“Sorry to hear about your mother, Brendan,” said Terrance. “Looks like our information was a bit behind the curve. But then there’s that American phrase, Shit happens, even to us, sometimes. So -- the wake’s about to get started. And the funeral’s set for day after tomorrow. I know you’re a good boy, Brendan, and you won’t want to miss any of that, so why not just answer a few questions and let us send you on your way? Right?”
I just cast a glance at the cameras in the upper corners. They hadn’t moved. He noticed.
“Don’t rely on them for anything. They’re ours -- but you’re a smart lad, ain’t you? You already know that. Funny -- but it’s the smart ones who crack the easiest. They think because they’re smart, they can outfox us. But they can’t.” Christ, did they all use the same playbook for their interrogations? “We can keep at this for as long as we want. So show me you really are smart, Brendan. Answer one question. Who was the other lad at that bombing with you and your brother?”
Colm, sprang to mind but I didn’t say it. So they really did want that one bit of information. Even after eight years. Why? Why did it still matter? Of course, I had no answer, so I just sighed and looked at the floor. The clean linoleum looked even cleaner than before, which for some reason unsettled me. Then Terrence took my chin and forced me to look at him.
“Didn’t you hear me? Who was the other man with you and your friend? Who was it set the bomb that blew up your girl friend? We know he didn’t act on his own; he hadn’t the nerve for it. Another man was seen with you both. Who was he? First name’s all we want. We can take it from there.” He waited then added, “Was it Barry Quinn?”
I’d no idea who that was, and I think it showed in my face. He nodded.
“Eugene Heaney?”
Danny’s uncle? That man was no more capable of murder than Daria. Christ, I’d though HE was aimed for the priesthood, with his ways. What the devil did they think they were saying? Just nonsense to confuse me? Not even Paidrig would have responded to something so obvious.
Terrence kept up with more names, not one of which made any sense in regards to what he was asking, each time gripping my chin a bit harder till finally his nails were digging into my skin -- and he shoved me back hard enough to make the chair tip and let me fall to the floor. I landed hard on my side, jamming my shoulder and wrist against the belt and crying out, despite myself. His mates picked me up and set me back in the chair, without a thought.
That bastard cough came back and I felt my stomach quiver, but I did not look back at Terrence as he bent over to face me.
“Brendan, this is stupid. All we need is one name. One name and you can walk out of here. Go to your mother’s wake. And her funeral. You’re a good boy, Brendan; you’d want to do that. All good boys want to do that.” I still would not look at him. “Are you afraid PIRA or INLA will find out you talked to us? Is that why you’re so quiet?”
Truth is, I hadn’t thought about that as a complication. But I had heard that they would make people even suspected of informing disappear, and no one thought for a second they’d just been banished from Ireland. So were there any indication I’d become a grass for the Brits, I’d probably follow suit -- straight into a grave. Meaning whether I spoke or didn’t, the ending would be the same.
“We can protect you, you know,” Terrence kept on with. “We can fix it so they don’t know you spoke to us. Or we can blame another person. We got more than enough informants in the six counties. Blaming one of them’d be no trouble. ‘Fact, it’d be worth it to get the bastard who helped you murder five people.”
Five people? I thought four had been killed at Joanna’s father’s place. No -- wait -- he’s spouting wrong information to get you to talk. He’s all but saying, Correct me; show me you’re smarter than me; talk. This was stupid. He and Tailored had already used this trick on me, so why be so obvious in using it, again? I just sighed and closed my eyes and --
SMACK! He slapped me off the chair! I landed on my stomach and grunted in pain. I gasped in air and my gut heaved from the sudden crush against the floor. His mates just grabbed me under my shoulders and sat me back in place.
“You’re going to talk to me, Brendan,” Terrence snarled, his voice deep and angry.
I felt blood trail from my nose, and had the sense he’d reopened the cut on my face from the commander’s pistol. I coughed, but this time from the pain in my gut and not from fear. I was too filled with adrenalin to now be afraid of him. Now I was ready to fight for my survival...or even for my death.
