The 13th Apostle: A Novel of a Dublin Family, Michael Collins, and the Irish Uprising by Dermot McEvoy

it. Your man had just finished his counting and was about to declare the IPP candidate the victor. Mick said to him, “Can I have a word with you in private?”
    “Certainly,” your man said.
    “My name is Mick Collins, and I run the National Aid Society Association in Dublin. May I ask your name?”
    “Thaddeus Lynch” was the reply. He was a little man with a wee mustache, and he wore the same old-fashioned winged collar that my own Da was so fond of. Tiny wire spectacles were perched on the end of his nose.
    “Mr. Lynch, I represent the Sinn Féin candidate, Joe McGuinness, who is still in jail for being a patriot.”
    “Yes,” said Lynch, oblivious. “Put him in to get him out.”
    “Exactly,” said Collins. “What’s the tally?”
    “Bad news for Mr. McGuinness,” said Lynch. “He won’t be getting out of the gaol anytime soon. It’s the IPP by 25 votes.”
    “You miscounted,” says Mick.
    “No, that’s the correct count.”
    Mick then pulled a revolver out of his coat pocket and said, “You don’t understand, sir. You miscounted.” He then pulled the hammer back. Lynch got even smaller, and I thought he was going to faint. “Harry, do you have those ‘missing’ votes?” Harry handed them over. “Start counting!” says Mick.
    “37 new votes for Sinn Féin !”
    “Nice work,” says Collins. “Now go out front and announce it. And that’s that.” Mr. Lynch was only too happy to comply. I can hardly wait to see the papers in the morning, with the headlines declaring a Sinn Féin victory.
    “You cheated,” I said to Mick later, as we enjoyed a drink before bed. Mick eyed Harry, who was chatting up Kitty Kiernan on the far side of the room.
    “No, Eoin,” said the big fellow, with a tight grin. “Sometimes you have to help democracy along a little bit.” He took his eyes off Kitty and looked at me. “You think the British fight fair?” He raised his glass of whiskey and clinked mine, smiling. “Always remember, Eoin, the old Fenian adage: ‘Vote early, vote often.’ “

20

    E oin paced back and forth nervously in front of the Traitor’s Gate, waiting for Róisín. She was five minutes late, and he wondered if he had been stood up. The nervousness left his face as soon as he saw her coming down the side of the Green.
    “Did you t’ink I forgot you?” was her greeting.
    “I didn’t know,” said Eoin honestly.
    “Don’t worry, I didn’t forget you,” and she punctuated the remark with a peck on the cheek.
    “Come on,” said Eoin, gently taking her by the elbow and heading into the park.
    “So how was your trip with Collins?”
    “Don’t you read the papers?”
    “What?”
    “Jaysus, Róisín, the bloody Longford election.”
    “That was yours?”
    Eoin wanted to say yes, but he decided to tell the truth. “It was Mick’s project.”
    “So the Big Fella is finally earning his pay!”
    “Mick earns his pay every day,” said Eoin, defending his friend and boss, turning red in the process.
    Róisín looked at the boy and smiled. “Great work in Longford—you and Mick!”
    “Thank you,” said Eoin. “Would you like an ice cream?”
    “I’d rather have a bloody drink,” she replied.
    “I know where we can go.” Eoin grinned as he took her hand and reversed course, leaving the Green and heading towards Grafton Street.
    “You know a place where they’ll serve a woman in this goddamn town?” Róisín queried.
    “I do.”
    “On a Sunday?”
    “Always on a Sunday!”
    They walked in silence until they bumped into Vinny Byrne. “Eoin,” he said, “great work in Longford!”
    “Jaysus, Vin, don’t tell the world!” Vinny vigorously shook Eoin’s hand and then spotted his companion. “Vinny, this is Róisín, who took care of me in the GPO.”
    Vinny bowed gallantly, getting a laugh out of Róisín. “Nice to meet you, ma’am. Where are you two off to on this beautiful spring day?”
    “For a fookin’ drink, I hope,” replied Róisín,