Dangerous Innocence (Five-Leaf-Clover)

My heartbeat picked up as the airplane touched down at JFK. This was my first time so far from home. Everything was unfamiliar, even the smell. I told the cab driver Gulliver’s address, surprised by his decorated dashboard. It looked like a shrine straight out of a Bollywood movie. The cab drivers in Dublin sometimes had an occasional decoration, but I’d never seen anything like this. I couldn’t help but wonder if one of the pieces would go flying in a car crash and impale me.

When I finally drew my gaze away from the colorful deities, my breath lodged in my throat at the sheer size of the city. The skyscrapers towered over us, obstructing my view of the blue sky and casting shadows on the sidewalks. The cab came to a stop right before an old church that looked entirely out of place surrounded by skyscrapers.

I paid him, ignoring his pinched look when I gave him a one-dollar tip, and got out, hooking my backpack over my shoulder. The church looked gloomy in the dark, almost foreboding, yet the brownstone façade and stone pathway smoothed by thousands of walking feet, reminded me more of my hometown than anything else had so far in this too-big city.

Opening the gate, I walked around the building, searching for something that looked like an entrance. A string of honking followed by shouting made me jump. Dublin wasn’t a quiet city, mind you, but New York was an onslaught for my nervous system.

I found a small house adjacent to the church with a bell and a plaque with Gulliver’s last name below: Killeen. I wasn’t sure why seeing the name surprised me. We were family but I hadn’t seen him in so long. Would he welcome me or send me away?

I rang the bell. After some shuffling behind the door, it finally opened. It took me a moment to recognize my uncle. In the many years since I’d last seen him, he’d gained about twenty pounds and his hairline had receded, but he had the same fiery red hair like me. His brows pinched then his eyes widened with recognition. “Aislinn?”

I nodded and smiled awkwardly. “That’s me.” I’d never had a fight with him. Even if Mum was angry at him, and he at her, that didn’t have to mean we couldn’t get along.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, not necessarily in a rejecting way but I was yet to be invited inside. He was dressed in a simple white T-shirt, black dress pants and comfy slippers.

“Can’t your niece come to visit her only uncle?”

He shook his head. “Lying is a sin, Aislinn. You’d do well to remember that, even if your mother lives a sinful life.”

Anger rose inside me. “Mum’s worked hard all her life and managed to raise two children by herself.”

“She wouldn’t have had to if she’d stayed true to our beliefs and waited until marriage.”

I couldn’t believe him. But he was my only option in New York. It was getting late, and I didn’t want to roam the city looking for a cheap place to stay. “You could have helped her.”

“She didn’t want my help, and I wasn’t the one who fled from here.”

I sighed. “I’m not here to discuss Mum.”

“Why are you here, then?”

“Imogen,” I said, not in the mood for chitchat. “She disappeared three months ago, a few weeks after arriving in New York.”

Gulliver shook his head with a sigh. “That’s what I suspected.”

The wind picked up, and I shivered. “Can I spend a few nights with you while I search for her?”

Gulliver seemed torn. He scanned me from head to toe. What he was looking for, I wasn’t sure. I’d expected him to be more welcoming despite his arguments with Mum. Maybe I was too naïve. “Your sister is too much like your mother. I’m not surprised that she got herself in trouble.”

I watched him expectantly. “Can I stay?”

Gulliver finally stepped back and opened the door. I stepped inside the narrow corridor, the floor boards creaking under my feet. The house wasn’t big, a two-bedroom place with a cozy kitchen and a small living room. Gulliver led me to the second bedroom, which also served as a library. Every wall except for the bed nook was covered with floor-to-ceiling book shelves in a dark wood. Most of the tomes referenced religion or church history, and the scent of old paper and dust hung heavily in the room.

“You can stay here as long as you don’t bring trouble to my doorstep.”

How could I possibly cause more trouble than his connection to the mob?

“I won’t. As soon as I find Imogen, I’ll return to Dublin and you can have your home to yourself again.”

“Maybe Imogen doesn’t want to be found. She fled responsibility and her sins, but sin always finds you no matter where you run.”

I dropped my backpack onto the bed. “I don’t know what kind of sins you’re referring to. I hope you’re not talking about Finn, because he isn’t sin.”

