Bingo

Bingo Reilly stepped from his doorway and contemplated the world, his world. He stretched and adjusted his cap to a cocky angle over his heavy brow. What a fine day it is. Glorious, and something wonderful is bound to happen.

“Mr. Reilly, sir.” The speaker was just a boy. Bingo vaguely remembered seeing him around Balleally. “A gentleman would like to have a talk with you down the lane.”

Bingo rocked forward and back on his heels and spat into the roadway before answering. “Fine, tell him he can find me in m’usual place at the Harp and Horn.”

“I’ll tell him, but I don’t think Tommy B, will like it much.”

Tommy B! The man himself. I knew the moment I woke up that this would be a special day. Bingo hadn‘t anticipated a summons from such a noted personage. “Tommy B, y’say? Well, that’s different, why’n't ye say that to begin with. Lead the way, lad.”

“You should bring your bike; it’s a way down the road.”

The boy led Bingo up one lane and down another in a seemingly random pattern, always looking over his shoulder. The boy never turned from one road into another if there was a vehicle, or other cyclists within view. As Bingo’s patience wore thin, the boy turned into a dirt road and waited for Bingo to catch up.

“See that car down the lane? That’s where we’re going Mr. Reilly.”

The dusty black car seemed abandoned, but as they drew nearer, Bingo could see that a young couple was picnicking on the grassy bank of a rushing brook. Catching sight of them, the man rose and walked back to stand beside the car. The messenger braked to a stop ten yards short of the car and nodded to the young man. Bingo slowed, and finally rested on his handlebars alongside the waiting man.

“Would you be Bingo Reilly?”

Smiling, Bingo held out a large hand, “I would, and are ye Tommy then?”

“No, you can call me Sean. He’ll be along directly, but first if you don’t mind I’ll set my mind at ease.” The man may have been young, but he quickly and expertly searched Bingo. He paused at the lump in Bingo’s back pocket and extracted a knuckle duster. “I’ll just borrow this if you don’t mind. Stand easy now Bingo, while I have a word with the lad.”

The young man walked over and spoke quietly with the boy. Bingo could see the young woman, no more than a girl really, gathering the remains of the picnic into a straw basket. She gave Bingo a little smile, and stood. The boy set his bike against the fence and began walking back down the road. Sean turned and waved to the woman signaling that they were ready to leave.

“Where’s Tommy? The lad told me Tommy wanted to talk.”

“Actually, he needs a local guide, a patriot who knows his way about. Your name was mentioned.” The man opened the back door of the car as his companion approached. She smiled again and looked carefully both ways before crossing the deserted road.

“Aye, that’s me alright. No one knows the County better than I do, and I’m green to m’core. Every tourist I guide is helping the Cause.” Bingo noticed that the woman never took her hand from beneath the napkin covering her picnic basket. As she put the basket onto the backseat of the car, Bingo saw that she had been holding a Mauser. She smiled again, “Are we ready to go yet Sean?”

The young man nodded, and reached into the basket.

May the saints preserve us... what is this about then, and me w'out me knuckles. Bingo‘s jaw relaxed when the man withdrew only a frosty bottle of local ale. “Just put your bike against yon rail and enjoy the beer, Bingo. When you’re finished, stand the bottle on the post top. You understand?” Bingo nodded, and sipped the ale.

The car left in a cloud of dust, slowing only briefly for the young messenger boy to hop up onto the running board. Bingo walked across the road and leaned against the fence as instructed. He finished his beer and set the bottle on the post. The only sound was a bird singing and the breeze softly rustling the grasses.

Time passed and the sun warmed the land, it made Bingo drowsy. I wonder what the lads down at the Harp and Horn would say if they knew Tommy B needed me as a guide. Bingo smiled to himself. But, what if it was the lads who are just playing a joke? Bingo's eyes snapped open and he looked about suspiciously. That was when he saw a lone angler, casting and slowly working his way down stream. The fisherman seemed relaxed and to be enjoying his day in the countryside. If it's a joke they're having, then the joke will be on them when I show up with a few tourist quid.

“Catch any fish, sir?”

The angler pushed his glasses up on his nose, and gave Bingo a large toothy smile. “Not yet, but then I’m not using any bait today, Mr. Reilly.”

“Ah, then you’d be Tommy B. From tha tweeds yer wear'n, I thought ye might be an American need'n a guide. Why all the shenanigans, If y’don’t mind me ask‘n?”

“Since the dust-up a few days ago, the whole country’s become a little too hot. The authorities want me bad enough to increase the reward. I doubt they have a good description, but it’s best not to tempt good folk too much. You must know how it is.”

