John Brady - A Carra ring

“Tell you what I’ll do: I’ll go around with yous. Stretch me legs.”

He gave Malone the eye. Malone put up his hands.

“As long as hair-oil here doesn’t start on musical theory ”

Paddy Mac used his radio antenna to point. Minogue watched him wave it about, jab with the antenna. A conductor of sorts, he thought.

“Air freight inspections start there,” said Paddy Mac. “That’s for outbound with all the papers ready. The customs broker’s spot’s there, see? There’s the entry to the Customs Hall. Incoming, inspections.”

Minogue turned the corner and looked down at the open door at the far end of the warehouse. Paddy Mac wheeled and faced Minogue.

“This Yank,” he said “What was he up to out here anyway?”

“Well, there you have me.”

A forklift shot by the doorway and scooted out of sight behind stacks of crates. Pallets of tightly wrapped sacks rose to the ceiling behind them. The creases and the dull shine of the plastic wrap put Minogue in mind of shrouds. Pupae. He paused to yawn, and then followed Paddy Mac through a double door into what looked like another warehouse. He studied the heavy wire mesh on the cages they passed.

“Now,” said Paddy Mac. “Here’s a sight. Are you ready for this, are you?”

“What?”

“Over there, in that cage. Look at that gear, will you.”

Minogue stepped through the doorway. He tried to count the boxes. Many of them were sheathed in aluminium. Others were made of black panels edged with metal bands and reinforced corners. Paddy Mac twisted and tugged the lock out of the holder and followed Minogue.

“That’s the better part of a half a payload there,” he said. “I saw it coming in. I asked what’s his name what it was worth.”

“Who?”

“Ah, your man — what’s his name. He came out one day before they took the spot. The manager, with the pigtail.”

“The ponytail,” said Malone.

“Yeah… Daly that’s him. ‘Two hundred grand,’ says he. So I says, why not rent it all there, like.”

Minogue recognized none of the brand names on the boxes.

“‘It’s all customized,’ says he,” Paddy Mac went on. “Like I didn’t know. What it is, is to cover ’em up. To drown ’em out.”

“Do you think,” said Minogue.

“What, do you think they can actually play their instruments?”

“Why would he be out here doing the loading and unloading? Is that common?”

“Well Jases, I don’t know,” said Paddy Mac. “He doesn’t want slipups…?”

Minogue strained to read part of a sticker. Mockb — . Moscow, of course.

“Shiny lights, smoke,” Paddy Mac said. “Earrings, hats. Making a racket. Throw in a few big words, pretend they’re philosophers. That’s not your hungry kid driving an oul car up to Memphis, just him and his guitar, is it?”

Gih-tar, Minogue registered. Paddy Mac was in deep.

“Well what are they using in Germany then,” asked Malone, “if their gear is all packed here?”

“Germany? For some video gig there on the Berlin Wall or whatever the hell they were on about?”

Minogue craned his neck to see over a box the size of a sofa.

“Ah, they’d be just standing there for that. Throwing shapes, that’s about it.”

Minogue turned to him.

“How do you mean?”

“Ah the video shite,” said Paddy Mac, grimacing. “Hate to break it to yous now, but they dub everything. Didn’t you know that? It’s not the real thing at all, at all. Shapers, man That’s all.”

“Go way,” said Minogue.

“I’m telling you. It’s not singing or anything. It’s playacting.”

“So this is their gear then, their real equipment?”

Paddy Mac snorted and waved his arm. The disdain came to Minogue as the genial, indulgent sarcasm that had baffled him for years after he had first arrived in Dublin.

“I suppose,” he said. “I don’t know what’s in them. That’s for someone to inspect in the States. ”

“Not here?”

“Right. Customs here don’t touch these ones. They’ll get the treatment over beyond when that stuff lands, yes sir. They don’t be messing around over there, let me tell you. The electronics and sniffers and what have you. No messing there, man — Christ, they’ll be all over the stuff for you know what. The dope. ”

Paddy Mac plucked a pouch from a hook on the mesh by the doorway. He rummaged and scanned a half-page document. Minogue studied the sharp, even lines on his sideburns.

“Goes out to the States day after tomorrow,” Paddy Mac declared. He looked up at Minogue.

“It’s common enough, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“Really.”

“Sure it is. You have stuff brought out days ahead of time. It needs wrapping, tying up. Pallets and that? Organize the heights and widths for the plane doors. You don’t want to pull a load of stuff out on the tarmac, hoist it up to the bay, and find it’s three inches too big, do you? Jase, no. You have to shuffle stuff. Balance, weight, height. It’s a science, I’m not joking you.”

Minogue shoved against one of the boxes with his thigh. It didn’t budge.

“That’s what I’m saying,” said Paddy Mac. “Weighs a ton. And it all has to be set and balanced, packed right.”

Malone tugged at the catches on a box.

“Hold your horses,” said Paddy Mac. “You can’t be opening that”

Malone glanced at Minogue

“It’s restricted here,” he said. “I’m only showing you around.”

“Restricted how?”

“Well, first of all, we’re responsible for stuff here. There’s insurance, liability. But the big thing is we close it off so’s no one comes in and tampers with outgoing freight. Security’s the main thing. Then there’s headers, obviously.”

“Bombs, you mean?” Malone asked. Paddy Mac looked him up and down.

“Well, yeah If you put it like that. Or there’s people dropping little items in along with legit stuff going out. Contraband Drugs — but that’s all seat traffic for years, if it’s not passenger baggage, like. If they’re really stupid. ”

“So, not everything’s inspected,” said Minogue.

“On the way out? Who’s asking?”

“Just a Guard,” said Minogue.

“Like an inspector just-a-Guard?”

“Just-a-Guard.”

“Shouldn’t you be going through the APF mob for these questions? What happened to security, confidentiality?”

“Well stop us if we’re putting our feet in it.”

Paddy Mac tugged at his lip. He looked from Minogue to Malone and back.

“Okay,” he said “Okay. Only some stuff is inspected. But do you know what goes through here? Bet you don’t. Microchips. Computers. Software by the ton. Not a lot of people know that. People think it’s still butter and pigs and boatloads of Guinness. Not anymore, let me tell you. Exports, man. High tech. ”

Minogue looked at the boxes again.

“Drugs?”

“What? Drugs? You keep asking me that. Wouldn’t yous know that?”

“Haven’t a clue, to be honest,” said Minogue. Paddy Mac took a step back.

“Wait a minute. Are we just having a conversation here? Or are we talking about this band and drugs, like?”

“Just a chat,” said Minogue.

“In that case, then we’d better introduce some common sense then,” said Paddy Mac. “Who’d be such a gobshite as to stuff drugs in here? Even a week’s dope for one of them? Come on. Nobody’s that thick — not even them. Sure they’re millionaires, man. They’d have no trouble getting what they’d want on tour. Drugs. Free teenagers.”

He gave Malone a wry look.

“Like the King?” Malone asked.

Paddy Mac put his knuckles on his hips. The dust and the acrid smell from fresh plastic was beginning to cloud Minogue’s thoughts.