It was late by the time I laid down, but I couldn't sleep no matter how tied I was. My mind was racing and my heart pounding as if I had just run a foot race.
The logical side of my mind told me to get out of the country as fast as possible. I was near Tara station, I had some money again, and in a few hours I could be in Liverpool.
The desperate side of my mind said I really needed the week's worth of work and extra income. I had no idea when the next gig would come and I needed to make hay while the sun shined, as we say in Texas.
I kept going back and forth in my mind - stay and possibly face trouble, though I really had no idea why Brian had been arrested or what he would say, or run take my chances with finding work on the Continent.
By the time the sun was up, I had decided to take the work. I would probably regret it, but I couldn't turn down the income in any case. Instead of trying to sleep again, I got up and laid out all my gear, repacked it and got my things in order. I put 200 quid and my remaining $50 bill into the secret slot in the seam of my shorts. The rest I put in a pouch that I kept with my tools in the false bottom of my pack. I double checked the tent pole where I had hidden my secret stash - still sealed.
When I had finished repacking, I geared up and went down to breakfast. It was nothing spectacular - a couple of sausages and sweet rolls. I then set out for Tara station to get the next train to Wicklow.
I got down at Wicklow and found a phone booth. I dropped the coins in and dialed the number Brian had given me. A husky voice answered with a strong Irish brogue.
"Mornin'," the voice said.
"Hello, my name is Rex. I got your number from Brian Tsan. He told me you were crewing up for a festival this week."
"Brian, eh," he paused. "You're a Yank. What's your day rate?"
I told him and he paused again. "I suppose you'll want cash at the end?"
"That would be nice, yes. I don't have any way to cash a check." I still had a bank account in Ireland with a few quid in it, but I wanted to get on the road as soon as the festival was over.
"Alright, get-in is at 6am. You got a tent?" he asked.
"Yes, I have a tent and tools, ready to go," I confirmed.
"Right. There's an area marked out for crew tents. Check with Ian when you get there. I'm puttin' ya on the rigging crew, and you'll swing to stagehand when the job is finished. You can rig, can't you?"
"Absolutely. I happy to demonstrate if..." He cut me off.
"No need. If you're from Brian, I think your qualified. Get out to the venue and find Ian. Tell him Padraig sent you. He'll do your paperwork and assign you a spot for your tent.," he said.
"Great! Thank you!" I replied.
He gave me directions to the venue and I went out to catch the next bus going that way. When I got to the venue, it was an open field with a small group of people standing at the far end, pointing, measuring and putting stakes in the ground. I walked across the soft mossy field and stood slightly back from the group until I was acknowledged. At las, a tall, slim and sinewy character looked at me.
"Can I help ya?" he asked.
"Uh, Padraigh sent me. Said I should find Ian to get signed in. He told me I'm on rigging, then swinging to stagehand," I explained.
"A Yank are ya?" he smiled wryly. "Alright, you can drop your pack over there," he waved his hand at an pile of bags and other gear. "Are ya ready to work?" he asked.
"Just need to dig out my tools, but ready to go," I replied.
"Great. Gear up and come find us when you're ready," he said and the group wandered off.
I dropped my pack, fished out my tools and met up with the group. We spent several hours laying out the markers for the stage and other structures, as other crew began to roll in. By the end of the day, most of the crew had shown up. We had a meeting to review the site plans and get-in schedule. Then one of the production assistants showed up with a cooler full of beer and we broke for social time.
The week was uneventful. The get-in went smoothly and by Wednesday, we were doing sound and lighting checks. Ian gathered the stagehands together and handed out run-downs for the first two days. The festival started at noon tomorrow, and would run until Sunday night, with a long list of artists, roughly six acts each day. We were given our assignments then we broke for dinner.
The accommodations were rather nice. The catering provided good, solid meals, fresh fruit, plenty to drink. The crews got along quite well, and in the evenings after work call, we would gather at the tent city for beer and tall tales of the road.
It was the smoothest production - especially in a field - that I had ever worked on. Everything ran smoothly, though two of the acts showed up late and we had to scramble to keep the show going. By Sunday night, it was estimated that over 10,000 people had attended and it was rather anti-climactic to tear down the stage.
While we worked to pack up the equipment, I noticed two men in suits talking to Ian. Ian gestured in my direction and my heart sunk. I panicked and wondered if I should run. I assumed that they were there for me, and I was right. Though I moved around and tried to be hard to find, they eventually caught up with me.
"Are you Rex," the first man glanced at his notes, "Greathouse?"
"That's me, how can I help you," I continued to work, hoping they'd go away.
"You're a Yank, then?" the second man asked, looking somewhat surprised.
"Strictly speaking, no," I answered with my usual spiel. "I'm from Texas. Yankees come from the northeast."
"I see," said the second man.
The first man continued, "Do you mind if we have a chat with you?"
"Well, who are you and what about?" I kept working. "I'm a bit busy just now. Can it wait?"
The second man spoke. "We're with the Garda Síochána. Do you know what that is?"
"Sure," I answered, as casually as I could. "You're the Irish FBI."
"After a fashion, I suppose," said the second man.
"What's up?" I asked.
