Thrown Out: Stories from Exeter - Sample Story
Thrown Out: Stories from Exeter
Jennie Coughlin (author)
Riordan shifted his weight in the wicker chair. The fall afternoon was just starting to cool as a breeze blew the first of the season’s brilliant leaves across the yard. It felt good after spending the afternoon weeding the flower bed. He still needed to put away his tools, but right now it was nice to sit. It wouldn’t be too many more weeks until sunny days and trees tipped with color gave way to dark nights and bare, black branches. He sighed, then thought of all the things he enjoyed about late fall days that led into winter — the warmth giving way to cold, crisp air and the smell of smoke from chimneys and burning brush. Instead of lazy evenings on the porch telling stories to friends and neighbors who stopped by, he’d be settled in at Corcoran’s pub, a glass of ale in his hand and a fire in the fireplace. Porch or pub, it didn’t matter. They would stop by, ask him to spin a tale or two. Old friends, relatives — both close and so distant it would takes ages to trace the connection — even the occasional college student who didn’t mind listening to an old man ramble.
Sometimes there were new faces to add to the familiar, people who hadn’t yet heard all the stories Riordan had told time after time. One was walking down the street now. Ellie waved as she approached, her dress slacks and button-down shirt a sure sign she had just come from the Historical Society’s office. The girl worked too hard, slaving away on a Saturday. Anybody else would have at least softened their dress a bit, worn something more comfortable. She was an odd one, so different from dear Becca it was impossible to believe they were related. Not that they were, of course, not by blood.
He called across the yard, “Ellie, dear, come keep an old man company for a few minutes.”
She smiled, her wide mouth transforming her face into something full of joy. “Can I get another story if I ask nicely?” Her lips twisted in an impish smirk, and Riordan was reminded of her mother.
“Have you ever known me not to have a story ready to tell?” He motioned her to have a seat in one of the other chairs, and she took it, unclipping her cellphone and setting it on the table between them. She leaned her briefcase against the chair and settled back.
“You’re like an unending storybook.” She grinned. “I keep thinking you’ll run out of stories one of these days, but Aunt Becca says you never have.”
Riordan chuckled. “I don’t know if I’d go that far — I tell the same tales many a time. But nobody seems to mind.”
“Oh!” She sat up. “Maybe you know this. Mrs. Boylan stopped by today to donate some papers she’d found in her father’s attic. She started talking, you know how she does, and she said something about Dan and dead bodies in the marsh, but didn’t explain.” Ellie flushed. “I was busy, and she goes on and on, so I didn’t want to ask. And I wasn’t quite sure if I should ask Dan about it — I couldn’t tell from her comments. It didn’t sound like it was anything to do with the mill project, so I wasn’t sure it was any of my business. But it keeps skittering around in my head, like a bug I can’t quite catch.”
“Ahhh... the dead bodies in the marsh.” Riordan nodded. “One of the most notorious chapters in Exeter’s history. I’m surprised Becca never told you.” He paused. “Oh, but she wasn’t around. It was the year she was on sabbatical.”
“So how did bodies get into the marsh?” Ellie asked, then frowned. “And what did Dan have to do with it? He’s a few years younger than I am — he must have been in middle school if it was while Aunt Becca was on sabbatical.”
“Well, now that’s a story you should hear.” Riordan thought for a second. “Way back when I was a boy, you never went to play in the marsh. It’s been less hazardous since Dan and Evan turned the whole town upside down with their discovery. But before that... I always wanted to explore, but my mother forbid it. The one time I did sneak down there, Officer Reilly, Dan’s great-great-uncle, caught me and dragged me home.”
“Is it dangerous?”
“The marsh?” Riordan shook his head. “Oh, I don’t doubt there are places where you could get sucked into the muck and need help getting out or that someone could drown there if they wandered into the wrong spot. But the same is true of the quarries on the west end, and we roamed all through them as children. No, the danger in the marsh came from other sources. The marsh was dangerous because of the people who used it for their own nefarious purposes.” He tapped the side of his nose.
“When you read books or watch movies featuring mobsters, everything’s about the Mafia. The Italians have a reputation as gangsters and not without reason. But in this state, the Irish mob has always been at least as powerful. It’s a dark, twisted side of our heritage, one that can be traced back to the Old Country and the abuse suffered at the hands of the English. Many escaped to America hoping for a new life, but crumbling towers and green fields gave way to cramped quarters on germ-laden ships. Those that survived found the Yankee establishment just as oppressive as what they’d left behind. The Puritanical Brahmins frowned upon the music and dancing, the storytelling and drinking that’s such a part of our culture. Businesses all over bore signs, ‘No Irish Need Apply.’ Only in the mills could they find work — dirty, dangerous, ill-paid work. Like other ethnic groups, the Irish came in waves — families and villages finding towns to settle in, neighborhoods to call their own. Exeter was one of them.”
