Chasing River: A Novel

I can always count on Rowen to be on time.

Except today, it would seem.

“What the hell happened to you?” I glance at the old grandfather clock that ticks away on the wall across from me. Though it doesn’t look like much—the wood dented, the glass casing scratched—it’s a Delaney family heirloom. “You’re an hour and a half late!”

“I needed a nap,” he mumbles, giving his eyes a good rub.

“A nap?”

He grins at me. “A nap.”

It finally clicks and I start chuckling. “I’m impressed.” Ivy’s obviously even harder to read than I ever suspected. “Her place or ours?”

He takes his time, stretching his arms over his head and releasing an exaggerated yawn. “Ours. Her cousin was home.”

“I hope you at least straightened the place up. The real estate agent called. She has a showing this afternoon.”

“Yeah. Did you warn Aengus? I haven’t seen him in days.”

“Left him a message.” The guy never answers his phone.

“Right. Danny! You ready for the next one?” he calls out to a regular—a lonely old man who comes in every day from one until four and drinks exactly two pints of Guinness.

“I’m heading to the office for a bit,” I announce on my way past with a load of glasses for the dishwasher. The truth is, I’d kill for a nap right now. The last time I glanced at the bedside clock last night it was after four, and it was a long while after that that I drifted off, too enthralled with studying Amber’s peaceful face.

If I inhale deeply enough, I can still smell her perfume.

Dropping into the desk chair with a groan, I power on the laptop, a luxury that Da fought for years, until Rowen and I gave up and fronted the cash. Once Da saw the value of it—how easily we could keep employee records, inventory lists, and the like—he reimbursed us.

Between the two of us, Rowen is the more computer literate. He’s taken college-level computer courses. I’ve thought about enrolling a few times, but I’ve always had one excuse or another not to do it. I know enough to get by. I can use the internet, which I open up now, Googling “map of Oregon.” The screen proves to me exactly how far Amber’s life is from mine. Searching images of the area, I get a glimpse into her world. It’s a beautiful one, full of mountains and farms that look very different from ours. Just for fun, I do a search of plane ticket prices. Seven hundred euro. Not too bad.

I heave a sigh. Fuck. Why does she have to be American?

And why am I even thinking about this right now!

Folding my arms over the desk, I lean forward and close my eyes, hoping a fifteen-minute nap will clear my mind of the ridiculous thoughts that have been churning inside my head since I kissed her goodbye at the door this morning.

Unfortunately, I don’t manage to drift off before Rowen barrels into the office. The second I look up, the second I see his face filled with worry, I know.

“A garda’s at the bar, asking for you.”

“What exactly did he say?”

“He just asked when you’d be around.”

I sigh, closing out the tabs open on the screen, but not before Rowen sees them and shoots me a questioning stare. I ignore it. He trails me down the hall to the door. I crack it just enough to see down to the end of the bar, where the garda is sipping on his coffee and reading his paper, before ducking back. “He hasn’t said anything else?”

“No,” Rowen says, adding in a voice too low for the busboy washing dishes behind us to hear, “that’s the one with the hard-on for Aengus, isn’t it?”

“His name’s Duffy. Yeah.”

“What’s this about, River?”

“It’s probably nothing, as usual.” The gardai do this every once in a while, I remind myself. They think Delaney’s is a hub for IRA information. It’s not a big deal. I grab a rack of fresh glasses and push through the door, keeping my features relaxed and my eyes away from him as I make my way over to the counter.

“So you got the message?”

I look up, feigning surprise as the lanky-limbed man watches me from his seat, resting his elbows against the counter. “What message?”

His tight smile answers. “Have you talked to your brother lately?”

“A minute ago. He’s takin’ a piss but he’ll be out soon, if you need him.”

He scratches his temple, the only sign that he’s irritated. “How about the other one?”

“Aengus?” I shrug. “He was here two nights ago.”

“What for?”

The glasses clatter as I stack them noisily. “To have a pint.”

Duffy slides his cup out without a word, signaling a top-up. As much as I’d like to tell him to fuck off, that would be a bad idea. So I grab the coffeepot and fill him up.

“Did he talk to anyone?”

