Evil for Evil: A Billy Boyle World War II Mystery by James R. Benn

Author:James R. Benn [Benn, James R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Collaborationists, Irish Republican Army, Detective and Mystery Stories, Historical, Mystery & Detective, World War; 1939-1945, World War; 1939-1945 - Collaborationists - Northern Ireland, World War; 1939-1945 - Military Intelligence, Fiction, Americans - Northern Ireland, Americans, Historical Fiction, War & Military, Mystery Fiction, Northern Ireland, General, Military Intelligence
ISBN: 9781569475935
Google: F00mPXa7ZAwC
Amazon: 1569478511
Publisher: Soho Press
Published: 2009-09-01T07:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER * TWENTY ONE

I SAT IN the jeep, parked across the street from the bank, and watched. I wanted to get a feel for the pattern of movement in and out, where people came from and where they went after their banking was done. The clientele was mixed, businessmen and workers, older ladies in big hats, and a couple of guys in uniform. Respectable, like a downtown bank in Worcester or Springfield on a slow day.

I walked up and down the street. Lots of limestone had gone into this burg, the buildings all three or four stories, neat and square, the line of rooftops following the curve of the ground, chimneys dotting their procession like a connect-the-dots drawing. I heard the bells of both cathedrals chime, the high notes of the Catholic Saint Patrick's competing with the deeper tones of the Protestant Saint Patrick's. Either way, they both told the same story. Time was slipping away. It would have been helpful to have Kaz along. We could have split up, asked our questions, and be done in half the time. But there had been no chance of that. Kaz hadn't made the trip to Jerusalem. He'd been ordered back to London by the Polish Government in Exile--the folks who actually were in charge of him, if anyone was. He was listed as a liaison officer with Eisenhower's headquarters but he worked with me in Ike's secret Office of Special Investigations, dealing with low crimes in high places, the kind of thing Uncle Ike wanted taken care of quietly, so as not to hinder the war effort. With me in Northern Ireland helping the Brits, Diana with the SOE, and Kaz back in London on whatever was up with the Poles, the only guy minding the shop in Algiers was Corporal Mike Miecznikowski--Big Mike--a Detroit cop who'd joined us after Sicily. I hoped Kaz would be back soon, and I began to think about the past few months as the good old days, the four of us working together, never thinking we'd soon be scattered all across Europe like this.

I stopped in O'Neill's pub. It looked bright and cheery, the outside painted yellow and the door sporting a fresh coat of varnish. I asked the barkeep if he'd seen any of the guys in the pictures I laid out on the bar.

"Are you not drinking?" he replied, more in amazement than confrontation.

"Too many stops to make. I'd be drunk before I was done. Recognize any of these fine fellows?"

"Who are you then?" He kept running a rag over a glass that was by now bone-dry.

"Just a Yank. Humor me, OK?"

He puffed out his cheeks and sighed at the demands I put upon him. He looked at the two old men at the bar and one older gent at a table, and probably decided this was the most interesting thing that was going to happen today. He looked at the photos of Pete Brennan, Eddie Mahoney, and Adrian Simms, picking up each one, studying it, and setting it down with careful ceremony.

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