I think Terrence sensed this change in me. He stepped back and nodded, then he said in a voice that was too, too calm, “That was a stupid bloody thing for me to do, wasn’t it? You Irish knock each other around all the time, so you probably like that sort of thing. Well, your mates with the RUC already tried this and got bollocks, so I’m not wasting my time with it.”
He nodded to his mates and they yanked me up to lay me atop the table as he stepped out of the room. My head hung over one end, and my calves hung over the other. My ankle shackles were attached to the table in some way, so I had little range in which to move my legs.
Terrence came back in, a moment later, followed by the guards carrying two empty tubs and some pails of water. One tub was set on the floor, under my head, and the pails lined against the nearest wall. Then the guards left. I’d no idea what this devil was planning, but I knew it wouldn’t be good, not from the evil kindliness in his eyes.
“All right, Brendan,” he said in a voice as gentle and soothing as the devil’s, “I’ll give you one more chance. Who was the man with you and your mate? The man who helped you set the bomb that killed so many people? What was his name? All I need is his Christian name. I can find out everything else I want from that. So just tell me -- what’s his first name?”
I looked at the ceiling, beginning to shake, again. And I coughed. He nodded.
“Well,” he sighed, “we’ve had a lot of success in loosening tongues with this method, and no fucking poofter from the Red Cross need even know.”
He lay a thick cloth over my face so I couldn’t see. I heard a pail being lifted and felt his mates hold me down by my shoulders, each one also pressing against the side of my head to keep me from moving. Then water began spilling into the cloth.
I had no idea what the fuck they were doing. The water choked me and I swallowed some -- and in truth it felt good on my throat -- but it kept coming and coming and coming and I couldn’t gulp it down and it went up my nose and into my lungs and I began to cough and fought to breathe and panic seized my heart as the water overwhelmed me like I was sinking under it and I roared and began to fight like a madman -- and then the cloth was gone and I was choking and coughing and gasping in air and my head was fit to burst from the sudden piercing pain in it and Terrence grabbed me by the hair and slapped me two, three, four times to force me to focus on him and I could barely understand him as he snarled, “That was just a taste of it, Brendan. I can do this for hours and days. So give me his name.”
I gulped in more air, deep and fast -- and I spit at him. I fuckin’ spit at him. I don’t know which of us was more surprised at me doing it, but he roared and slapped me another four or five times then jammed my head back and fitted the cloth over my face and began pouring the water onto it, again.
I just cast a glance at the cameras in the upper corners. They hadn’t moved. He noticed.
“Don’t rely on them for anything. They’re ours -- but you’re a smart lad, ain’t you? You already know that. Funny -- but it’s the smart ones who crack the easiest. They think because they’re smart, they can outfox us. But they can’t.” Christ, did they all use the same playbook for their interrogations? “We can keep at this for as long as we want. So show me you really are smart, Brendan. Answer one question. Who was the other lad at that bombing with you and your brother?”
Colm, sprang to mind but I didn’t say it. So they really did want that one bit of information. Even after eight years. Why? Why did it still matter? Of course, I had no answer, so I just sighed and looked at the floor. The clean linoleum looked even cleaner than before, which for some reason unsettled me. Then Terrence took my chin and forced me to look at him.
“Didn’t you hear me? Who was the other man with you and your friend? Who was it set the bomb that blew up your girl friend? We know he didn’t act on his own; he hadn’t the nerve for it. Another man was seen with you both. Who was he? First name’s all we want. We can take it from there.” He waited then added, “Was it Barry Quinn?”
I’d no idea who that was, and I think it showed in my face. He nodded.
“Eugene Heaney?”
Danny’s uncle? That man was no more capable of murder than Daria. Christ, I’d though HE was aimed for the priesthood, with his ways. What the devil did they think they were saying? Just nonsense to confuse me? Not even Paidrig would have responded to something so obvious.
Terrence kept up with more names, not one of which made any sense in regards to what he was asking, each time gripping my chin a bit harder till finally his nails were digging into my skin -- and he shoved me back hard enough to make the chair tip and let me fall to the floor. I landed hard on my side, jamming my shoulder and wrist against the belt and crying out, despite myself. His mates picked me up and set me back in the chair, without a thought.
That bastard cough came back and I felt my stomach quiver, but I did not look back at Terrence as he bent over to face me.
