Saving Sharkey Read online

  Sharkey smiled and guided us back toward the bar. “Not rude at all. Quite flattering actually. Twenty eight, I believe. As I get older, I seem to find them younger! She was working at the pub when I met her but is studying at the University now. Wants to get a teaching credential.” He chuckled. “Now that I’m supporting her.”

  At the sound of a yelp, we stopped and looked toward the side yard off the kitchen. Two barks and another yelp had Sharkey cracking open the back door. “Quiet down, you scoundrels.”

  I glanced out at the odd collection of dogs. If I had thought Sharkey would have dogs, I was certain they would be matching purebreds.

  “Not mine,” he said, as though he heard my query. “I inherited them. Shall we?” he asked, closing the door and heading for the bar.

  “Is she gone?” A rather striking redhead who appeared to be only slightly younger than the girlfriend appeared with a scowl on her face.

  “Yes, dear. Aileen has left the building, she has.”

  “But she’ll be back,” the woman released a groan of displeasure, snatching a wine glass from the shelf over the bar and filling it with a rather sweet White Zinfandel. As if noticing us for the first time, she forced her scowl into a charmingly fake smile and said, “You must be friends of my father’s.”

  Sharkey jumped in with the proper introductions and an explanation of how and when we had met. “My daughter Maureen Currie, gentlemen, who is on occasion, happily married. And when she’s not, she opts to bunk at the old homestead.”

  Maureen’s scowl, which was aimed at her father now, had reappeared. Returning her attention to us, she asked, “Has he recruited you for the Westside Wanderers yet?” I wondered if she knew how much she sounded like the dreaded potential step-mother.

  Her cell phone rang and she snatched it from her pocket, but after seeing who it was, stuffed it back.

  “Andy?” Sharkey asked.

  Maureen nodded. “Eighth call. Eighth sniveling apology, I’m sure.”

  “Still not ready to forgive him and go running home to the love of your life?”

  Her sour expression caused me to rethink the attractive face that I had noticed when she’d first made an appearance. But a moment later, she smiled, and I realized that yes, she was definitely a very pretty girl. And a vulnerable one.

  “Now, why would I go running home when I can torment him for a little while longer? And when I can stay here and spend the night with your delightful girlfriend?”

  After checking Charlie’s and my glasses and noting that they were still sufficiently full, Sharkey refilled his own. “I think it’s time I changed the locks on this house,” he said to Maureen, the gleam in his eyes betraying his words.

  “And miss the chance to spend quality time with your daughter?” She threw her arms around him for a quick hug.

  “Maureen?” An unfamiliar female voice echoed in the massive entryway.

  Sharkey groaned. “Definitely time to change those locks. Or train those bloody dogs I inherited to do something useful, like guard the property.”

  “In the bar, Mother.”

  Sharkey glared at his daughter and nodded toward the high-pitched voice. “You might ask before you invite my ex-wife to my home.”

  “What fun would that be?” Maureen asked, wrinkling her nose and grinning at her father. Then she frowned. “And I didn’t invite her.”

  “Even better. She invited herself,” Sharkey snarled. “Hello, Moira,” he said when the only woman we’d seen tonight anywhere near his age, entered the room.

  Although she made a valiant effort to look younger, I was certain she was in her fifties. She was extremely attractive, slender with long shapely legs that were accentuated by the stylish heels she wore. Quite a contrast from the current love interest who was athletic, muscular, borderline voluptuous, and very nearly jailbait.

  “Eddie,” Moira acknowledged her ex, flipping her curly red hair that I suspected had dulled with age, that is if it had at one time resembled her daughter’s. “I saw your car, Maureen.” She faced her daughter now. “Stopped to see if you’re okay. Have you and Andy had another tiff?”

  “Why must you always assume that the only reason I visit my father is to escape my husband?”

  Silence from both parents was answer enough.

  “Well, it’s not!” she protested, slipping her arm around her father’s waist.

  “So, you’re not staying here?”

  “Actually I am, but just so Dad and I can spend some quality time.”

  “How do you stand it with that tramp of his living here?”

  “That’s enough, Moira!” Sharkey jumped in.

  When I glanced at Charlie, I knew his curiosity was outweighing his discomfort at being present for a family squabble.

  “Maureen, please escort your mother to the door. Gentlemen,” he said, turning to us. “If my ex-wife were going to stay a minute longer—which she isn’t—I would bother to introduce you.”

  As daughter maneuvered mother, I glanced down at my watch. Charlie might be comfortable facing family dynamics such as these with which he was far more familiar than I, but I was not. “Eddie, I’m afraid I have to get going. What about you Charlie? Don’t you have a gig tonight?”

  “Tomorrow night, but I do have some work to finish up.”

  “Where do you play?” asked Sharkey.

  “At the Shamrock and Thistle.”

  “I know it well. Perhaps Aileen and I will drop over one evening.”

  “Excellent,” Charlie said. “Great meeting you, Eddie.”

  “You can’t leave quite yet. You haven’t heard my pitch about playing in the over-forty soccer league, have you now? I sponsor a team called the Westside Wanderers. Might you have any interest?”

  “Well, I am on the north side of sixty and may not be of much use,” Charlie admitted, “but I could use some controlled exercise. What do you think, Malcolm?”

  “With my teaching and traveling, I can’t promise to make all the games, but if that isn’t a problem, it does sound as if it might be enjoyable. Should be entertaining, if nothing else.”

  “She’s gone,” Maureen said, rejoining us. “Sorry about that.”

  “Not a problem. I can almost tolerate being in the same room with your mother as long as it’s for under three minutes.”

  Maureen groaned. “So, I’ve rethought things. I think I’ll head out myself.”

  “Home?”

