Dublin Noir - Ken Bruen [12]
At Ballsbridge, Burke paid the taxi fare and walked up Shelbourne Road. Dublin 4. The most sought after neighborhood in the city. Bright skies and the early morning briskness countered his lack of sleep. Old stately homes lined the streets. Surrounded by sturdy stone walls, they exuded wealth and power. As a kid this would have been an alien place to him. Still is, he thought, as he reached a modern four-story apartment block in Ballsbridge Gardens. He already had a key, mailed to him in New York before he’d left.
Once inside, he realized that he could be anywhere. Luxury that would be right at home on Fifth Avenue. He dropped his bags, started the coffee machine, and minutes later sat in the large Jacuzzi bathtub watching the bubbles welcome him to Dublin.
Refreshed and dressed, he arrived at Lillie’s Bordello at 6:00. The most elite club in Dublin. Had he been here a few nights ago, after the Irish Film and Television Awards, he could have joined Pierce Brosnan and James Nesbitt as they sang “Danny Boy” at the piano in the VIP room.
This was Murphy’s idea. Drop him into the deep end. Meet who’s who in Dublin society. Hit the ground running! That’s always been Murphy’s modus operandi. Murphy was his old law school buddy at Trinity and the reason he’d returned to Dublin. Murphy had built a successful legal business, rich from tribunal money and litigation. Now, with more business than he could handle, he’d developed a distrust for his partners.
It didn’t take much persuasion to tempt Ed Burke back to Dublin. His mob clients were a little annoyed at the moment. One with a bullet behind his ear in a ditch in Westchester. Another behind bars on a federal indictment for corruption.
Jesus Christ! I really could be in New York or L.A.! The same confidence. The same body movements. Damn it. Even the accents are mid-Atlantic.
All the right people at tonight’s reception for a noble cause. Charity. Aid for Africa. Medicine for Chernoble. Sexy stuff. Good publicity for the rich and powerful.
He felt a finger trace its way up his spine, lingered to enjoy, then turned slowly and came face-to-face with her.
“Edmund,” she said, moving to within inches. No one else except his mother called him Edmund.
Just then Murphy arrived with drinks. “Ah, a reunion, you two … okay! Okay!” he protested their stares, then handed Burke his drink and moved on. But the spell had been broken.
“Pia, it’s been a long time,” said Ed, looking at the woman who had broken his heart. Days and nights of endless lovemaking when they both attended Trinity. Summers in Donegal. Running naked into the sea on the Fanad beach at midnight. Dark, Latin beauty, born in Barcelona, Irish father, Spanish mother. Something Irish flashing through, the same way you see the Irish in Anthony Quinn’s Mexican face.
“Twenty years, Edmund. You’re looking well. If I’d known you were going to be such a success …” She let the sentence hang in the air.
Ed wanted to hold her, kiss her, take her to that Fanad beach again. His mind spoke to him: Oh, Pia, I loved you so much. And you left me for that geek. Now he’s one of the top Ministers in the government. Being touted as a future Taoiseach.Speak of the devil. The man himself approached.
“Ed, I see you’re back. Good. We need your talent here. Building a great country these days.”
“Well, I’m looking forward to it, Minister. Had things looked like this twenty years ago, I might never have left.”
“Well, you’re back. That’s what matters.”
Looking at his wife, he said, “Pia, you and Ed are old friends. Introduce him around. New blood he should meet here.” And with that he was gone. Working the audience. Consolidating his mandate.
Ed Burke knew that it was a mistake.