The Bogside Boys Read online

  He held his breath to listen. McClean spoke next.

  “You know her?”

  The next voice belonged to Maggie. “We did some reconnaissance on several of the local unionist councilors last year. We identified her father, Reg Rice, as a potential target. In evaluating him, we also investigated his family. I’d never actually seen her so I didn’t recognize her from Saturday night, but as soon as I heard her name I knew who she was.”

  You said Michael Doherty seemed to know her.”

  “They knew each other. I’ve no doubt about that.”

  “And you spoke to him? Does he think that she can be trusted to keep her mouth shut?”

  ‘Trust a Hun? A Hun who happens to be the daughter of a loyalist Councilor? Are you joking me?”

  “You think she’s a threat?”

  “I don’t know what she knows but is it worth the risk?”

  McClean seemed to pause. “I don’t like the thought of a civilian… and a young girl. It doesn’t sit right with me.”

  “We could strong-arm her but what if that doesn’t work?”

  “She’s not an eye-witness. She didn’t see anything.”

  “Did you not see what the Prime Minister said today, and what Ian Paisley said? They don’t need evidence. They want someone to pay for this. Do you want it to be you? She knows enough.”

  Pat heard the sound of a chair shifting and then silence for a few seconds. “So what do you propose?” McClean asked.

  “A simple operation - one bullet. No pain. I’ll do it myself.”

  “Are you looking for my permission?”

  “Yes, but if you don’t give it, I could go above your head. This needs to happen. We need to protect ourselves from this fallout.”

  A curtain of silence descended. All Pat heard was the sound of a teacup being put on a saucer and a loud sigh. “All right, but get it done quickly.”

  Pat’s heart felt like a cold stone in his chest. He backed away from the door as silently as he could; aware of the most miniscule sound his shoes made on the carpet below him, praying that the kitchen door stayed closed. He got to the front door and stepped back outside. The street was empty except for a couple of young boys kicking an old leather ball against a massive mural of an IRA soldier in a balaclava holding an M-16. Pat took a deep breath and rang the doorbell. He pushed through the door and went back into the house, calling out as he went.

  “Hello, anyone home?”

  “Pat? What are you doing here? I’m in the kitchen,” came McClean’s voice.

  Pat pushed the kitchen door open. McClean and Maggie were sitting at the table, their hands crossed in front of them. It would have been clear he was interrupting, even if he hadn’t already known.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you had company. I was just passing by, and I had an idea….”

  “We’re in the middle of something here,” McClean said.

  “It can wait, it wasn’t anything of vital importance.” Maggie’s eyes were like lasers on him. “I’ll head off if you’re busy.”

  “If you’re sure it’s not important,” McClean said.

  “I’m positive. I’ll call over in the next few days. As I said, I was in the neighborhood.”

  Pat turned around and walked back down the hallway. He heard Maggie’s voice behind him. She was standing at the kitchen door.

  “Well done on the other night, by the way. You’re a true soldier for the cause.”

  “Thanks,” Pat nodded and kept on out onto the street. As soon as he was around the corner, he extended his stride until he was running. He had to get to Mick. They had to find Melissa, to get her out. He ran all the way back to the barber shop, praying with every stride that his brother was still there, that somehow he’d been able to get a hold of Melissa. Pat was wet with sweat as he banged on the shop door.

  The sound of Pat’s hand against the glass jerked Mick from the trance he’d fallen into, and he jumped out of his seat, running to the door.

  Pat was red-faced, completely out of breath.

  “Jesus, are you OK?”

  “Did you get her? Did you speak to Melissa?”

  “No, she wasn’t in.”

  “Well, did you call her again?”

  “I can’t keep calling her house every five minutes. Why what’s going on, what did you find out?”

  “They’re going to kill her. Maggie convinced McClean to let her kill Melissa. She’s a complete psychopath.”

  “What? Jesus Christ.” Mick felt his heart drop. “When? When are they going to do it?”

  “I don’t know. They just decided. I went to McClean’s house, and I overheard them in the kitchen. We have to get to her. Have you any idea where she might be? We can’t just wait around for her to arrive home. We need to find her right now.”

  Mick fought back the panic raging within him. “Yeah, I have some idea. I know some of the pubs she hangs out in. She’s told me about all of her friends, although I’ve never actually met most of them.”

  “All right, let’s sit down and work this out.”

  Mick ran into the back, emerging with paper and pencils. Pat was sitting at the small table they used to lay out the day’s newspapers. The story on the front cover was about the Prime Minister asking for more British soldiers in Northern Ireland in the wake of the killings. He cleared the table as Mick laid out the paper.

  “Wait a minute, what if she’s already gone to the police? What if Maggie’s too late?”

  “Then we go to jail.”

  Mick spent the next ten minutes or so writing out the names of all the pubs they’d frequented together and the names of some of her friends. If they split up, they could do it.

