October 22, 1977

 

The eight-hour trip passed quickly. Terry slept in the back. Peter and Bernadette took turns behind the wheel. They stopped once for gas and a pit stop. The hotel had provided Peter with one of their excellent travel lunches. By 6 PM, they were checked into an old but classy hotel in the historical section and ready to do a shopping walk-by on State Street and check out O’Keefe’s.

Some time before 9 PM, Bernadette would go inside and get a table and tell the waiter that she was expecting two more for dinner. Fifteen minutes later, Peter and Terry would join her and order dinner. Peter had a motorized Olympia camera that he could conceal in his palm and shoot pictures with a high-speed black and white film.

Their first pass of O’Keefe’s was made from across State Street. Bernadette said, “It looks like a bit of Ireland was just dropped into Boston. Even the specials displayed in the windows look authentic.”

After an hour of casual shopping, Bernadette walked out of a shop alone and made her way into O’Keefe’s. It was already getting crowded and a band had just started to play. Bernadette thought, This place is out of my recent past except I never had these upscale clothes and the cash to bribe the maître d’s to give a single woman a booth when the restaurant was nearly filled. I can even hear people speaking my mother tongue. If this is an IRA hangout, I haven’t recognized anyone yet. This booth is perfect for casing this place.

She settled into the booth. I’m a bit worried about Terry. He seems to be a long way from the way he was before he was shot. Some of the older IRA cadre talked about losing their edge as the years passed. One of them said, as long as you recognize you’ve not got the same quick reactions, you can make do. If you don’t see what’s happening with age, you’ll get someone or yourself killed. In truth, I no longer trust Terry to have my back or Peter’s.

Just then, she saw Terry and Peter come in. She waved and they started over. Peter looks so handsome in his tweed jacket. Terry’s bomber jacket sort of hangs on him. He has lost some muscle mass.

“Well, how are you, pretty lady? Bernadette, you really brighten up this corner.” Peter slid in the booth beside her and Terry took the other side of the booth facing the bar. The waitress hurried over and took their order for Guinness drafts. While waiting for the drafts, Terry announced he was going for the Shepherd’s pie, Peter said, “Sounds good to me.” Bernadette said, “The corned beef special for me.”

“Bernadette, how does this place fit the real Irish scene?” Peter asked.

“It is right on and I mean right on. No wonder it’s an IRA watering hole.”

“Do you see any one you recognize?”

“Only one, I think I’ve seen the big man at the bar who’s nearly bald somewhere before.”

Bernadette quickly turned her head to face Peter and said, “I spoke too soon. I know the three coming in the door now, two men and a woman. The woman is Mary Callahan. If she sees me, she will recognize me and come over. Terry, you are my uncle and Peter’s a new boyfriend. She will believe me and want to talk to me later. She has an uncanny eye for sensing money. My clothes, jewelry, and Peter’s outfit and Rolex watch will be noticed and immediately filed in her gold-digging head. She is a known IRA groupie and has slept with more men than most girls for hire.”

“As long as my body is screening you, I don’t think she will see you. When she moves away, I’m going back to the men’s room to take a look at the entrance door to O’Hara’s office,” Peter said.