“Aye, I do indeed. It's an honor to meet ye, sir. So how might I assist y’this fine day?”

“I have to be near Thomastown by early evening. With the alarm out, it’s best to avoid being seen as much as possible. Can you get me there by back roads and lanes?”

“Certainly or I’ll eat m’cap, sir. No one knows County Fingal as well as I do. We can go by way of Ballykea, and then north. I doubt we'll be unnoticed, so hideing our destination might be tricky. It’ll take longer, but I can have ye there by late afternoon.”

It was a fine day for cycling through the lush countryside. The men didn’t speak much, but soon found a common rhythm that took them from one deserted road to another. They passed families working the fields who pointedly ignored their passage. Once on a stretch of paved road through a copse of trees, they encountered a large car rapidly approaching. It could only be an official car with its flashing lights and the driver’s reckless lack of caution. Plainly, the constables were in a hurry. Bingo glanced at his companion, and raised his eyebrows in question.

“Steady. Just give them a smile and a wave. Remember, you’re just the local guide out showing a rich American the Auld Sod.”

The constable driving didn’t slow, but both officers gave the cyclists a close look as they passed. A tight grimace and a grudging wave signaled their lack of interest as the panda car sped away.

“Whew, ye sure are cool. M’heart liked to burst m’chest when tha’ copper gave us the evil eye.”

“They’re no better judge of folks than we are, Bingo. If they were, I’d have been fried a hundred times before now. When we hit the armory at Dunboyne last week, I walked right up to the two guards and shot them before they even realized what was happening.”

“Wi' out mean'n to pry, how many men did y’have on that little outing?”

“Twelve and they’re all now home safe in their beds until they're needed again.”

“Well, if you ever have something planned for County Fingal, remember Bingo’s yer man.”

“Perhaps, generally we need men with more training, but I’ll keep you in mind, Bingo.”

An hour later, Bingo slowed down and braked to a halt. “That's new,” he said pointing to a poster newly tacked to a fence post. In heavy bold type the poster proclaimed: £500 REWARD FOR INFORMATION LEADING TO THE CAPTURE OF THE TERRORIST CALLED TOMMY B. WHOSE GANG RAIDED DUNBOYNE ARSENAL AND BARRACKS on October 18. 1932. Bingo shook his balled fist at the countryside, “Damn'em all. Let me have m'hands on'em and I'd crush their skulls. Such vermin don't deserve to live.” As Bingo reached to tear away the poster, Tommy put out a restraining hand. “No, Bingo. Leave it be, they'll be all over the countryside, and say no more than we should expect.”

“Don't ye worry, Tommy that they'll take ye?”

“Oh, I've no doubt that I'll be taken. With every martyr to the Cause, we become stronger, and if I fall, then another will take my place. There'll never be an end until all Ireland is united and free of England's boot, and every traitor to the Cause. It will happen, if it takes a thousand years.”

“Ah, Tommy ye have such a way with words. An simple uneducated man like m'self can only speak with our actions, but ye? Ye are the heart o'tha Cause.” And, a simple fool as well, to believe all that blather enough to die.

The rest of the afternoon passed without incident, though dark clouds began to gather late in the day casting shadows amongst the trees. The temperature fell, and the air grew heavy with moisture as the sun sank low over the green hills.

“That’s the village of Ballykea just up ahead. Can we stop in for a pint? They have a fine little pub there called the “Angelic Horseman” that serves the best pasties in the County.” Moreover, they have a public blower back by the gents. “Ballustreae is just up the road a bit, and then Thomastown; Just think how fine one o' Mother Murphy's pasties would be wi'a pint, Tommy.”

“No, Bingo. I have some sandwiches in my rucksack that we'll share later. I’d rather not be spending time where too many questions might be asked.”

Not far beyond the village, Tommy slowed as a faint violin melody filled the air. The music seemed to be coming from a neatly whitewashed cottage with a thatched roof in the old style.

“Do you hear that, Bingo? Such a sad melody, but so apt, don‘t you think? It’s like the soul of the country crying for its lost past, while yearning for a brighter future. We‘re a bit ahead of schedule, so perhaps this would be a good place to rest a bit. You were right, we do have some time now, so let’s stop and rest awhile.”

“Yer the boss. That’s old Tim playing. I imagine he’ll be sitting under the trees out back. He’s a bit Looney, but I think he can be trusted.” Yes, he can be trusted not to have a drop nor a dram in the house, when we could have been comfy as lords back at the “Angelic Horseman”.