Gulliver regarded me closely. “Your sister followed in your mother’s footsteps, becoming pregnant at only sixteen. I see you managed to spare yourself the same fate. I hope you’re waiting for marriage.”

I gritted my teeth against a scathing comeback. How would he know if I had a child back home in Dublin too? As if he could see “sin” in a person’s face. Ridiculous. Yet Gulliver was still a priest, and I’d been raised to respect members of the church. He’d probably dance of joy if I admitted to still being a virgin. “I’m not better than Mum or Imogen, because they aren’t bad for having sex before marriage or having a child at young age.”

The word sex obviously made Gulliver feel uncomfortable as he averted his eyes from me. “You must be hungry. Come into the kitchen. I have some leftover pumpkin soup for you.”

I was hungry so I followed him silently. Once I was seated on the wooden bench with a steaming bowl of soup in front of me, I continued my argument, “You shouldn’t condemn Mum and Imogen. They didn’t hurt anyone. They created life and acted out of love.”

“More likely lust,” Gulliver corrected as he sank down across from me with a Guinness. He took a sip and leaned back, still watching me as if he was trying to spot sin deep within me.

“Can I have a Guinness as well?” I asked, nodding at the can.

“Drinking age is twenty-one here.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’ve been drinking beer since sixteen, Uncle. I won’t get drunk from a can of Guinness.”

“While you’re under my roof, you abide by my rules, Aislinn. If you can’t do it, then you can look for another place to stay.”

“And what are your rules?”

“No men, no alcohol, no parties.”

“That’s fine with me,” I said. There wasn’t time for parties, and now that Patrick had broken my heart, I had no interest in men either. And the occasional after-work Guinness hardly counted as alcohol. “I’ll spend all my time looking for Imogen.” I narrowed my eyes thoughtfully as I ate another spoonful of the bland soup. It lacked seasoning, and the slice of white bread stuck to the roof of my mouth. A pinch of salt, maybe some nutmeg and cinnamon, a bit of acid for the soup, and a trash bin for the bread would do the trick. If I found some time, I’d bake a soda bread. “Has Imogen approached you while she’s been in here?”

“She appeared on my doorstep just like you did, looking as if she had every intention to work the streets.”

“She’s a model,” I said sharply. “So she was here, but she didn’t stay with you?” Imogen had never mentioned talking to Gulliver, so I just assumed she hadn’t tried to see him. Our few phone calls the first couple of days after she had arrived in the States had been very short and lacking information.

“I sent her away. I could tell she was in with the wrong crowd already.”

“What kind of crowd?”

Gulliver got up and began to clean the soup pot. “I only heard rumors that she was looking for sponsors for her childish dreams.”

“She has potential. Everyone has always told her she could be a successful model.”

Gulliver didn’t react as if my argument wasn’t even worthy of a reply.

“Where was she looking for sponsors?”

“You better not follow in her steps. What you might find isn’t for the faint of heart.”

“What does that mean?” I got up and carried the bowl over to the sink. “If you know anything, you have to tell me. Please, Uncle. We’re still family. Help me find my sister.”

Gulliver took the bowl from me and washed it with a stoic calmness, which drove me up the wall. I knew he was testing me, especially my patience, so I reined myself in and waited for him to tell me whatever it was he had to say on his own terms.

“Your sister chose the easy way, as expected. Instead of working for her money she chose to go looking for it in Sodom.”

“Sodom?” I barely managed to stop a scoff. Was he really going to use bible references for everything Imogen had done?

Gulliver shook his head. “That’s the name of the place where Imogen went.”

I’d never heard of that place before. “Is it in New York?”

“It’s the name certain individuals use for a city not too far from here. A city of sin, not a place I’d go by choice. I heard your sister sought her luck in the Doom Loop there. It’s a place of lost souls.”

“Lost souls who attend your worship?” I asked scathingly.

Considering he lived in the oldest Irish neighborhood of New York, one that was ruled by the second oldest son of the Devaney clan, I doubted he had stopped being the Irish mob’s confessor. I wished Mum had been more forthcoming with information. I didn’t like to go into a situation blindly.

Gulliver’s expression became wary. “Many people attend service. You should too. It would do you good. Your mother avoided church way too often.”

