moving, my instincts tell me to stop.
Odd. Finn is easygoing yet careful about safety.
Worried, I push into his room.
Then stop short.
Finn is sprawled out on the floor. He’s on his back, right arm stretched overhead. Wearing pants, one sneaker, and a shiny new black eye. An empty bottle of whiskey lies within reach.
What. The. Hell.
I bend and squeeze his big toe. “Finn.”
Nothing.
I pinch it harder and shake his leg. “Finn. Wake up.”
Nothing. He’s out, stone-cold.
First, he ghosts me, then abandons working with me, and now he’s going to waste more time sleeping off a bottle of liquor, leaving me in the lurch and my investigation in limbo?
I. Don’t. Think. So.
I march into the bathroom, fill a glass with tap water, and return to stand over him. There’s a second or two of debate, then, with great relish, I dump the contents over his head.
He awakes, sputtering. “G’way!”
I wait until he sets his good eye on me. “Mickey says he’ll pay you eighty-one euros.” Spinning, I toss the letter on the floor and exit the room.
“What are you on about, colleen?” his voice booms from behind me.
Business, I think. Business and nothing more.
Not anymore.
Ten minutes later and I’m in a taxi, en route to Cork Harbour. It seems like a logical place to start. Someone must know something about a pirated container ship sailing into port.
This part of town isn’t what you’d imagine a port to be. It’s full of life, green and lush and buzzing with energy. A cathedral spire dominates the space. Behind it, is a wild nature preserve that stretches out as far as the eye can see.
The shipping office is in a small refurbished home. I’m greeted by a friendly clerk, Joe, who has Yankee relatives living in New York City.
“Ever run into a lad named Bobby McKean?” he asks me.
“No,” I answer straight faced. “But when I return home, I’ll keep my eyes out for him.” Cork City’s population is around two hundred thousand compared to the fourteen million residents of New York City. But I don’t tell him that.
“If you see him, tell him Joseph O’Malley is waiting on his forty quid.”
“Got it.” I pause, then get down to business. “I was hoping you could help me. I’m doing my graduate study thesis on environmental-friendly shipping facilities.”
“You came to the right place.”
“My professor wants data to support my claim that such facilities can operate as efficiently as industrial ports.” I take a deep breath then drive my point home. “Could I look at the records for all ships entering and exiting Cork Port for the month? It’s helpful to see their names. It makes for a better examination on paper.”
“You studying at Columbia University?” is his answer.
I pause. “NYU.”
“Never heard of it.”
“New York University?”
“Right. I suppose all the smart ones go there.”
I laugh at his quick compliment then shrug my shoulders. “I’m a hard-worker. That must account for something.”
“That it must.” He gestures with his hands. “Come on around the counter and take a gander. Everything is done by computer these days.”
I exhale a sigh of relief.
“Thank you.”
“Be sure to put me name there in yer report,” he answers with a wink.
I get busy skimming the screen for information on a cargo ship out of Acapulco. Thinking this was easier than expected.
Years ago, I learned when things seem too easy or too good to be true, they usually are.
The dates and ships in Cork Port scroll across the screen. Once. Twice. Until it’s clear that cargo ship is missing.
“Judging by that face, yer not liking what yer seeing. But I’ll have ye know this is the most accurate system in the European Union. Says so right on the wall.”
A plaque does indeed hang on the wall to the right.
The nagging question rolls around in my mind but I’m hesitant to ask it. After all, what would a Yankee graduate student know about the Irish mob?
“The amount of ships coming and going is impressive.” I bite my lip. “Especially in a port that’s low key and environmentally conscious. But, still, it’s a port and, like in other ports, there must be . . . crime?” I allow the last word to dangle.
Joseph snorts. “Even the mob knows to avoid us, being half the residents work for the guards. Government offered them special housing as an enticement to live here. Part of the big picture when developing this place.”
“Seems they thought of everything.”
“That they did. Shame Kinsale didn’t fare as well.”
My ears perk up. Kinsale is a