William Rabkin - Mind-Altering Murder

Gus felt mixed feelings flood through him. On the one hand he had hoped that whatever it was she wanted to talk to him about would turn out to be a little more personal than a request for a job. On the other hand, though, if she were an executive, they’d be working closely together every day. She might even get the office next door to his, which wouldn’t be too much of a problem since no one had moved into Ecclesine’s former space. And a relationship between two highly placed executives would cause far fewer problems than one between the company president and its receptionist.

“It’s funny you should mention that,” Gus said. “One of my first priorities is to establish an executive-training program for our employees so that we can more easily promote from within when we spot someone with great potential. You’d make an ideal first participant.”

None of that was entirely untrue. Although he had never thought of such a thing until this very moment, the trainee program had become Gus’ first priority as soon as Chanterelle suggested she might want an executive position. And since the entire program was designed to bring her into greater proximity to Gus, it would be hard to argue that she was anything but ideal for it.

Gus studied her closely, waiting to see if she’d give him one of those heartbreaking smiles. But she was still studying the greenery at her feet.

“I didn’t mean for me,” she said. “I meant for my da.”

“For Jerry?”All of a sudden the concept of the executive-training program seemed so much less appealing.

“He knows so much about this company,” she said. “And he’s a hard worker. And everyone loves him.”

“That’s all true,” Gus said. “Do you think he’d like to be, I don’t know, manager of information services? Or does he know anything about computers? How about manager of physical information services?”

“I’m serious,” she said. If she had stomped her foot on the grass before marching away, it wouldn’t have felt out of place. “I mean a position of real authority and responsibility, not some fancy title to make him feel better about what he’s been doing for decades.”

“I thought he loved doing what he’s been doing for decades,” Gus said. Why was he arguing with her? Why didn’t he just say he’d make Jerry an associate vice president? He had the power now, and what was the point of having power if you couldn’t use it to reward those who had helped you on the way up? Especially when their daughter was staring up at you with eyes like the moon, and all you had to do was say yes and she’d fall into your arms. Not that she had made that an explicit part of the deal, but Gus was definitely getting that vibe.

He wanted to say yes. And that was what stopped him. Because he understood the instincts that were driving him toward that answer, and they weren’t the instincts of a successful corporate chieftain. He might well decide later that the idea of promoting Jerry was an excellent one. But before he committed himself he wanted to do a little due diligence. The man had been with the company for decades and he’d never been promoted before. Maybe there was a reason for that.

“What do you expect him to do?” Chanterelle said. “Spend his days cursing and his nights weeping? He’s a proud man, but fiercely ambitious. Sure, he’s got a menial job title, but he’s passionate about changing the world. He’s never going to ask for what he wants, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want it as much as the next man.”

Passionate about changing the world. Gus let those words rattle through his head until they bumped up against the thoughts he’d buried there.

“Just how ambitious is he?” Gus asked tentatively. “I mean, how far would he go to get what he needs?”

“I’m not the right person to ask,” Chanterelle said.

“If not you, then who?”

“Bertie Murphy, Casey Reilly, and Daniel Flynn,” she said.

“Who are they?”

“They’re nobody,” she said. “Not anymore. Just three more forgotten men in Shankill Rest Garden.”

“Rest Garden,” Gus said hopefully. “So they’re friends of his in an old folks’ home?”

“Very old folks,” Chanterelle said with a hint of a smile. “Some of them hundreds of years, all buried together.”

“Buried?” Gus said. “I assume they were someone before they were buried.”

“Provos,” she said gravely.

“What, they rode on train cars?” Gus was completely lost now.

“Not hobos, Provos,” she snapped, and for a second Gus could have sworn he saw a glint of contempt in those fabulous eyes. “Members of the Provisional IRA.”

Now Gus was completely lost. “I’ve got a 401 (k) through the company,” he said. “I didn’t know they had other retirement plans.”

“In his youth my father was a member of the Irish Republican Army ,” she said, enunciating the last three words carefully enough that Gus would have to realize what the initials referred to. “He and his three mates, Bertie, Casey, and Daniel. In 1969, the year they all turned nineteen, came the rupture.”

Gus had an image of all the good people in Ireland being called up to heaven while a handful of others were left behind to do battle with the devil. But that one glint of contempt in Chanterelle’s eyes was enough to keep him from asking if this was what she’d meant until she’d given a few more details.

“Ah, yes, the rupture,” he said knowingly. “I remember it well. Or I would if I had been born yet.”

“Even as a boy, my da believed that the only way to resolve the troubles was through peaceful negotiations,” Chanterelle said, eyeing him as if he were about to say something stupid. “But his mates lacked his patience. They bought into the anger of the Provos. They wanted to be part of the violent revolution everyone thought was about to come. But they were just boys. There was no way the Provos would take them on unless they could prove themselves.”

Gus started to feel a sense of dread in the pit of his stomach, although he wasn’t sure yet exactly why. “So how would you go about proving yourself back then?” he said as casually as he could, as if he thought the tenor of the answer would be determined by his tone of voice.

“How do you ever prove yourself?” Chanterelle said. “If you want to be a thief, you steal something. If you want to be an arsonist, you burn something down. And if you want to be a killer…”

“Who did they kill?”

“Simple murder wasn’t enough to get them into the Provos,” she said. “These people were terrorists. They aimed to use violence to coerce the English into realizing that the price for staying in Ireland was too high for the rewards. So the acts they committed had to be terrible indeed. And if my da’s three friends wanted to impress the Provos, whatever they did had to be at least as bad as anything they might have done themselves.”

Gus didn’t want to hear any more. But he couldn’t turn away yet. “What did they do?”

“It’s what they planned to do that’s important,” Chanterelle said. “There was a Protestant nursery school they had to walk past every day. They decided they were going to kill all the children.”

Gus was shocked beyond words. “And Jerry knew about this?”

“They told him,” she said. “They were so proud of their plan. They wanted him to join them. They could only get their hands on one gun, but they could make as many gasoline bombs as they needed, and Bertie worked for a gardening service, so he could get plenty of machetes for the close work.”

“He didn’t,” Gus said. No matter what suspicions he might have had about the man, there was no way he could have been capable of an atrocity like this.