Free The 13th Apostle: A Novel of a Dublin Family, Michael Collins, and the Irish Uprising by Dermot McEvoy Page A

Rosanna’s hands, which were wrapped around her rosary. He was surprised by how cold they were. Vinny then went over to Eoin’s father and sat down beside him. He spoke to him in a low voice, and Eoin could see his father nodding his head in agreement. The condolences given, Vinny headed over to Eoin. “How are you?” he asked.
    “I’m numb,” replied Eoin. “We’re devastated. I don’t know what will happen now, especially with the children.” Eoin motioned towards Mary and Dickie, who were sitting with Rosanna’s sister, their Aunt Nellie, over from Temple Lane. He looked around for his brother Frank, but the little cunt had snuck out on him and the family. Eoin vowed then and there that if the father wasn’t going to straighten out Frank, he would.
    “I have something for you,” said Vinny, pulling an envelope out of his inside jacket pocket. “It’s from the boss.”
    The handwritten note began, “Dear Eoin, I’m sorry I could not attend your mother’s wake, but I had to go out into the country on business. I am praying for you and your family. At your convenience, could you drop by my office at 10 Exchequer Street for a chat? God bless you, Mick Collins.” Inside the note there was a crisp ten-pound note. Eoin was stunned.
    “Jesus Christ,” he said, fingering the oversized bill. “At least now I won’t have to pass-the-black-sugar-bag to pay for the box. Will you go out and get some grub for the wake?” he asked, turning the ten-pound note back over to Vinny.
    “I will indeed. And I t’ink maybe a bottle of whiskey would do no harm, here and now.” Eoin looked at Vinny’s Pioneer pin and smiled. Vinny was “a cute hoor,” as they liked to say around Dublin. His mild appearance betrayed his street smarts, his feel for people and situations.
    “You’re right, Vin.” The rare tenner in Vinny’s hands turned Eoin pensive again. “I wonder what he wants?”
    “Who?”
    “Collins.”
    “Whatever it is, I’m sure it will be a grand adventure,” replied Vinny. Vinny and his grand adventures , thought Eoin. His last great adventure had him locked up in Richmond Barracks for a week.
    “Do you know?”
    Vinny put his left index finger to his lips and winked. The IRB oath immediately came to Eoin’s mind. “Once in, never out,” Collins had said, and now Eoin wondered what Michael Collins had in mind for him and what remained of his broken family.

15

    T he day after Eoin Kavanagh buried his mother, he met with Michael Collins in his office at 10 Exchequer Street. The office was on the top floor, and Eoin quickly ran up the four flights of stairs. He looked at the door, which had “National Aid and Volunteers Dependents Fund” newly painted on it in gold letters. Eoin’s fist gave the door three knocks.
    “Come in,” said a male voice, and Eoin entered the office to see Collins seated at a desk, surrounded by papers. When he saw Eoin, Collins jumped out of his chair and embraced the boy. “Oh, Eoin, I’m so sorry for your troubles,” he said. He pointed Eoin towards an empty chair and said, “You still working at Sweny’s?”
    “No,” said Eoin. “That job died after Christmas.”
    “I hope the money that Vinny Byrne gave you helped with the funeral arrangements.”
    “It did.”
    “Well, are you ready to go to work for me?”
    “What’s the job?”
    “Do you care?” Collins said with a laugh. Eoin didn’t care at all and laughed along with his new boss.
    “What’s the National Aid and Volunteers Dependents Fund?”
    “It’s a bloody long name, isn’t it? In the NAVDF, we take care of veterans of Easter week who need some help. Kathleen Clarke—Tom’s widow—hired me. You were one of the first on the list. That’s why I authorized the ten quid for you.”
    “Charity?”
    “Compensation,” replied Collins. Eoin nodded. “How’s your handwriting?”
    “I won the prize.”
    Collins smiled. “Can you type?” he said, pointing at the typewriter on the