  Melissa stared out at the gray-blue expanse of the river Foyle and the trees on the other side, the Catholic side, where he was from. The clouds above blocked out any sense of the evening sun, and she crossed her arms to ward off the cold she was beginning to feel. She felt empty inside, numb as if she’d never feel anything other than this again. The love in her felt spent, squeezed out of her like toothpaste out of a tube. Nothing had ever hurt like this before. The conflict within her fought with the confusion, the responsibility she now had. The knowledge of what had happened to Clive, to Norman and his brother Robert was destroying her. Every story in the newspaper was about the truth inside her, the truth that she was struggling to hold onto. She wished so much she’d never gone to Limavady on Saturday night. She wished she’d never met Mick. She wished they could be together, and away from all of this. She wished for so many things.

  A couple strolled by, hand in hand. Melissa turned away and stared into the translucency of the river. There was no one to go to other than the police or Mick. Jenny and Victoria knew nothing, hadn’t seen anything. Melissa was so used to the veil of secrecy over her relationship that she hadn’t even told them anything of what she’d seen or who she’d spoken to outside the pub. Melissa had spoken to Victoria several times since the killings. She had listened to Victoria, and even held her as she cried away the stresses of knowing that she’d spoken to the men found dead the next morning, but somehow she’d said nothing. What would have been the point in telling her, and burdening her with the truth that she carried?

  Mick was so sweet, so kind, so wonderful. How could he have done this? Part of her refused to believe it. He might have been involved but did he know what the IRA was planning to do to those boys? Could he have killed them? Did she ever really know him at all? She brought a shaking hand to her face. She wasn’t crying, not anymore. She was just numb now. She knew that she had the power over Mick’s life. If she reported him, he’d be interned, and the RUC would break him. The thought of Mick in custody, or in jail, was almost too much. It was then that she realized that she did still love him, despite everything. But why should he and the other thugs get away with it, and who would their next victims be? If she didn’t go to the police, their blood would be on her hands. The chasm of pain within her deepened.

  �
�Melissa?” the voice behind her said.

  Her heart almost exploded. It was him.

  “What the hell are you doing here? Get away from me!” She stood up and started pacing away.

  “Please, you’ve got to hear me out. I have to talk to you. Please,” he implored. But she kept on walking, faster and faster until she was running from him.

  Mick stood back for a second, watching her go, but the picture of Maggie’s face came into his mind. “Please, Melissa, please stop. For your sake, not mine.”

  He caught up, grabbing her wrist and she struggled against him, trying to shake him off, but his gentle grip was too strong.

  “Please, just listen. I know what you must think of me, and believe me it’s nothing compared to what I think of myself.”

  “What the hell do you want from me? Come to finish me off like you did those soldiers? Tying up loose ends, are ye?”

  Her words stung, but he collected himself. “Your life is in danger. I need to talk to you.”

  Her eyes widened. “What? What are you going to do?”

  “Nothing. Nothing. I’m trying to protect you if you'll let me. Please, just give me that chance. I need to do something good again. I don’t want to feel like this anymore.”

  She let her arm go loose, and he released his grip. “I’ll give you one minute.”

  “OK, can we sit down?” He motioned toward the bench a few feet away. She nodded, and they made their way across. Months before, they’d sat almost on this exact spot huddled together against the winter cold, with nowhere else to go and nowhere else they’d rather have been. They sipped from a hip flask, numb lips and kisses in the darkness. She sat down on the other end of the bench as far away as it was possible to be. He went to move toward her, but she held up her hands, threatening to leave, so he backed off.

  “What do you want from me? This had better be good, or I’ll scream bloody murder.”

  “Just try to stay calm, you know I’d never do anything to hurt you.”

  “Do I? I thought I knew that, but now I look at you and don’t have any idea who you are anymore. What happened to you? What have you done?”

  Mick let his head fall into his hands, his body cold. She was the only one who told him the truth as he saw it now, who didn’t hide behind the façade of duty or the war. He knew what he’d done, and knew and that atoning for that would be his real duty from now on. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore. I remember a time when I was happy when I had my father, and my mother here. And I had you.”

  They were both facing out toward the river again. Her tears had come again and were flooding down her face. She wondered how she had any left.

  “That’s all gone now; there’s no way that can ever be again,” she sobbed.

  “I know.”

  The weight of his thoughts made speaking difficult. He knew everything had to be perfect. He knew the rest of his life depended on this.

  “I need to talk to you about what happened to those soldiers. I was involved.”

  “Of course.” She didn’t look at him. She couldn’t.

  “We were told we were needed to go on an operation, that they wanted some volunteers who weren’t well known.” His voice was dull, like a tempered blade. “Our active service unit leader picked us up and drove us to Limavady. We still didn’t know what was going on. We had no idea what the plan was.” He stopped to take a breath before summoning the strength to continue. “We were told three British soldiers were in the pub, that it was a place a lot of soldiers went to, and that there were IRA operatives inside with them. It was my job to make contact with the operatives inside, and that’s when I met you. God, I wish you’d never been there. My heart almost went when I saw you in front of me.”

  “Why? Because you knew you might get caught?”

  “No, not at all. I didn’t want you involved. I had no idea what was going to happen next. The thought that they might have hurt you almost killed me.”

  “But killing those young boys in some field is fine, is it?”