He looked across to where Ellie was leaning forward, eager for more. “In Boston, the Irish organized, trying to keep other people out of their neighborhoods, preserving the new homes they had carved out of city blocks. They didn’t want other groups to gain power over them as in the Old Country. This became a matter of survival, and soon Boston had an Irish mob to rival the Mafia. While the Italians expanded south to Providence, competing against and working with the families down there, the Irish mob headed west to Worcester. In both cases, the gangs needed a place where they could meet on neutral turf, someplace halfway in between. Someplace they could use for hiding and for... other purposes.”
“Wait, the mob was here?” Ellie sat upright. “In Exeter, the world’s quietest town?”
He waved a finger at her. “Don’t go thinking that just because we’re not some big city like Washington that we’re some sleepy backwater. People are people, no matter the place.”
Ellie snorted. “Can’t argue with that — the past month has been more exciting for me than all last year in D.C.” She rested her elbows on her knees, settling her chin on her knuckles. “So the mob used the marsh?”
Riordan nodded. “Many of us in town knew, or at least suspected. Stories were told, whispered from person to person. But the only ones who really knew for sure were the local ‘affiliate,’ and nobody ever dared ask.” He paused. “Certain people you didn’t mess with.” He shuddered. “Not successfully.”
He picked his words carefully. “This is one story I don’t tell people. Your aunt’s probably the only living person who’s heard it, at least from me.”
“I won’t tell.” Ellie folded her hands, her face solemn.
“Old man Donaghue, he had a mean streak. His son Steve-”
Ellie interrupted. “The mill owner? He’s seemed so nice every time I’ve talked to him for the project.”
“Yes, that Steve.” Riordan turned the discussion back to his story. “Steve was only seven or eight when he brought home a puppy one time. Mutt of a dog. Scruffy, scrappy thing. Steve rescued it from a fight it was quickly losing out in the alley behind O’Learys. He paraded it through downtown, stopping by to show my father. I was clerking for him that summer, earning money to pay for law school. Steve was so excited, he was about to bust. Said he’d always wanted a dog. He was on his way to his pa’s office to show him. Not 10 minutes later, my father sent me along with some paperwork for Old Man Donaghue to sign.” He sighed. “Always wondered if he knew what was going to happen, sent me along on purpose.”
“What did happen?” Ellie chewed her lower lip.
“I got there and didn’t see Steve or the dog. Got the papers signed.” He shook his head, remembering. “On the way back, I decided to cut through the alley to save time. Steve was at the end of the alley, sitting against the wall of the building next door. The dog was lying next to him, dead.” He closed his eyes. “There was no blood, but no neck ever looked like that by Nature’s design. And there was a dark mark on the wall, just above the dog’s body.”
Ellie just shook her head. “No.”
“Yes.” Riordan nodded. “I stopped and asked him what happened. He shook his head, tears running down his cheeks. I knelt down, getting dust all over my slacks. He told me to go away, to run before his pa saw me. Said he should have known better.” Riordan swallowed. This was the part he always found toughest to remember, the part he wasn’t proud of. “I told him if he needed help, to go to my father or to come to me. And then I left him there.” He sighed. “After that, I always believed the whispers.”
“So Steve’s father...” Ellie’s voice trailed off.
Riordan nodded. “I never wanted to look too closely at what he was involved in, but after that, I heard enough to be sure those links to the mob weren’t just rumors. I don’t know if he was an enforcer or just provided a place for people to hide when the heat was on in the city, but he was involved. My father warned me not to mention it to the chief — every time somebody tried to get him involved, nothing would happen.”
“How did Steve get away?”
“About 20 years ago, Donaghue was fading fast. The mob was moving into drugs, but not around here. The college wasn’t big enough back then to be a market, and they couldn’t risk the attention from the state.” He looked out into the distance. “It was about this time of day when I heard. I was sitting out here, writing a letter to your aunt, catching her up on all the news of the town. I wrote to her almost every day while she was gone.”
“She still has the letters.” Ellie’s voice was soft. “I found them one day, while looking for something else.”
“That’s something, then,” Riordan said. “As long as she still has them, I can hope one of these times she’ll agree to marry me.” He shook off the thought. “I didn’t share much of this with her, didn’t want to risk putting anything to paper.” He remembered the afternoon. “It was a hot day, one of those muggy August afternoons when it seems as though fall will never come. I’d finished up early at the office, but decided the yard work could wait until later, when it had begun to cool. I sat out here, writing Becca, when young Evan went running past, Dan chasing after him, calling for him to stop. The boys couldn’t have been more than 12, maybe 13. Evan’s family had just moved to town at the beginning of the summer, down the block from the Reillys.”
“Danny?” Riordan shoved back from the table and stood up. “Daniel.”
Dan looked at Evan, gaining distance from him by the minute, then slowed and jogged back. “Mr. Boyle?” He looked down the block, where Evan had started to slow. “I really have to go. Evan...” He swiped an arm across his dripping face, leaving a dark smudge.
Riordan looked him over, saw the mud smeared across his legs, caking his battered Chucks. “You’ve been in the marsh.”
Dan scuffed his toe, then stopped, crossing his arms. “So? Me and Evan went exploring.”
“You’re not running in this heat for the fun of it, are you?” Riordan sighed. “What happened?”