“I’ll attend church tomorrow, all right?” I said, hoping to get in his good graces. Uncle Gulliver had contacts that might help with my search.

“The Irish still confess everything to you, don’t they?” If one of them was connected to Imogen’s disappearance, they would have confessed to Gulliver. An icy chill spread through my body thinking about it. Mum expected the worst, but I still had hope.

“I made an oath, and I won’t break it.”

“An oath before God or before the Devaneys?”

Gulliver’s expression hardened. “I’m a man of God.”

“Then help me. Tell me if one of the mobsters confessed anything to you about Imogen!”

“I’m bound by my oath, Aislinn. Some things are more important than earthly matters.”

“Even more important than family?”

“Even that,” he said. “You should go to bed now. Worship starts at nine.”

He got up, dismissing me. I rose from the bench and trudged into my room. I had given Mum a quick call when I landed, and if money wasn’t an issue, I would have called her again just to hear her voice and feel a little closer to home. Even an hour after sinking into the soft mattress, I was still wide awake. I’d slept most of the flight, so landing in New York and being here with Uncle Gulliver now felt surreal. A dream I wanted to wake up from as quickly as possible, hopefully before it turned into a nightmare.

Uncle Gulliver woke me way too early to get ready for worship. I put on the only nice dress I’d packed, a white summer dress with buttons in the front. It reached my knees and the sleeves touched my elbows—chaste enough for church. According to Mum, it made me look like a good Catholic school girl. I’d also packed a matching white cardigan but it was supposed to be sweltering today, obviously not a rare occurrence for early September.

The church was still empty when Gulliver led me inside twenty minutes before service. He disappeared in the front to prepare everything. I shivered from the cold. The day was supposed to be hot, about 32 degrees Celsius, but the comfortable warmth outside hadn’t penetrated the inside of the nave yet.

I chose to sit in one of the last pews, mainly to have a good vantage point of the congregation. Sinking down onto the cold pew, I folded my hands on my lap. I went to church every Sunday, always alone, because neither Mum nor Imogen cared for the Catholic church. It calmed the raging flood inside of me. I found great consolation at the idea that there was someone watching over me, especially when I’d been alone at home while Mum was at work and Imogen had run off again.

Soon, the first churchgoers arrived, crossing themselves and nodding a welcome in my direction. As expected, there was a ridiculously high number of broad-shouldered, scarred men with tattoos peeking out under their nice dress shirts. They scanned me from head to toe as they passed, and their expressions weren’t fitting for church. Either they were blatantly hostile—strangers obviously weren’t welcome—or leering. I ignored their attention and pretended to be focused on the bible in my lap —until something in the atmosphere changed. It was difficult to explain but I simply had to look.

Gulliver still welcomed every visitor, but his demeanor had changed—he became submissive. Up until this point, he’d invited everyone in, but now the man towering over him made my uncle appear like a guest in his own church, as if Gulliver had to ask for permission to be here at all.

I recognized the man from photos in the newspaper.

Lorcan Devaney talked to Gulliver with a benevolent smile that didn’t reach his cautious, dark eyes. He was a tall, broad man who looked imposing in his charcoal suit, but would have generated the same respect if he’d been dressed in a tracksuit. His complexion was sun-kissed, matching his dark brown hair. The stubble on his chin and cheeks only added to his rugged charm. Some people thought Irish blood meant red hair and freckles, but Irish came in many shapes and forms, and many dark haired folks had Celtic blood running through them.

If I recalled the stories making the rounds at Merchant’s Arch correctly, he had just turned thirty recently and had a huge birthday bash in a pub in the Bronx.

His gaze scanned the pews, and I quickly ducked my head, focusing on the bible. I could only hope his attention passed by me. If he thought I was interested in him, he’d only get suspicious. But if Imogen had really looked for sponsors in the wrong corners, then the Irish mob—specifically their clan chief, Devaney were the people she would have most likely approached. Uncle Gulliver’s secrecy regarding the confessions he’d taken only fired up my suspicions.

After service, I stayed in my seat and watched Lorcan Devaney disappear into the confessional box. I had to stifle a scoff. Did he really think confessing made things better? Hopefully the sale of indulgences was a long abandoned practice in the Catholic church, but who could say when Gulliver bowed to the mob?