Tommy and Bingo leaned their bicycles against a neatly painted picket fence, and walked around the cottage. An old man was sitting on a broken kitchen chair playing a violin far older than the fiddler himself. Bingo cleared his throat, and the old man opened his eyes and turned to see who his guests might be. “Come sit with me a bit”, his voice was as worn as his face. Tommy winked at the old man, and got a wink in return. “There’s a fresh pail o’milk just inside the door if you’re thirsty, Bingo.”

Bingo nodded and put his foot on the cottage step. Over his shoulder he asked, “Do ye have a phone yet, Tim?”

“No, nor will I ever have one of those infernal devices to torment me with the world’s troubles.” The old man put his fiddle and bow back into a battered case, and gave Bingo a long look as he stepped inside the cottage.

In the brief moment that it took Bingo to fill two fruit jars with sweet milk, the old man turned to Tommy and, laying a broad finger along his red nose, whispered, “Be careful of Bingo.”

The three men sat quietly drinking their milk as evening fell upon them. “Looks like a storm, coming.” Old Tim just shook his head, “One thing and another, but we'll weather this blow as we've survived every other storm since the potatoes rotted in the ground. We're used to stormy seas, and rocky shores here.”

Bingo nodded, “Aye, but still a bad night to be out.”

“So what's the news in Ballustreae, Tim? Should we stop there?”

“No news, but idle gossip. There's no reason to stop in Ballustreae, if ye have any business elsewhere. But, this is just the place for me. An old man likes the quiet of these country towns.” Old Tim then bent and took his fiddle again from its case and began to softly play.

“Yes, it is. It was a pleasure to meet you Tim, and I appreciate the tune you play.” Tommy turned to Bingo, “Come on along, we’ve a way yet to go.”

Bingo stood, and raising his fist, “Erin Go Braugh!”

“Aye Bingo, the whole countryside knows what a fine patriot ye are”, and the old man segued into “The Rising of the Moon”.

As the two men cycled along the high road, Bingo broke the silence.

“Strange old duck, that Tim. Thomastown isn’t far now. If we keep to the high road, I doubt anyone will notice us cycling through Ballustreae. It’s just a wee place, but they have fine selection of ales at the “Tin Whistle. C'mon Tommy, let's have a pint.”

“Perhaps another time, Bingo. Today, I just need to get back onto my schedule.”

“Right-o., but ye know there’s no planes, nor trains stopping at Thomastown. Getting there a wee bit later might even be a good thing. I know a widow who could put ye up for the night.”

“Of course not. The Old Man thinks its time to get me out of the country for a while to cool off. He’s sending a boat to pick me up tonight.”

“So where are they taking ye?”

“Down south… to Tranmore. There’s a training facility near by at a place called Wicke’s Walk. I’ll rest up, do a training course or two, and teach a class on fieldwork. Almost like a vacation, I'm looking forward to getting some rest.”

A light rain began to fall as the men entered Ballustreae. No one was on the streets, though a light from the “Tin Whistle” shone on the cobblestones. Another of the reward posters was already peeling from the tavern's walls. £500, I could be living like a New York king within the month. No more scabbing about looking over me shoulder for what chance might bring.

Just outside of the village, Tommy signaled a halt. “Bingo, didn’t that sign we just passed point toward Loughshinny?”

“It did, but if ye need to be in Thomastown on a schedule, we shouldn’t go that way. Nothing out there but cliffs and a rocky shore, Tommy. It‘s a peninsula, with fields running right up to the cliffs, the local lover‘s lane.”

Tommy chuckled, “Well, we may not be lovers Bingo, but that’s where we’re headed. You know the place well, don’t you? I’ll be going down the cliff to a rocky beach on the north side of the point where a boat can come ashore.”

“Certainly, but why didn’t ye just say where ye wanted to go in the first place?” When Tommy didn’t answer, Bingo shook his head and began peddling down the lane into the darkness. After a quarter hour, Bingo stopped and pointed to a narrow path leading away into the fields. “There it is.”

Tommy wasn’t pleased. “Oh no! If ever I need a guide, now is the time.”

Bingo just sighed and tried to explain. “I’d like to get back before the storm breaks, sir. I only know of one path down to a beach where a boat could land. You’ll be fine, just follow this path. It’ll skirt the cliff around the peninsula. You’ll pass a large rock, then two hundred yards further along, there’s a stone bench; you should be able to see the lights of Thomastown from there. Just in front of the bench, there’s a little path, and that’s where ye go down to the beach below. You can‘t miss it”

“Sounds complicated to me Bingo. Not knowing the ground, I might be over the edge and onto the rocks below in the dark. No. I insist that you take the lead here.”

Twenty minutes later, the two stood beside a worn stone bench. Across the waters to the north, the lights of Thomastown sparkled. “There it is. Can I go now Tommy? Frankly, I‘m getting hungry and don‘t fancy getting wet.” The Tin Whistle is only a short way, and Tommy may already be gone before I reach the village.