"We'd like to ask you some questions about Brian Tsan," the first man said.
"OK. I don't know how it works here, but I should probably ask for your identification," I was straining to maintain a calm demeanor.
They both presented their IDs and badges. I pretended to look closely, then agreed to talk to them. I called to Ian and asked if I could cut loose, and he yelled back that it was fine. The two agents looked around and found the manager's table with some chairs around it. They led the way over to the table and indicated for me to take a seat.
"So," started the first man, "I take it you know Brian, then?"
"Sure," I said as relaxed as I could. "He got me this gig, in fact."
"When was the last time you saw him?" the second man asked.
I almost panicked again. They probably already knew the answer, so there was no use trying to change the timeline, and besides it would be easier to remember the truth.
"I suppose it was last Saturday. I stopped by his house to get the contact information for this gig." I didn't want to let on that I had been standing in the crowd in front of his house when the police arrived that night.
"I see," said the second man. "How well do you know him?"
"Well, he was part of our neighborhood group. I lived down the street from him for a year. We would meet at the pub on weekends and I've been to his house once or twice. That's about it."
"Do you know any of the people he does business with?" asked the first man.
"No," I said honestly. "I know he works in event promotions, like this one, but I've never been part of his business dealings. He has tossed me a couple of gigs in the past, and that's about as close to his work as I have gotten."
"Has he ever mentioned the IRA to you?" asked the second man.
I paused for a moment, wondering what the best course would be at this point, since i am sure this was the only reason they were here. I paused for moment and tried to look confused.
"Individual Retirement Account?" I asked, pretending I had no idea what they were talking about.
The second man smiled ever so slightly, which was the reaction I was hoping for.
"Not quite," the second man said. "The Irish Republican Army."
I chuckled nervously, as if embarrassed of my ignorance. "Everyone I know avoids the topic like the plague. I learned early on not to bring the subject up, and no one ever mentioned it."
The two men nodded, and the first man made notes.
"May I see your passport?" the first man asked.
"It's in my gear," I said waving in the direction of tent city. "Do you want to follow me?"
They said they would wait, so I took off across the grounds to my tent. My mind was running a thousands miles per hour and my heart was keeping pace. The walk was exactly what I needed to clear my head and relax a moment. I passed Ian and he asked if everything was alright. I nodded and said they were asking about a friend of mine, not sure why, and they wanted to see my passport. Ian nodded and waved me on.
I got to my tent and dove inside. I exhaled for the first time that I could remember in the past half hour. I fished out my passport and checked to see that there was nothing stuck in inside that might be embarrassing. I shook my head and realized just then that my hands were shaking. I took a couple of deep breaths and tried to calm down, then climbed out of my tent and headed back to the table.
The two men were talking to each other and looking at their notes when I walked up.
"Here you are," I said, holding out my passport.
The first man took it and thumbed through the pages. He stopped on my Irish visa and work permit.
"You've been here almost a year, is that right?" he asked.
"Yes," I came to do an internship at The Gate in Dublin, then I decided to do a little travel after that."
He handed the passport to the second man, who also thumbed through it, while the first man made notes again.
"Is there any way we can contact you?" the first man asked.
"Well, I was hoping to leave tomorrow and go to Germany. I'm not sure where I'll be or how long I'll be there. I just want to wander around and see Europe," I said.
The first man made more notes. The second man handed my passport back to me, along with his card.
"If you happen to think of any connections to the IRA, you might call us, eh?" he said.
I pretended to look closely at the card. "Uh, yeah, sure. Not sure what I can offer you, but if I think of anything..." I trailed off.
"That'll do then," said the first man standing up. The second man put his wallet away and stood as well. "Thanks for your time. I hope we didn't disturb your work."
"Happy to help," I swallowed hard. "The boss seems OK with it," I said looking in the general direction of Ian.
"Right then, safe travels," the first man said, and they both turned in unison and walked off across the field.
"If you're finished fuckin' around, I could use some help loading the trucks," Ian said, walking up behind me. "Everything alright?"
"I guess so. I'm not in handcuffs, so I guess I gave the right answers."
Ian reached in his shoulder bag and pulled out an envelope. "Here's your pay packet," he said offering it to me. "You do fine work and I'll hire you on again if you're around the place."
"Thanks," I said, feeling suddenly much lighter. "I appreciate the gig. How can I contact you?"
Ian pulled a name card out of his shirt pocket and gave it to me. "Check in occasionally. If I have anything working, I'll put you on crew."
"Thank you, Ian. It's been a pleasure working with you all, and this is certainly one of the smoothest gigs I've had."
"Excellent," said Ian. "After the trucks are packed, let's head over to the pub for a pint or two."
"I am so there!" I responded enthusiastically.
Ian went back to watching the crews, and I tucked my passport and pay packet deep into my pocket. I went back to the trucks and before long, the gear was packed and we were all off to the pub for a wet and a laugh.
The next morning, I woke early and began getting my gear in order. I secured the tent bundle and secured the straps. I had a thousand two hundred quid and was ready to get back to the continent.
At Tara station, I got down and walked toward the ferry dock. With any luck, Liverpool would be a bit quieter.