I got up and inconspicuously strolled closer to the confessional booth. It was built from pine and stained a deep red with three doors, each topped by a little roof. Lorcan had disappeared behind the door on the right. There was room for another penitent behind the left door, but no one had gotten in line for confession. Maybe it was an unwritten rule that no one was allowed near the confessional on the day that Lorcan confessed. Gulliver’s place was in the middle. Maybe that was a good analogy for his position in life in general; he was caught between two stools. Unfortunately, the door of the confessional swung open before I could get close enough to eavesdrop, and Lorcan stepped out. My uncle left the confessional as well, and both men stared my way—Uncle Gulliver with a reprimanding expression but Lorcan’s gaze held an intense curiosity as he scanned my face. Without taking his eyes off me, in a deep voice he asked, “Your niece, Priest?”

“Yes, please meet Aislinn Killeen.” He motioned me forward, and I reluctantly approached the two men, intimidated by the piercing stare of the mobster.

“She looks like your sister when she was young.”

Lorcan knew my mum? I sent Gulliver a questioning look but he ignored me.

“She inherited the looks but fortunately not the temper or sinful disposition.”

I scoffed. Uncle Gulliver hardly knew me.

Lorcan nodded. “Pleasure to meet you, Miss Killeen.” His deep drawl sent a—not entirely unpleasant—shiver down my spine. He extended a big, strong hand covered in scars. I hesitated briefly, and his mouth twitched with an expression I had trouble deciphering. I had to look away from his too personal stare.

The moment my palm touched his, my pulse quickened and I tingled in the most confusing way. I quickly pulled back and gave him a small smile. “Aislinn will do.”

His lips twisted in what I thought was a smile, but it never came. “Aislinn then.”

Gulliver watched us like a hawk. Maybe he disapproved of me interacting with the mob as much as Mum did.

“Lorcan, we need to leave in five if we want to make the first meeting in Sodom,” a gorilla of a man said in a heavy Kerry accent. His blond hair was closely cropped and he was heavily muscled. I’d put him at around fifty.

Lorcan nodded and stepped back, allowing me to breathe more freely. His presence had been like a weight on my chest.

“Did you meet my sister?” I blurted before he had a chance to leave. Ignoring Gulliver’s enraged expression, I looked only at Lorcan. He briefly narrowed his eyes and he turned to Gulliver with a sharp smile that wasn’t friendly at all. “It seems the Killeens are back to cause trouble in New York, hmm?”

Gulliver laughed nervously, his hand clutching the handle of the wooden door. “Not at all, not at all, Lorcan. My niece is here to receive moral guidance and refresh family bonds, nothing else.”

“Of course,” Lorcan drawled, and with a soul-searching look in my direction, he walked away. I had to fight the urge to lower my head.

The moment Gulliver and I were alone, he grabbed my arm. “Have you lost your mind?”

“I only asked about Imogen. That isn’t a crime, right?”

Gulliver shook his head, his face growing increasingly red. “Not a crime, but foolish. Now Lorcan knows you are looking for your sister.”

“I didn’t say I was looking for her. If he knows I’m looking for her, that means he knows she’s missing.”

Gulliver’s lips thinned. “Don’t get on Lorcan’s bad side, Aislinn, trust me.”

“I only want to find Imogen. That’s all,” I said with a shrug. “Maybe I should go to Sodom today if Lorcan’s there.”

“Sodom isn’t a place where you just walk around. Even if your sister went there, you shouldn’t follow her bad example. Nothing good ever comes from setting foot in Sodom. It’s an ungodly place, Aislinn. Only lost souls roam there.”

“I suppose you know most of them. It’s a business hub for the Irish as well, right?”

Gulliver looked around to make sure we were alone in church. “The Irish, and other organizations as well.”

“Could Imogen have gone there to find an agent?”

Gulliver snorted. “People go there to find drugs, money, weapons.”

“Maybe Imogen went there to borrow money for her headshots. Modeling photographers are expensive, after all.”

Gulliver didn’t say anything—that could only mean I was on the right track.

“Don’t go to Sodom, Aislinn. Even my prayers won’t protect you there.”

“Thanks, Uncle, but I can take care of myself.”