“There’ll be a bit of a wait until the rising of the tide. I don’t want to wait alone, so come down with me, Bingo and we’ll have a nice chat. I have sandwiches, and you’re not sugar to melt in a bit of heavy dew. Come on along, now.”

After scrambling down the steep path, the two men came to the beach. Phosphorescent waves broke around the jagged rocks and picked up stray bits of light from Thomastown across the waters. Tommy looked about and found a flat stone facing the sea. “Here, this should make a nice table. We can sit here out of the wind and have a bite to eat waiting for the tide to turn. Lightening flashed, and the rain turned into mist. “It’s a cozy place where we can chat.” Tommy sat his rucksack down, and began to pull things from it. A couple of sandwiches wrapped in waxed paper followed a powerful hooded lantern. Finally, Tommy took out a large Webley revolver and set it on the stone at hand. “Never hurts to be prepared.”

“Have a sandwich, the girl made them just this morning; used bread from her Da’s bakery so it’s fresh and crunchy. Oh, and bless this bread and all who gather here.” Bingo took the sandwich, and a small bite. He muttered that he didn’t care much for mutton, so Tommy took the sandwich and laid it beside the pistol. From his rucksack, Tommy drew out a silver hip flask, unscrewed the lid and held it out. “Well then, have a taste of this, Bingo. It’s the finest whiskey money can buy. It’ll warm you from top to the bottom of your needy soul. Tommy silently watched as Bingo took a long swallow, and then another. Patches of fog rose from the sea and began to replace the mist.

“So tell me Bingo, how Clyde Beaucanon came to be taken.”

“Clyde? I hardly knew him, Tommy. He came into Balleally a month ago, and spent much of his time down at the “Harp and Horn“. He talked too much, too open in his sentiments. I tried to tell him to be careful, that someone might hear who didn’t share our views, but he wouldn’t listen. Drank too much one night and the next day the constables showed up on his doorstep. That’s all I know.”

“Who informed, Bingo?”

“Oh, I don’t know. The “Harp and Horn” is always full of folk and some might not be patriots, ye know?” Who? Who can I say that he'll believe?

“Was Old Tim there?”

“Why yes, he was. You don’t think it was… Old Tim? Maybe. He isn’t all he seems, but Old Tim an informer? But, stranger things have been known, I guess.”

“It’s said, you know, that after Clyde was taken you bought drinks with sterling. How did a poor struggling patriot, like yourself, suddenly come to have hard cash?”

“Oh that? I can explain that easily enough. A rich American paid me to show him the County his people came from, and a few fishing holes besides. He was from Chicago, I believe. Tall fella, with red hair and freckles.” Yeah, there was such a fellow around that time as I remember, and he might even have given up Clyde.

“Really? I know for a certainty there were no Americans in County Fingal that month, nor the month before.” Bingo blanched, the blood slowly draining from his face.

“Surely you don’t think that I’d have talked? That Clyde fella, just talked too much in his cups. I swear it on m'Mother’s grave.” Damn Clyde and me moment o'weakness.

“Sorry, Bingo, but that won’t wash. Did you ever wonder why I’m called Tommy B? What do you think the “B” stands for? Tommy paused, but Bingo remained silent. “Clyde was my little brother; Bingo. He was the darling of Mother’s eye. Ma was determined that Clyde be a priest, though he wanted to serve the Cause. Clyde wasn’t really cut out for our sort of life, but he was the best of us. He was terribly shy, and seldom drank anything stronger than sacramental wine. We sent him down to Balleally to protect him, to keep him safe. How could I know that he would run into the likes of Bingo Reilly? The Old Man, Old Tim, was looking out for the lad.”

Tommy casually picked up the revolver. “No, Tommy! No, you don’t have to do this. It’s all a mistake.” Bingo raised his large hands and began to back away. “I'm sorry... I din' do noth'n to die over.” I'll be better, please God, don't let this happen. I'll make amends, I'll....{/i?

From far out in the dark came a brief flash of light. The signal.

Tommy reached for his lantern, and Bingo used the distraction to turn and race across the rock-strewn beach toward the sea. He only got a few steps before a .45 caliber slug struck him low in the back. The shock of the bullet lifted him, and he fell into the surf. The water’s chill kept him conscious. He could see Tommy signal his location to the boat. Bingo was still trying to make his legs move, when Tommy stepped close and aimed the Webley downward.

Bingo looked up into Tommy's cold eyes, and the last thing he heard on earth was, “Goodnight Bingo; Requiescat in pace."

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