“Brendan, this is stupid. All we need is one name. One name and you can walk out of here. Go to your mother’s wake. And her funeral. You’re a good boy, Brendan; you’d want to do that. All good boys want to do that.” I still would not look at him. “Are you afraid PIRA or INLA will find out you talked to us? Is that why you’re so quiet?”
Truth is, I hadn’t thought about that as a complication. But I had heard that they would make people even suspected of informing disappear, and no one thought for a second they’d just been banished from Ireland. So were there any indication I’d become a grass for the Brits, I’d probably follow suit -- straight into a grave. Meaning whether I spoke or didn’t, the ending would be the same.
“We can protect you, you know,” Terrence kept on with. “We can fix it so they don’t know you spoke to us. Or we can blame another person. We got more than enough informants in the six counties. Blaming one of them’d be no trouble. ‘Fact, it’d be worth it to get the bastard who helped you murder five people.”
Five people? I thought four had been killed at Joanna’s father’s place. No -- wait -- he’s spouting wrong information to get you to talk. He’s all but saying, Correct me; show me you’re smarter than me; talk. This was stupid. He and Tailored had already used this trick on me, so why be so obvious in using it, again? I just sighed and closed my eyes and --
SMACK! He slapped me off the chair! I landed on my stomach and grunted in pain. I gasped in air and my gut heaved from the sudden crush against the floor. His mates just grabbed me under my shoulders and sat me back in place.
“You’re going to talk to me, Brendan,” Terrence snarled, his voice deep and angry.
I felt blood trail from my nose, and had the sense he’d reopened the cut on my face from the commander’s pistol. I coughed, but this time from the pain in my gut and not from fear. I was too filled with adrenalin to now be afraid of him. Now I was ready to fight for my survival...or even for my death.
I think Terrence sensed this change in me. He stepped back and nodded, then he said in a voice that was too, too calm, “That was a stupid bloody thing for me to do, wasn’t it? You Irish knock each other around all the time, so you probably like that sort of thing. Well, your mates with the RUC already tried this and got bollocks, so I’m not wasting my time with it.”
He nodded to his mates and they yanked me up to lay me atop the table as he stepped out of the room. My head hung over one end, and my calves hung over the other. My ankle shackles were attached to the table in some way, so I had little range in which to move my legs.
Terrence came back in, a moment later, followed by the guards carrying two empty tubs and some pails of water. One tub was set on the floor, under my head, and the pails lined against the nearest wall. Then the guards left. I’d no idea what this devil was planning, but I knew it wouldn’t be good, not from the evil kindliness in his eyes.
“All right, Brendan,” he said in a voice as gentle and soothing as the devil’s, “I’ll give you one more chance. Who was the man with you and your mate? The man who helped you set the bomb that killed so many people? What was his name? All I need is his Christian name. I can find out everything else I want from that. So just tell me -- what’s his first name?”
I looked at the ceiling, beginning to shake, again. And I coughed. He nodded.
“Well,” he sighed, “we’ve had a lot of success in loosening tongues with this method, and no fucking poofter from the Red Cross need even know.”
He lay a thick cloth over my face so I couldn’t see. I heard a pail being lifted and felt his mates hold me down by my shoulders, each one also pressing against the side of my head to keep me from moving. Then water began spilling into the cloth.
I had no idea what the fuck they were doing. The water choked me and I swallowed some -- and in truth it felt good on my throat -- but it kept coming and coming and coming and I couldn’t gulp it down and it went up my nose and into my lungs and I began to cough and fought to breathe and panic seized my heart as the water overwhelmed me like I was sinking under it and I roared and began to fight like a madman -- and then the cloth was gone and I was choking and coughing and gasping in air and my head was fit to burst from the sudden piercing pain in it and Terrence grabbed me by the hair and slapped me two, three, four times to force me to focus on him and I could barely understand him as he snarled, “That was just a taste of it, Brendan. I can do this for hours and days. So give me his name.”
I gulped in more air, deep and fast -- and I spit at him. I fuckin’ spit at him. I don’t know which of us was more surprised at me doing it, but he roared and slapped me another four or five times then jammed my head back and fitted the cloth over my face and began pouring the water onto it, again.
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