Dan hesitated, looking down the block. Evan had stopped and was walking back. Riordan hadn’t met the boy before, just seen him around town. He was tall, lanky — the kind of kid who would be all angles until he got older, started filling out some. He’d heard tell he was the same age as Dan, but Evan had half a head on him. Dan was sturdy, the kind of kid who would be a terror on the football team when he got older. Fearless too, always had been. Anything that could make him run had to be bad.
As Evan walked up, Riordan motioned to the porch. “Come on, sit down before you drop, both of you.” Dan headed up the walk, but Evan hesitated.
“I don’t know... I mean, I’ve seen you around town. You’re the lawyer, the one down by Town Hall. But...” The boy stammered to a stop, his face pale despite a deep tan.
“You can call your parents if you want.” Riordan smiled. “I’ll talk to them. But you can ask Danny — I’ve known him since he was born. His father, too.”
Evan nodded, eyes wary, but slipped past him, joining Dan on the steps. Riordan leaned against the railing. “What happened down in the marsh?”
“We...” Dan paused. “We were just poking around. Honest. And then we saw this little shack, and we went to explore, but it was locked.”
Evan nodded. “It looked really old, like it might fall apart in a storm, but there were three padlocks on the door, and they weren’t rusty at all. And the windows weren’t broken, neither.”
“Did you look inside?” Even as he asked, he knew the answer. What he didn’t know was exactly what had spooked them.
Dan shook his head. “The windows were high — I couldn’t see. But Evan looked.”
“There were a bunch of guns.” Evan’s words spilled out. “Machine guns and rifles and pistols, and a bunch of knives, and one of them...” He faltered. “It looked like it had blood on it.”
“He yelled, and I jumped back and ended up in the marsh.” Dan made a face. “It was sticky and muddy, and there were a billion mosquitos. I tried to get out, but I kept sinking. My feet were all covered in mud, and they weighed a wicked lot. And then I stepped on something hard, and I climbed back up on the bank. Something caught my toe, though, and I pulled hard and-”
“It was a skull.” Evan shuddered. “Dan landed on the ground, and the skull rolled away, and it had a hole in the back.”
“That’s when we took off,” Dan said.
Riordan nodded. “Smart thinking, lads.” He frowned. Calling the chief was out of the question — Old Mike Mullally turned a blind eye to the goings-on in the marsh. Now the staties, they were another matter. He thought they might pay some attention. But he didn’t want the boys involved, didn’t want them in danger. “You boys listen to me. Danny, I’m calling your father, letting him know what you found. Don’t either of you boys mention this to anybody. Evan, go over to Danny’s house, stay there for now.”
The boys nodded. Dan looked up. “Am I going to get in trouble?”
Riordan shook his head. “I don’t think so, Danny-Boy. But I don’t want to hear of you two ever going into the marsh again.”
They both nodded. Riordan looked at them and frowned. If anyone took one look at the mud smeared all over Dan, word would get out. “Hose is around the corner in the side yard. Go clean up, get rid of that mud while I call your father.”
He headed inside and dialed the Reillys’ number. Eileen answered, but called Kevin to the phone without asking any questions.
“Riordan?”
“Your boy’s been down at the marsh, he and his new friend.”
“Hell. They get caught?”
“No, but they found a skull. Sounds like the owner of it was shot, and you know what that means, m’boy.”
Kevin didn’t answer, only muttered curses.
“Look, I’ll take care of this, call in the staties. I’ve got a few friends among the troopers, and they’ll make sure it doesn’t get brushed under the rug. But can you work it out to keep both boys at your place tonight, until things are underway?” At Kevin’s question, he replied, “Evan’s parents are new in town, don’t know the way things work. They hear about this, they’re going to call the chief, and then nothing will happen, same way it’s been before. By tomorrow, we can have the troopers out here — then Mullally won’t have any control over it.”
As Riordan wound up the story, Ellie sat there, her face alternating between shock and horror.
“The police chief was in on it?”
Riordan nodded. “Nobody could ever prove it, but we all knew. He looked the other way too many times. You learned — it wasn’t safe to rock the boat around here back then.”
“So what did they find?”
“Enough guns to arm a street gang. Dozens of knives. And bodies. The final count was 29, but they never did find all the bones for each of those bodies. There were some who said there could be even more out there.” He shook his head. “Everybody knew who was responsible, but they never pinned it on anybody. After all these years, they won’t. Donaghue is gone, and Steve’s clean.”
“You’re sure?”
He nodded. “He never liked that side of his pa. After I saw what Donaghue did to the puppy, I kept an eye out, and Steve said a few things to me. He’d wanted out before the bodies turned up, but I was never sure if he’d been able to or if he’d just kept it quiet. But if he wasn’t out before, he definitely got out then. Cleaned up the business, made sure none of the buildings or apartments were rented to anybody with a mob connection, and managed not to end up dead.”
“So the mob’s gone from Exeter now.” She smiled.
“As far as we know.” More than that, Riordan wouldn’t say. Ellie didn’t need to know his suspicions. Not yet, anyway.
