Time: Wednesday afternoon and evening, 4/29/98
Place: Inside and around The Fiendish Glow
Follows: Sprucing Up
Heather, Pen Durrell, and Nyx Fixx are used with permission.
Consuela O'Brian-Eccevarrio and Patrick "Miguel" O'Malley are fictional characters, as are "the boys".
Liam O'Neal is the Irish vampire hunter in the second-season Forever Knight episode, "Bad Blood"
[Wednesday 29 April, 4:30pm, outside The Fiendish Glow]
Liam O'Neal stood outside the three-story brownstone. " The Fiendish Glow" the sign said. He'd spent his vacation tracking the same IRA cell he'd been tracking for years. Gun-runners, they were -- gun-runners who'd emigrated to Canada. After more than two decades of fox and hounds he was coming close. He'd come close before, only to lose them as they slipped into new personalities, into new lives, into new towns; not so very unlike the vampires he was pledged to kill.
Now he was very close -- so close he could almost smell his quarry -- here in Toronto, of all places. It was a strange tip he'd gotten, to check this place out -- but if it panned out, he was sure to have the most satisfying vacation of his fifty-odd years. The Coming Soon sign was still up, and paper covered most of the front windows. He felt the packet of papers with a grin -- they couldn't open without their permits, and his agents had been intercepting the "Glow's" mail for several weeks. Now he was here to deliver the coup-de-grace.
After assuring himself that that this was the right place, he rang the door chime.
[ inside The Fiendish Glow]
They'd been waiting for days. The health inspection had gone smoothly on Monday and they had planned to open as soon as the paperwork from Ottawa arrived. Unfortunately, the paperwork still wasn't there. Each morning the "boys" would arrive, ready to distribute the flyers, then end up sitting around all day while Brenda and Lora pored over papers, planned menus, tried to make sense of the books, and familiarized themselves with the details of the security/surveillance system. Backgammon, chess sets, and playing cards littered the tables as the men and women drank, gamed, and generally wondered when the permits would finally arrive. Food was cooked, eaten, and when it looked like the permit would not come again, the remainder was donated to the church's soup kitchen.
It was into this tableau of ennui that the door chimed.
"I'll get it," Brenda said, heading up the steps to the front door. A short, balding man stepped up to her.
"We're not open yet," she told him.
"I know that," he answered, presenting his calling card. It read:
Greater Toronto Area Conclave
Liam O'Neal
Life Member
A shamrock-shaped sigil appeared between the second and third lines of text.
"I've come to inspect the premises and approve it for inclusion in the International Registry of Irish and Celtic Bars, Pubs, and Restaurants," he said with a Dublin accent.
Brenda shook her head, trying to remember the details of the reams of haphazardly-stored, unfiled documents she and Lora had pored through. "One moment, please," she said, heading back downstairs to find her fellow Glow Worm.
"You do know Ontario law requires you to have this approval before an operating permit can be issued," he shouted to her retreating form.
A distraught Brenda entered the pub area to find Lora and Daniel playing with the security equipment again. She vaguely heard Lora say "Cool it, laddie," into the headpiece Daniel was helping her reposition for comfort.
Brenda quickly explained what happened at the door and handed Lora the card. "Is this for real?" she asked Lora. "Don't they usually inspect after a place is open?"
Lora shrugged. "This is Canada -- maybe they do things differently here."
"Of course they do," Liam's lilt sang right behind them.
The two women turned around to see the man leaning against the wall near the bottom step, grinning like a leprechaun. They shivered in unison -- turning on the charm definitely turned off these two women.
"You forgot to turn the laetch," O'Neal offered, presenting the shorter woman with a key she could have sworn was on her pocket chain just seconds ago. So he's a prestidigitator, she frowned, taking the key from him.
Without so much as a "by your leave", the Irishman started examining the paneling and moldings, the tables, chairs, and booths, the dishes, stemware, and flatware. During the course of this, the staff quietly packed up their games and started leaving for the day. By the time he reached the bar, the cooks were the only staff remaining. Lora stayed close behind the nosy Irishman, while Brenda said their good-byes to the staff.
Seeing Guinness, Harp, and Bass on tap, a selection of Irish whiskeys and single-malt and blended Scotches, and varying Celtic liqueurs, he pronounced the bar "satisfactory" and started eyeing the menu as if he hadn't eaten in a month of Sundays.
"Don't tell me -- you need to sample the menu, too," Brenda observed dryly as she reentered the room after locking up after the last of the staff left.
