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.