“He talked to lots of people. You know Aengus, always so social.” Rowen, stepping out from the back just now, hears me and snorts.

“Give me some examples of people he talked to, River.”

“I can’t recall. It was a Saturday night. You know what those are like around here.” I carry the emptied dish tray over to its special spot, where we load it with the dirty glasses and send them back for washing. Hoping this guy takes the hint that I’m not going to snitch on my brother, no matter how big of a bastard he is. “But you should track him down and ask him yourself.”

“I’m asking you.” He wipes at the light sheen of sweat across his forehead with a cloth. “We got an anonymous tip that Aengus was meeting with Jimmy Conlon here.”

“Really . . .”

“We have an arrest warrant out for Jimmy.”

“Then it wouldn’t make much sense for him to show up here, now would it? He’d likely go to ground.”

“You would think. Especially seeing as we’re not the only ones who want him. Word is Beznick’s put a hit out on him.”

“They must really want him dead then.”

“What about you, Rowen?” Duffy shifts his questioning. “Did you see Jimmy Conlon in here on Saturday night?”

“Who?”

“Jimmy Conlon,” Duffy repeats.

“Sorry. Never met the fella,” Rowen offers. Smart kid. He’s not lying. He has never officially met Jimmy.

Duffy’s shrewd gaze lands on me. He’s losing patience. Good. Maybe he’ll leave us the fuck alone. “We got an anonymous tip that Aengus was behind the bomb in St. Stephen’s Green.”

I catch a flash in a mirror—Rowen’s head whipping around— but I ignore it, leveling Duffy with an even stare. I have a pretty good poker face, even when my insides are about to explode. “That’s a serious accusation.” As much as I should be shocked that the gardai have heard, I’m not. Some of the guys around Jimmy, including Aengus, have too much arrogance and not enough intelligence. They get drunk in pubs and boast, and the wrong person’s always listening.

“It is.” He nods, watching me closely. “Carries a sentence of at least fifteen years if we can prove it. And I will prove it, if it’s true.” He delivers the warning with a light voice, though his mood is anything but light. I know Duffy’s history. He lost his uncle and father to a bombing in Belfast in the ’90s. He’s been especially interested in dismantling all forms of IRA—both those who fight for a free Ireland and those who fight for the fight—since he put on a uniform.

“Well, you’ll have to ask Aengus about that. I’m sure he’ll tell ya the truth.”

His upper lip twitches. “I was wondering if you know anything about it, seeing as you two are so close.”

Of course it would appear that way. I visited him regularly, more than anyone else. “We haven’t been close in years. And no, I don’t. Sorry.”

“That’s good.” He pauses, adjusting his cap. “Because if I find out you’re lying about knowing something, I’ll put ya behind bars with him.” His stool scrapes against the floor as he stands. “Oh, and we also just heard that Beznick’s men may be after Aengus now too. Pass the message along to your brother, will ya?”

“Wait. What?” Rowen snaps, no longer pretending not to listen. “What does that mean?”

“It means that Aengus has done something to piss off the wrong people.”

“Ya need to do something to protect him, then. Isn’t that what the gardai’s for? Protecting people?”

“Didn’t ya hear? Gardai won’t be risking our lives for criminal organizations. We’ll no longer provide protection for known offenders because of these street wars they get themselves into. We’re only interested in protecting the innocent.” His dull blue eyes land on mine again. “I’m just letting ya know so ya can be watchful. And perhaps share information with me, River. I gather ya don’t want to be seeing the inside of Portlaoise anytime soon.”

The arse saunters out the front door of Delaney’s. I watch him, gritting my teeth. Coming into Delaney’s, in broad daylight, and threatening me, trying to get me to turn on my own blood?

Rowen closes the distance in three quick steps. “This isn’t nothing, River. What the hell has Aengus gotten himself into?”

I sigh. I’m so tired of this. And it’s never going to end. “Check the kegs before the rush.” There’s no way Rowen is getting pulled into this mess.

I slide my phone out of my pocket and head to the back, where I can deliver the warning to Aengus in private.

Fear gripping my guts tight.

I can’t go to prison.

Again.