"But of course," he said, running down the fluorescent green pub menu and checking it against a list on his evidence pad. He ordered everything from artichokes to zucchini, from barley to ziti, from corned beef to cabbage to carrots to lamb. With each dish, he and tasted, and commented, and criticized, and wrote notes in his evidence pad. "Needs more pepper here. More saelt there. That leek soup needs gaerlic." With each dish, his critiques worsened, along with his temper, and he began to look around himself as if he were waiting for the sword of Damocles to fall. In the middle of the apple turnover, he stalked into the kitchen, looking for the cook.
Brenda chased after him as Lora spoke into the headset she had forgotten to remove earlier when Daniel and she were testing it. "Ronnie -- are you watching this?" she asked Ronnie O'Mannion, who was manning the security/control booth today. "I think we might have a problem. Can you get Patrick down here?"
If looks were daggers, O'Neal and Consuela would have pierced each other twenty times through in a matter of seconds.
"You -- " the man said, grabbing the dark-haired Latina " -- are under arrest for the illegal trade of weapons across national boundaries, the possession and sale of weapons without a license, and the possession of restricted firearms."
" What?! " Brenda yelped in shock.
"What chu say -- chu mak-a mistake!" she cried. "Ay no not-ting 'bout no weapons."
"Oh, but you do," the Dubliner intoned. "You and yower husband both. Belfast, 1974. Ulster, 1977. Miami Beach, 1983. Montreal, 1987. Vancouver, 1990. Calgary, 1994."
Brenda started to shake. Lora had privately conveyed her concerns about the "boys" a few nights ago, and this was looking like Lora's worst nightmare come true!
"Mi esposo," she said, softly. "Mi esposo es muerte en 1987. . . " she said, sadly. "We been working here three years since they take my daughter. . . Never I see him with guns. He dies trying to stop the guns. . . "
"What's going on here?" Lora asked as she Liam grab Consuela's arm. Her voice took on an icy edge. "Unhand her," she said, keeping her voice low. "I don't care who you are, you will not treat someone in our employ that way."
"You best be caereful who you employ," Liam replied calmly.
"A lie!" Consuela insisted, "Ay no gun-runner, an mi esposo never run no guns!"
"What?!" Lora cried, losing her cool momentarily. Remembering, though, that a good defense is always a best offense, she turned on Liam and resumed her icy tone. "Let her go, she said. And you'd better have one heck of an explanation for this, mister!"
Liam pulled out his official identification and showed it to Brenda, whose face became an unreadable mask of anger, causing Lora to hasten her approach to the trio. She snatched the wallet out of Liam's hand and looked it over with the eye of one who was quite used to checking credentials.
"Well, Mr. O'Neal," she began in a softer tone, "it seems you have a lot of explaining to do." To the learned ear, it threatened danger. She held his ID and began staring the shorter man down. "I may not be a lawyer, but I do know that Republic of Ireland police credentials arenot sufficient for search and seizure in Canada. I don't care if you're the top cop in the entire bloody Isles -- here, you are acting illegally."
Lured by the commotion, Patrick stuck his head through the kitchen door to see what was going on.
"Well, If it isn't me ol' friend Patrick 'Miguel' O'Malley!" Liam snapped, seeing the tall Irishman enter the room. "Uye should've figured aefter finding Consuela here you and yower gang wouldn't be faer awuy!"
"If it isn't Chief Inspector Liam O'Neal!" Patrick said sarcastically as he approached in that lovely sing-song lilt he had. "Come to disrupt the lives of honorable Irish immigrants, are ye?" He turned to Lora and Brenda. "Why don't ye give it up, already? Five an' twenty years, ye've been after us an' ower families. Twenty-five years ofnothing. Not one thing ha' we done -- an' ye know that as well as ye know yer own name."
"Ah, but that's where yer wrong, 'Miguel'," he spat. "I know you an' the 'boys' have been running guns and drugs. . . an I will prove it -- to the Canadian courts as well as the Irish ones," he said, flipping out a second badge wallet. The top lettering was large enough to read from several yards away: INTERPOL. He turned to Lora. "That should satisfy your concerns about my credentials," he said.
Brenda's voice caught. "Would you care to sit down, inspector, and give us a clue as to what's going on here?"
