Alex Archer - The Other Crowd

Slater tucked his hand under an arm over the pistol. “Not that it’s any of your concern, but tomorrow night.”

“Just want to know to get the crew out on time. Settle your britches, Slater, the operation is going well.”

“This operation is a joke.” Slater harnessed his anger. “The girl—Beth—should have never gotten away. I’m going to check on the guys down by the river.”

“We moved them.” Reggie Marks, the captain of the officious little barge that camped down by the river, scratched his belly, and slapped his grungy felt cap back onto his bald head.

“And in the process you managed to lose one helpless woman?” Slater fisted his palms. “I can’t believe your ineptitude. Who hired you?”

“Your boss, that Neville bloke.” The captain sniffed, drawing far too much phlegm into his nasal cavities for Slater’s liking. He hacked and spat a globule over the starboard side of the barge. “Ain’t gettin’ paid to babysit or mollycoddle. You want we should keep some woman fancy and entertained, then you’re looking at the wrong crew. Just be thankful I didn’t let Smelly Joe get his hands on her. That man breaks his women.”

Despite his managing to keep a handle on all the operations Frank Neville had set into place since arriving in Ireland, Slater hadn’t been quick enough on the draw when hiring the barge crew. Good men were few and far. Neville trusted Slater to oversee this operation and as a right-hand man for his business deals, yet he still did a lot of work on his own. He was too determined, and far too controlling, to sit back and let it all happen.

“What you standing there for?”

Slater winced as the captain snorted again. “Nothing at all.” He turned and strode off.

TO CLAIM THE OFFICIAL title of village in Ireland, the settlement had to have a church, a post office and a pub. No other buildings required. These three things met, you have got yourself a village, Annja thought.

Remarkably, the village of Ballybeag boasted the Four Corners. Each corner featured a pub, though for all proper purposes the east corner was more a grocery store/petrol station that sold diner food and poured Guinness, as well.

O’Shanley’s sat on the west corner and Annja chose it for its smiling pink pig painted on the window. Daniel had dropped her and Eric off at a quaint bed and breakfast and they’d dumped their gear in their respective rooms. They’d missed the supper call, but the proprietress had offered to make cold beef sandwiches for them. They had dinner plans, but she left Eric behind to gobble down a few.

She sat down at the bar next to an older gentleman and ordered a Guinness. The bartender nodded and went to work. She knew a properly poured pint was all about patience.

Eric ambled in while she was waiting. He set his video camera on the warped wooden bar, ordered a Coke and winked at her. “No drinking while on the job,” he said. “A man’s gotta stay sharp.”

“Did you get footage of Beth coming out from the forest?” she asked.

“Yep, and it rocks. Her face was all ‘Hey, what’s going on? Who are you people?’ and she was stumbling and looked like she’d been through hell.”

“But no faerie dust, eh?”

“Faerie dust? Damn, I wasn’t looking for any. It should have sparkled in the sunlight, right?”

“I’m kidding you, Eric.”

“But seriously.” He leaned in, spreading a hand between them on the bar. “Maybe when I run the video through the threshold the faerie dust will show up like a black light seeking…er, well, you know.”

She did. And that image made her hope the sheets in her room had been changed since the last guests had stayed there.

“You up for a home-cooked meal in a bit or did you fill up on Mrs. Riley’s sandwiches? Daniel Collins invited us over to his mother’s this evening.”

“I’m full. Mrs. Riley made me eat three sandwiches and a huge bowl of cole slaw. It was good, but by no means could her cooking compete with a Big Mac.”

“If that’s what you want you’ll have to drive into Cork.”

“Don’t tempt me,” he said. “I may love to travel but I am a fries and burger guy all the way. I think I’ll pass on the invite. I want to check out the local music scene tonight.”

“Really? How much of a local scene is possible in a village this size? The population is less than two hundred.”

“You’d be surprised, Annja. On the way here, I saw musicians with guitars and flutes walking the street. I think they’re playing at the Hollow Bog across the way tonight.”

The south corner pub.

“It’s interesting that you’re into Celtic stuff, Eric. Good for you.”

“Celtic? Sure.” He tilted back the mug of soda, and Annja had to smirk. The kid hadn’t a clue what the local music was like. The Metallica T-shirt he wore promised he’d be more than a little disappointed upon hearing flutes and fiddles.

“You got enough money?” she asked, then inwardly cringed. She wasn’t the guy’s mother. But she did feel protective of him. She had traveled to dozens of countries and knew being abroad could be overwhelming. Away from his family, he had to feel vulnerable.

Annja hadn’t any family to claim, save for a few friends back in Brooklyn. She didn’t need family. Well, she tried to put it out of her thoughts. She’d been orphaned when she was very young. Family wasn’t necessary to survive.

“I’m cool, Annja. Do you think a video of the music would be good to insert into our piece? I mean, it would be like a montage of the culture.”

“That’s clever, Eric. I like it. Film away. I’ll catch up with you in the morning.”

He held up a palm and Annja answered by high-fiving him. Pleased, Eric gathered his equipment and left.

Annja wished the bartender would hurry, but noted her pint was only three-quarters full, and sat there waiting for the final top-off.

“Beautiful day,” she said to the man next to her. He nursed his own half-full pint.

“You folks from the dig?” His craggy voice was the closest Annja felt she’d get to leprechaun-speak.

“Yes. We’re filming for a television program that broadcasts in America.”

He nodded, his focus on the glasses lining the shelf behind the bar. Most had names written on them with a fancy scrawl and white pen. Not a big talker, she decided, but amiable enough that she might get something from him.

“I’m looking into the disappearances from the dig. Three people. Did you hear about that?”

He nodded again, and then sucked down a long swallow. “’Twould be the other crowd.”

“No offense, but—”

He chuckled as if his mouth were full of pebbles. “Ah, anytime a person starts a sentence with no offense means they are out to offend.”

“No, I—” The pint of Guinness was set before her. Liquid black gold captured in a glass. Annja dipped a finger into the thick creamy head and licked it. “If I may ask, when was the last time you saw the other crowd?”

The man made a show of turning toward her and propping an elbow on the bar. His salt-and-pepper beard had been stroked to a point. Age spots battled with bright blue veins across his cheeks. “Lassie, you need to know the other crowd are never seen, only felt.”

All righty, then. “Has this happened before? People gone missing? And the suspicion is that…er, the other crowd is involved?”

He swallowed back another tug, and took his time before answering. “I recall two decades ago Certainly Jones went missing for three months.”

“And?”

“He was found in a mud hole near the Bandon River. Broken leg.”

“He was in the hole three months?”

“No, he slipped and fell after the other crowd allowed him to go home. Had to promise them he’d never drive the Hightow Road again or cut the ash tree at the north end of his property.”