John Nance - Headwind

The President turned down Garrity’s invitation to watch the fireworks, electing to return to the airport hotel to order a sandwich through room service, while a relieved Matt Ward feigned delight in doing the same thing as he continued his vigil over the man.

Seamus Dunham had a wife and child to attend to, which left Sherry and Jay in the effusively resilient hands of Michael Garrity, for whom the word “no” apparently held little meaning.

“Nonsense!” he had replied heartily when Jay tried to beg off what was increasingly sounding like an impending pub crawl. “Regardless of what happens tomorrow, there’s a local law requiring me to show you some of Dublin, and I shan’t be cited for contempt of tourism.”

“Really, Michael, I appreciate it but…”

“I’ll hear no objections,” he roared, “and that goes for you, too, young lady!” he said, nodding to Sherry.

The protests were obviously in vain, so they had reluctantly agreed to a quick swing around the city, with a quick bite at one of Michael’s favorite watering holes.

But that was all, Jay had cautioned. Neither of them was in a celebratory mood.

Michael Garrity’s car proved to be a trial in itself. The car was an expensive model, but too small for Jay to be comfortable in front or back, so he tried to be gallant and take the rear seat. But he ended up sitting sideways, his legs too long to fit in the miniature space behind the front seat, even when Sherry moved the front passenger seat fully forward.

She insisted on switching at their first stop and he agreed, reluctantly. Michael stopped the car and Sherry relocated, catching Jay’s appreciative eyes before he slid into the front seat. Michael accelerated away again with the verve of a Mario Andretti blowing the pace car off the track.

“Do you folks always drive like this?” Jay managed after a close encounter with a passing truck had raised his heart rate.

“Like what, Jay?” Michael asked with complete innocence, prompting Jay to drop the subject.

The Four Courts was a required stop on any tour, though the front doors were closed. “You’ll be seeing enough of it tomorrow,” Michael intoned, as if the prospect was joyous instead of ominous. He catapulted the car into motion again for a high-speed pass at Trinity College, Dublin Castle, and O’Connell Street, “named for the patriot, not our bloody judge,” he said, negotiating another turn at several times the force of gravity, by Jay’s calculation.

“Now, see that bronze statue there?” he asked, wagging an index finger a dangerous distance out of the driver’s window as he whizzed past the oversized figure of a comely mermaid sans clothing, lying blissfully in a cascading fountain.

“Most Dubliners won’t show visitors the touristy sights like this, but I think they’re a part of our culture. That’s supposed to be the goddess of the Liffey, Dublin’s central river, or somesuch nonsense. I can never remember the full story. We just call her the ‘Floozy in the Jacuzzi.’ ”

He reversed course with the subtlety of a fighter pilot pulling 7 G’s and shot south toward the center of the city again, diverting to the right along the south bank of the river and rocketing past a railway station with his arm and index finger once again waving in the breeze.

“That would be more or less a Mecca for us Dubliners,” he said, pointing to the Guinness brewery. “They don’t give tours of the main brewery anymore,” he said sadly, “but they’ll still give you a taste for free at their little store. And you know, it really does taste better right near the gates of the place than anywhere else on earth.”

“I’ve heard that,” Jay managed, holding onto the armrest with a death grip as he looked back to see Sherry doing the same, her eyes one dimension wider than normal.

“Well, it’s true. I’ve had that elixir just about everywhere, and I swear you could navigate back to Dublin by following the trail of the ever-sweeter pints.”

Michael turned for a moment to make sure they’d been listening.

“Is it true, Michael,” Jay asked in response, “that they used to run ads alleging Guinness was as good as a medicine?”

Michael turned to grin at him. “What do you mean ‘alleging,’ my boy? It is good for you. Doctors here in Ireland even prescribe it for lactating mothers.”

“What,” Sherry laughed, “feed your newborn a pint a day?”

“No, no, Sherry. Feed yourself a pint a day and you’ll give better milk.”

“Only in Ireland,” she laughed.

They zoomed into a garage west of the Temple Bar district and Jay unfolded himself from the front and helped Sherry from the back before following Michael to a pub called the Brazer Head, across the Liffey from the Four Courts. Smoky, loud, and small inside, the pub was filled with members of the legal profession. Michael turned before pushing open the door and proclaimed it one of the oldest pubs in Dublin and the alternate “library” for Dublin’s barristers. “This old establishment has been plying its trade since the seventeenth century,” he said.

“Library?”

“Oh, I didn’t mention the Library before, did I? Our office at the Four Courts is really the main law library. I’ll show you tomorrow. It’s very historic. Only barristers are allowed inside, and you can stand outside and look in, watching us trying to keep our wigs on as the solicitors call for us at the front desk.”

They found a small table toward the back, and Michael ordered a round of Guinness Stout, proclaiming it the national drink as the three pints arrived bearing perfect heads of tan foam.

“Now, we’ll have an agreement, we will, if you don’t mind. No talk of tomorrow.”

“Fine with me,” Jay said, letting himself almost relax. His eyes drank in Sherry’s soft smile across the table as she nodded in mutual assent.

“You really love this town, don’t you, Michael?” Sherry said, having to repeat herself over the din in the pub.

“I do indeed, especially since the world has changed so much here. Less than fifteen years ago, we were the same poor little country of fact and fable, stout of heart and empty of pocket until the dot-coms of the world found us. Now… well, look around you. These days we call ourselves the Celtic Tiger. Actually, we say the Celtic Tiger has arrived. Prosperity’s flowing in, and we’re all pinching ourselves and getting used to the idea of an Ireland that’s economically robust. Imagine that! We’ve actually got people immigrating to Ireland if you can believe it!”

“I’m pleased to hear it,” she said.

“Jay, you told me some of your people are Irish,” Michael said. “What do you think of us so far?”

Jay smiled at their host. “I haven’t had a lot of time to evaluate what I think, Michael, but…”

“But… if you weren’t so worried about John Harris, you’d like us a lot, and you’ll like us better if we let your client go, right?”

“Something like that.”

“Fair enough.” He raised his glass of stout. “Slainte!”

Jay and Sherry both echoed the word and the gesture as Jay watched Michael down half the pint in one easy motion.

“I was told you didn’t drink, Michael,” Jay said, watching Michael’s eyebrows flutter up in surprise before he could extricate his mouth from the glass.

“ What ? Who on earth told you such a scandalous lie?” he asked, smiling skeptically.

“The solicitor in London who recommended you. Geoffrey Wallace.”

“Oh, Wallace! That was the meeting in Edinburgh. I don’t drink much, Jay, but that was just a windup.”

“A joke?”

“Yes. The bloody Brit was going on about how all Irishmen were drunkards, which is scandalously wrong, and so I thought I’d disappoint him. Apparently it worked.”