famous, or at least the house at number seven is, as the fictional home of Leopold and Molly Bloom in Ulysses . But Brennan’s destination was more in the nature of infamy. Behind the Mater is the North Circular Road, and across the road is the Mountjoy Prison. After the charges were read out in court, Finn had been remanded to the Joy, and he was about to have his first visitor.
From where Brennan stood he saw a complex of red brick and grey buildings, and two huge octagonal chimneys. He crossed the street and approached the gate. It took a while but, after a bit of bureaucratic procedure, Brennan Burke, dressed as a priest on a mission to the incarcerated, was facing Finn Burke, the incarcerated, in a prison visiting room. A long, wide table ran down the centre of the room, with a foot-high divider separating prisoners from visitors. Two officers, one at each end of the room, kept watch over the proceedings.
“Welcome to the Joy, Father. Make yourself at home.”
“Thank you, Finn. I’ll make an effort to fit in and enjoy my time here.”
“As will I.”
It was the first time this trip that Brennan had seen Finn without his dark glasses on. A pair of grey-blue eyes fastened on him from across the table.
“Will they soon be releasing you, Finn?”
“I’m settling in quite comfortably, let’s say, Brennan.”
Brennan took that as a no.
“I hope the guards treated you gently after they removed you from my sight.”
“They didn’t give me a thumping, if that’s what you mean. But my old nemesis Inspector Feeney, who has attempted to thwart my career at every turn, was there to greet me with a whole host of slanderous, unproven allegations. They nicked me for land fraud, but Feeney would have egged them on about everything from fake little artifacts that never hurt a soul to automatic weapons . . . I take it they went back to the pub with a warrant?”
Brennan nodded.
A prison warder walked past them, and they fell silent. When he was gone, Brennan asked, “Who is James Shackleton-Gore?”
“You’re lookin’ at him.”
“Will you be fighting the charges?”
“I’m always up for a good fight. Be sure to get yourself a seat in the Four Courts when I make my speech from the dock.”
“I wouldn’t miss it. What will be the theme of your speech, if I may ask?”
“Redistribution of wealth, Brennan. This is not a rich country, as you know. They keep saying that’s going to change, that we’re going to reap huge benefits from the European Union, that the 1990s will be the decade when the Irish economy takes off at long last. Well, so be it. In the meantime, in my own small way, I do what I can to improve our balance of trade.”
“You’re doing good works.”
“I am.”
“But surely you don’t give away all the money you make from your endeavours.”
“You’ve seen my home, Brennan. A nice enough house but it’s plain to see I haven’t been spending the money on high-tech items, swimming pools, or luxury automobiles. And I pay all taxes owing to the Republic of Ireland, God bless it and save it. Don’t be looking skeptical there, Father, I pay up like clockwork every year.”
“Does it give you pause at all, though? Taking these people’s money?”
“People who are willing to spend money on supposedly stolen sacred artifacts, or wee plots of land in someone else’s country just so they can say they own a bit of the oul sod, people like that have too much money on their hands. And I feel very little compunction about relieving them of it. Particularly since the vast majority of Irish people do not have that kind of money to throw around.”
“Didn’t people find out after they bought the crosses and statues and things that they were fake, or at least questionable?”
“None of them came whinging to me about it.”
“But wouldn’t they look into it?”
“They knew they were dealing with a crook, Brennan, somebody plundering and desecrating ancient burial grounds and
From where Brennan stood he saw a complex of red brick and grey buildings, and two huge octagonal chimneys. He crossed the street and approached the gate. It took a while but, after a bit of bureaucratic procedure, Brennan Burke, dressed as a priest on a mission to the incarcerated, was facing Finn Burke, the incarcerated, in a prison visiting room. A long, wide table ran down the centre of the room, with a foot-high divider separating prisoners from visitors. Two officers, one at each end of the room, kept watch over the proceedings.
“Welcome to the Joy, Father. Make yourself at home.”
“Thank you, Finn. I’ll make an effort to fit in and enjoy my time here.”
“As will I.”
It was the first time this trip that Brennan had seen Finn without his dark glasses on. A pair of grey-blue eyes fastened on him from across the table.
“Will they soon be releasing you, Finn?”
“I’m settling in quite comfortably, let’s say, Brennan.”
Brennan took that as a no.
“I hope the guards treated you gently after they removed you from my sight.”
“They didn’t give me a thumping, if that’s what you mean. But my old nemesis Inspector Feeney, who has attempted to thwart my career at every turn, was there to greet me with a whole host of slanderous, unproven allegations. They nicked me for land fraud, but Feeney would have egged them on about everything from fake little artifacts that never hurt a soul to automatic weapons . . . I take it they went back to the pub with a warrant?”
Brennan nodded.
A prison warder walked past them, and they fell silent. When he was gone, Brennan asked, “Who is James Shackleton-Gore?”
“You’re lookin’ at him.”
“Will you be fighting the charges?”
“I’m always up for a good fight. Be sure to get yourself a seat in the Four Courts when I make my speech from the dock.”
“I wouldn’t miss it. What will be the theme of your speech, if I may ask?”
“Redistribution of wealth, Brennan. This is not a rich country, as you know. They keep saying that’s going to change, that we’re going to reap huge benefits from the European Union, that the 1990s will be the decade when the Irish economy takes off at long last. Well, so be it. In the meantime, in my own small way, I do what I can to improve our balance of trade.”
“You’re doing good works.”
“I am.”
“But surely you don’t give away all the money you make from your endeavours.”
“You’ve seen my home, Brennan. A nice enough house but it’s plain to see I haven’t been spending the money on high-tech items, swimming pools, or luxury automobiles. And I pay all taxes owing to the Republic of Ireland, God bless it and save it. Don’t be looking skeptical there, Father, I pay up like clockwork every year.”
“Does it give you pause at all, though? Taking these people’s money?”
“People who are willing to spend money on supposedly stolen sacred artifacts, or wee plots of land in someone else’s country just so they can say they own a bit of the oul sod, people like that have too much money on their hands. And I feel very little compunction about relieving them of it. Particularly since the vast majority of Irish people do not have that kind of money to throw around.”
“Didn’t people find out after they bought the crosses and statues and things that they were fake, or at least questionable?”
“None of them came whinging to me about it.”
“But wouldn’t they look into it?”
“They knew they were dealing with a crook, Brennan, somebody plundering and desecrating ancient burial grounds and
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