Jan Burke - Goodnight, Irene

“So that’s what happened to your window?”

“That’s what happened to my window. And my armchair. And nearly to me and someone who happened to be in my living room.”

“Not Granddad’s armchair?”

“The very one,” I said, clenching my teeth at her priorities. “Barbara, if you know where Kenny is, you’d better call the police and ask for Detective Frank Harriman in Homicide. I’m not kidding around about this.”

Silence.

I decided to try another approach.

“Barbara, Kenny’s life is in danger. And, for that matter, until he talks to the police, so is mine.” I refrained from mentioning how much of our grandparents’ furniture might also be at risk.

“So you think he’s in danger, too?”

“What do you mean, ‘too’?”

She hesitated. Apparently she was figuring out that by asking me about the car, she had as much as admitted that she’d seen him yesterday.

“You really hate him, don’t you?”

“No, I don’t,” I lied, “I just felt protective of you after the divorce. I didn’t like how he treated you, or all the hurtful things he said to you then. I feel protective of you now, Barbara. I don’t want you to get hurt again.”

She mulled this over.

“Kenny wasn’t himself then, Irene. He was having a crisis.”

Right, I thought. Temporary insanity. Unfortunately, Barbara took this silence as meaning she needed to keep selling me on him.

“I know he said some awful things, but he’s taken them all back. He’s begged my forgiveness.”

I’ll bet he has, I thought. Out loud I said, “So you’ve seen him?”

More hesitation. “He was here yesterday. Irene, the poor man is scared out of his wits. He’s upset about his dad, but he’s sure someone’s after him, too.”

“He thinks someone wanted to kill both of them?”

“Yes. Yes, exactly.”

“Did he say why he thought someone would want to kill him?” Impatience was creeping back into my tone.

“You don’t believe him?”

“Yes, I believe him. Not a doubt in my mind that’s true.”

This appeased her. “Well, then you can see why I couldn’t refuse to help him in his hour of need.”

His hour of need? Kenny had a lifetime of need.

“But did he tell you why they are trying to kill him?” I pressed.

“No, Irene, he didn’t want to put me in danger. He told me that he had already lost his father and he couldn’t stand to lose me. That’s why he didn’t want to leave the car in front of my house. He said everyone knew that deep down he still loved me, and that this is the first place they’d look for him.”

“But it was okay to park the car next door to my house?”

“Kenny said it would be safe there.”

Well, he was right. The car was safe. It was Frank and I who almost got in line right behind O’Connor at the Pearly Gates.

“Irene?”

“Yeah, Barbara?” I was suddenly feeling weary and depressed.

“I’m really sorry putting the car there caused you trouble.”

“You had no way of knowing. Don’t worry about it. Where’s Kenny now?”

“I promised not to tell.”

“Barbara, it’s literally a matter of life and death. Please tell me.”

“I’m his wife. You can’t make me testify against him.”

“You’re his ex-wife, and we aren’t in a courtroom. If you’re happy he’s come back, more power to you. I mean that. Be happy. But for God’s sakes, Barbara, someone is trying to kill me, so tell me where he is.”

“They weren’t trying to kill you, Irene. They were after Kenny.”

I wasn’t getting anywhere. I decided to pick up a rather cruel cue stick and play dirty pool.

“Barbara, what would our mother say to do?”

I knew this would get to her. I prayed my mother would forgive me. After all, as Barbara and I used to say when we were children, she started it.

“I’ll think about it. What was that policeman’s name?”

“Detective Frank Harriman.”

“I’ll tell you what. If I see Kenny, I’ll tell him what happened to your window, and that you think they’re trying to kill you. I’ll ask him if it’s okay to tell you where he is.”

This idea did not seem likely to bear fruit. But it was obvious that if Mom couldn’t make her do it, I couldn’t begin to budge her out of this position.

“Okay, but please think about blood being thicker than water and all that. I need you, too, Barbara.”

That really confused her. “Where are you anyway? I just tried calling you at work and they said you wouldn’t be in today. Are you at home?”

“No, but you can leave a message on my machine or get in touch with me through Detective Harriman. I’m-I’m going to be moving around a lot. I’ll keep checking in with you, okay?”

“Okay,” she said uncertainly.

“I have to handle it this way, Barbara.”

“I know…Irene?”

“Yeah.”

“Is there going to be a funeral for O’Connor?”

I thought of the men with forceps and plastic bags, but shook it off.

“I guess that will be up to Kenny. But he’s probably too upset to deal with that right now.”

“I’d like to have-I don’t know-a wake or something for him.”

“He’d like that, I’m sure. We may have to wait awhile, though, because of the investigation.”

“Yeah, well, anyway, I don’t know how to give a wake, do you?”

Ah, the plight of second generation Irish-Americans-proud of the culture but not knowing near enough about it. Granddad would have known. Dad may have. We had never been to a wake.

“No, Barbara, but call Great Aunt Mary. She can tell you how.”

“Well, I’m sure there’s more to it than Chieftains’ records and a bunch of booze.”

“I’m sure you’re right.”

“I’m going to miss him.”

“Me too.”

“Oh, of course.”

Of course, I thought.

“Take care of yourself, Barbara.”

“You too, Irene.”

What an ungodly mess, I thought, as I hung up the phone.

I TOOK THE SPARE KEY from the envelope and watched the street from a window at the front of the house. No dark blue Lincolns or shiny red Corvettes. Still, I felt scared going out of the house.

I climbed into the Karmann Ghia and headed for the Thai section of town, feeling a craving for satay and pad Thai. But as I drove, I decided I should let Frank know what Barbara had said, and stopped at a phone booth to invite him to join me. I called his work number.

“Homicide,” said a deep male voice.

“Frank Harriman, please.”

I found myself watching the street while I waited for Frank to pick up the phone.

“Harriman.”

“Frank?”

His tone was abrupt. “Where are you calling from?”

“A pay phone in Little Thailand.”

He relaxed. “I was going to call you in a minute anyway. Are you getting antsy?”

“A little. Frank, are you having Barbara followed?”

A pause. “Yes.”

“Good. I don’t think Kenny’s with her now, but I’m almost certain she’ll be in touch with him later today.”

“You’ve talked to her?”

“Yes. Can you meet me for lunch at the Thai Royal over on Broadway and Pacific?”

“Give me about twenty minutes.”

I WAS FAIRLY SURE I wasn’t followed to the restaurant. It was about eleven-thirty, and Sam, the owner, was just setting up in preparation for the noon crowd.

“Miss Kelly!” he greeted me. Then his face fell. “We were very sorry to hear about Mr. O’Connor. We liked him very much. I know you have lost a good companion.”

“Thanks, Sam. Can you get me one of your private booths? And when a tall gentleman with scratch marks on the right side of his face comes in, will you please show him to my table?”