mouth, Gerry. I never killed anybody.”

Fegan met McKenna’s blue eyes. “No, the likes of you and McGinty were always too smart to do it yourselves. You used mugs like me instead.”

McKenna folded his arms across his barrel chest. “Nobody’s hands are clean.”

“What else?” Fegan asked. “You said ‘for one thing’. What else do you want?”

McKenna circled the room, the boy following, and Fegan had to twist in his chair to keep him in sight. “I need to know what you told that woman,” McKenna said.

“Nothing,” Fegan said. “I’m not much of a talker. You know that.”

“No, you’re not. But a reliable source tells me the cops are going to start digging up the bogs near Dungannon in the next few days. Round about where we buried that boy. His mother told them where to look.” McKenna moved to the center of the room and loomed over Fegan. “Now, how did she know that, Gerry?”

“Does it matter?” Fegan asked. “Jesus, there’ll be nothing left of him. It’s been more than twenty years.”

“It matters,” McKenna said. “If you open your mouth, you’re a tout. And you know what happens to touts.”

Fegan tightened his fingers on the chair’s armrests.

McKenna leaned down, his hands on his thighs. “Why, Gerry? Why’d you tell her? What good did you think it’d do?”

Fegan searched for a lie, anything, but found nothing. “I thought maybe he’d leave me alone,” he said.

“What?” McKenna straightened.

“I thought he’d go,” Fegan said. He looked at the boy aiming his fingers at McKenna’s head. “I thought he’d leave me alone. Give me some peace.”

McKenna took a step back. “Who? The boy?”

“But that wasn’t what he wanted.”

“Christ, Gerry.” McKenna shook his head. “What’s happened to you? Maybe you should see a doctor, you know, get straight. Go away for a while.”

Fegan looked down at his hands. “Maybe.”

“Listen.” McKenna put a hand on Fegan’s shoulder. “My source talks only to me, nobody else. You’ve been a good friend to me over the years, and that’s the only reason I haven’t gone to McGinty with this. If he knew you opened your mouth to that auld doll, it’s your body the cops would be looking for.”

Fegan wanted to jerk his shoulder away from McKenna’s hand. He sat still.

“Of course, I might need you to return the favor. There’s work I could put your way. I’ve a few deals going on, stuff McGinty isn’t in on. If you can stay off the drink, get yourself right, you could be a big help to me. And McGinty doesn’t need to know what you said to that boy’s mother.”

Fegan watched the boy’s face contort as the other shadows gathered around him.

“Do you understand what I’m saying to you, Gerry?”

“Yes,” Fegan said.

“Good man.” McKenna smiled.

Fegan stood. “I need a piss.”

McKenna stepped back and said, “Don’t be long.”

Fegan made his way up the stairs and into the bathroom. He closed and bolted the door but, as always, the followers found their way in. Except the boy. Fegan paid it little mind, instead concentrating on keeping upright while he emptied his bladder. He had long since gotten used to the twelve witnessing his most undignified moments.

He flushed, rinsed his hands under the tap, and opened the door. The boy was there, on the landing, waiting for him. He stared into the darkness of Fegan’s bedroom.

Fegan stood for a moment, confused, as his temples buzzed and the chill pulsed at his center.

The boy pointed into the room.