  “I thought we might ransom them or question them or something. I never thought we’d execute unarmed, off-duty soldiers like that. I had these notions of a noble fight, an honest war against oppression.” His father came to him again as his words ran out. “I suppose I’m angry now, Melissa because I gave up everything for this…. cause, I gave up my future. I gave up you.” He looked across, but her eyes didn’t deviate toward his. “I did this to serve my community, to make my father proud. But I know now that if he saw what I did the other night, what we did, he’d be ashamed. He’d be ashamed of us, and that in trying to get some justice for his death, we’d just caused more misery and heartbreak for others.”

  “I need to know what happened in that field. I need to know if you murdered them.”

  Mick shifted in his seat and watched the Foyle flow past for a few seconds. It was so serene, so perfect. “I couldn’t do it. It came to the last guy, the tall one with the brown hair.”

  “Clive. His name was Clive.”

  “I couldn’t shoot him. I put my gun down. I tried to suggest we take him hostage or something else, something other than killing him, but it was already too late. The other two, the brothers, were already dead. It was too late. It all happened so quickly.”

  “So you didn’t shoot them? You tried to stop it?”

  Mick dropped his head, the weight of the memories inside too much. She was looking at him now. “I did, but I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t stop it. I didn’t move. I tried to say something but….” His voice was raw.

  Melissa sat back. Of course, he would say this. No one would admit to shooting those boys, but she knew his heart, he’d shown it to her so many times that she knew he was telling the truth. He wasn’t capable of killing like that. Deep down, she’d known that all along. Maybe that was why she hadn’t gone to the police yet.

  “Who did the killing?” He didn’t answer. “I understand your loyalty to your fellow volunteers, but you can’t let them just get away with this. The madness that’s overtaken the city since your father died needs to stop. This could be our chance to stop it.”

  “Nothing’s going to stop. Not now. Not after what happened to my father and the others. It’s too late for this place now. This is going to go on for a long time, and a lot more people are going to die. This is only the beginning.”

  “No, there’s got to be some hope left for us.”

  “I see it now. I see this war for exactly what it is. The people we killed were British soldiers, but most of the IRA men that I’ve met would rather go out and shoot a Protestant neighbor who was in the RUC or police reserve than an actual British soldier. When we joined up the local priest, the same priest who takes confession and says mass, swore us in. It was like a religious ritual, part of our faith. I believed that we were in a fight against British Imperialism. I believed that we were there to serve the community, but no one ever mentions the Protestants and what they want or even what’s to become of them once we win our socialist paradise.”

  “I understand why you joined, why you did what you did. I don’t blame you for that.”

  “I do blame myself for not having more faith in what we have, or had, but it was all such a daze then. I didn’t know what to think. I had to support Pat. He seemed so sure. But he didn’t actually know either, not then.”

  “Does he have the same doubts that you do?”

  “I don’t know. We don’t talk about things the way we used to. I should have mentioned it to him, but I didn’t want to seem disloyal, or weak.”

  “He probably feels the same way as you do.” Her anger was abating, but the confusion was growing.

  “It’s the strangest thing – I’ve joined a Catholic defense organization and I’m not even a practicing Catholic.”

  “My religion barely matters to me, but it seems to define me to almost everyone I meet,” she answered.

  “The religion itself isn’t important. It’s the division th
at counts. Protestant is British and Catholic is Irish. They’re the lines this civil war is being drawn with. It’s just the name that counts, not the religion itself. So many people say that they’d never marry from the other community because their religion is so important to them.”

  Melissa thought of her father. “I’ve heard that a few times,” she said.

  “But it’s not as if they care so deeply about the various rites of their religion, or that they worry which church they’d bring the kids to on a Sunday morning. None of that matters. All that matters is the prejudice and maintaining the division between the people of this province.” Mick paused to take a breath. “My superiors know that we met on Saturday night. They saw us talking, and saw how upset we both were. I tried to pass you off as someone irrelevant to me, as a crazy ex-girlfriend but I couldn’t.”

  “So they know about me?” she blurted, the terror rising in her.

  “They do. I gave them a fake address, but it’s only a matter of time before they figure that out.”

  “And when they do?”

  “Pat found out what they’re planning. He came to warn me.” He turned to her. “They’re going to… I think they’re going kill you.”

  “What?” Melissa felt fear infesting every cell in her body as if she were drowning in it. She stood up and sat back down. Mick reached over and took her hand. It was frigid.

  “I’m not going to let that happen. It’s not going to come to that.”

  “How? What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to go to the police. I’m going to tell them that I killed those soldiers, that I acted alone.”

  “What? You didn’t kill them, you just said you didn’t.”

  “I didn’t pull the trigger, no, but I’m still guilty.” He squeezed her hand and let it go, staring out at the river in front of him. “It’s the only way. I’ll say I saw the soldiers get into the car with some innocent girls, and that I pulled them over. And then I’ll tell them that I killed them.”

  Melissa searched for the words to express the confusion, the terror and the shock she felt, but they weren’t there. “I don’t know what to say. I don’t even know what to feel. Are you sure? Is there no other way?”