"A couple of the 'boys' back in Dublin were found running away from the scene of one of the bloodier IRA attacks," Patrick offered, helping her separate the inspector from the Latina and bringing them both into one of the rooms usually reserved for private parties. "While there are operatives as young as seven or eight, most of these were young lads who were in the wrong place, at the wrong time. A couple of them, their das were in the Aermy. . . when the police found them, they figgered they were terrorists, as well. They were aerrested, but withoat haerd evidence, they waere released," he told her. "Shortly after, soame of them left Ireland. O'Neal here thinks they did thaet to escape prosecution, and thaet they're still woarking for the Aermy. He's been beating this dead huhrse for over twenty years."
"If it were a dead huhrse, I wouldn't be here, now, would I?" O'Neal leered. He turned to the shorter woman. "I'd check my employment records if I were you," he said. "And that is not a waerning." The ice in his voice said he would not leave before his quest -- no matter how quixotic -- was satisfied.
Lora held up a hand to separate the two men, causing them both to look at her. Satisfied she had their attention, she turned to Brenda. "Why don't you get the records for Inspector O'Neal?" she asked her friend. "We want to assure the good officer that we're cooperating in his investigation and that we have nothing to hide." The treacle in her voice belied her impatience with the situation.
"Sure," Brenda said roughly. She then turned to Liam. "And we want you to be assured that what you're looking for definitely isn't here!" With that, she spun on her heel and left.
Lora pulled a scrunchie out of her pocket, then asked Consuela to get them some coffee. She made a big production out of pulling back her hair -- not a hard thing for her considering how massive it was -- then "discovered" she was still wearing the security headpiece. "Oh my," she said, taking it off and carefully laying it on the table so that the microphone pointed toward Liam. "I forgot I had that silly thing on!" She continued to make a production out of getting her hair into the scrunchie as she hoped that Ronnie had thought enough to monitor more than just the public dining room. If not, Brenda was sure to check while gathering the records.
Consuela returned with the coffee as Lora continued to reassure Liam that he definitely had the wrong place. All their employees had no criminal records and had been checked thoroughly before coming into their employ. That much Lora knew was true because it was one of the first things she checked after seeing all their armament on Sunday.
Liam, on the other hand, was insistent.
Fortunately, Brenda returned with an armload of documents before Lora's patience with the persistent Irishman wore too thin.
"This is all of them," Brenda said as she dumped the load on the table in front of him. Lora then motioned to Consuela, as the two cooks quietly retreated back to the bar.
[7pm]
"Have you seen enough?" Brenda asked, frustrated with the man's poring over their contracts. He'd finished with the employment records more than half an hour ago.
Liam continued to stare at the piece of paper he was holding. He couldn't believe his eyes.
"Inspector O'Neal?" Lora prompted. She was getting concerned at his pallor -- the man looked like he was in a daze. "Are you okay?"
"Fine -- just fine," he said removing his glasses and putting them in a case. "Uy think I've seen all I need to see haere."
"Well, if you need to see more, your welcome to come to our opening," Lora said, relieved to see that the man was finally leaving, and hoping he wouldn't take her up on her offer. "Unfortunately, we don't know when that will be. We haven't gotten our permits yet from Ottawa."
"Ye do now," Liam said, getting up and tossing a battered envelope on the stack of papers that littered the table.
As the small man left, Brenda snatched up the envelope and examined it. As she registered the return address and postmark, she sent an icy stare in the direction of where the annoying Irishman had gone. She raised her coffee mug in a toast: "And a good riddance tae ye, too!"
"What now?" Lora asked.
"Look at the envelope," Brenda advised. It bore an official mail permit from the Provincial Board of Health, Ottawa.
"It's our permits!" Lora said, carefully opening the envelope. "Liquor licenses, food service, everything!" She deliberately unfolded each piece of paper at an angle for it to be captured by several of the room's many hidden cameras. ("Teleconferencing without theteleconference," the equipment literature advertised. "Wedding videos without that annoying "deer in the headlights" effect." Lora just hoped everything was being captured properly.)
Brenda looked at each piece of paper as Lora put it down on the table. "They're all dated three weeks ago!" she stormed. "There's got to be a law against that here."
"We definitely need to contact the 'Glow's' lawyer," Lora agreed.
[outside The Fiendish Glow]
Liam O'Neal looked up at the three-story brownstone. He still couldn't believe what he'd seen on that particular contract. "Vampire friendly" it had said. Vampire friendly! he thought angrily. He turned and headed for his hotel, all thoughts of the gun-runners and terrorists vanished from his mind. He had a new task ahead of him.
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NEXT
STORY: A BRIEF INTERLUDE
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