  “I suppose Andy has done enough groveling for one fight.”

  A loud whine and a bark echoed as if in agreement.

  “Speaking of which, since you’re leaving, take those hounds with you!”

  “You know Andy is allergic.”

  “Sounds like sweet revenge,” Sharkey murmured, his grin confirming the sincerity of his comment.

  Maureen’s eyebrow rose as if she were considering subjecting her not-so-popular husband to the fur of three dogs. ”Besides, only two are mine. The ugly one is Declan’s.”

  “Well, then call your brother and tell him to take them. All of them!”

  Maureen sidled up to her dad and gave him an affectionate peck on the cheek. “Have you forgotten that Susan despises dogs? I don’t know why Declan even considered bringing it home just because he found it wandering the street outside the restaurant. Besides, you know perfectly well you love them.”

  “I’m sure I do.”

  She gave Sharkey another quick squeeze, grinned at us flirtatiously and said, “Nice meeting you both. I’m sure I’ll see you again.”

  “Lovely meeting you,” Charlie said.

  I concurred as the mischievous maiden sauntered out of the room.

  Sharkey shook his head as he watched his daughter’s exit. “Where were we? Ah, yes, so if you’re the sort to jump right in, we have a game Saturday.”

  Charlie shrugged and I nodded. It had been a while, but maybe it was time to get back into the sport. There was a lot to be said for the camaraderie that came with playing on a team.r />
  “Ah, ‘tis settled then!” Sharkey said, raising his near-empty third pint. “Leave me your email addresses and I shall get you the time and directions and information on how to get your licenses.”

  Charlie and I handed Sharkey our business cards and said our good-byes to an unexpected, interesting, and for the most part, enjoyable afternoon.

  Once outside I stopped walking and looked over at Charlie as he came up short beside me. “All I can say is, I certainly hope that mismatched collection of dogs is male.”

  He laughed. “Aye, I ken what you mean, laddie.”

  We walked in silence, stopping just across from Charlie’s house which was diagonally across from my own. “You’re exceedingly quiet, Charlie. For you anyway.”

  “Och, aye. Just me wee brain attempting to think.”

  “About?”

  “Just had a bad feeling is all. That something isn’t quite right there. Or possibly that something is not going to be right.”

  “And here all these years, I thought it was Jenny’s intuition you relied upon.”

  “Aye, hers is much keener than mine. This is more of a precognition. Not senility setting in, as you would be inclined to believe.”

  I laughed, but the truth was, I didn’t doubt his precognition or whatever he chose to call it, for a moment. I too had a very strong hunch that in the very near future Edward Sharkey was going to need saving. From the women in his life if nothing else.

  Chapter 2

  I saw little of Charlie the remainder of the week. The cause was the usual. I was consumed with preparation for a lecture at the University in Bellingham which fell on the Thursday, and Charlie had his own classes to teach and a stubborn high-profile insurance fraud case he was working on. However, by Saturday, we both had managed to obtain licenses in order to join Sharkey’s Westside Wanderers. The three of us met at Sharkey’s humble abode and rode to the field in his Lincoln Navigator.

  When we arrived, the Wanderers were milling about on the field, casually passing the ball back and forth while chatting. There was little attempt to warm up or to actually get organized. Sharkey threw a couple of jerseys to me and Charlie. Charlie’s was the number one goalie’s black jersey. Mine was black and white with the number five on it.

  “How did he know, Malcolm?” Charlie asked.

  “Didn’t one of us mention in conversation about your trial for the Hearts as goalkeeper?”

  “Must have been you, when I wasn’t paying attention.”

  “Must have been me when you were admiring the girlfriend’s legs.”

  Charlie’s grin was sheepish. He always was one to appreciate beautiful legs on a woman.

  “What position do you prefer to play, Malcolm?” Sharkey asked me.

  “Anywhere in midfield,” I replied and set off for a warm-up jog around the field.

  By the time I returned from running a lap and observing the opposition’s drills and warm-up exercises, Sharkey had our team gathered together in a semi circle. He introduced Charlie and me. We received an unusually enthusiastic welcome which I soon realized was due to the fact that, even with our participation, we were down one player.

  “No wonder you put a full court press on us to join, Eddie.”

  “Don’t worry, the others will straggle in. Hung over, most likely, but they’ll be here. We’ll have enough to give everyone a rest. In the meantime, let’s hold them back from scoring until we get a full team.”

  Ten minutes later the game started. The Bainbridge Island team had fitness and youth on their side. Youth, meaning most players were under fifty unlike the Wanderers who seemed to be on the average over fifty. Age, however, did not stop Charlie from making a couple of great saves. I headed one off the line from a corner but the attacks kept coming. I looked around for Sharkey who seemed to like lurking on the right wing.

  I dispossessed the striker as he was about to shoot and I pushed up the field. The defense dropped back and I stroked a long pass to Sharkey on the wing. As soon as he saw the ball coming his way, he pushed off, trapping the ball in full stride. He zipped past two defenders and headed toward the corner flag, cut in past another player and flipped a cross to the far post where I had made a supporting run and ripped a diving header past their startled goalkeeper.

  “Best goal of the season!” yelled Father O’Malley who was one of our strikers.

  “Didn’t I promise you that I found some great recruits?” Sharkey was smiling from ear to ear.

  Three more players had shown up and one joined us until the halftime. While we caught our breaths, we met the latecomers. Father O’Malley’s brother Sean, also from Dublin, Archie Sinclair from Glasgow, and Terry Malloy from Liverpool. We sat on the sideline, sucking oranges and gulping water, feeling our ages. At least, Charlie and I certainly were.

  “Nice cross, Eddie,” Aileen said, joining us. “That’s the fastest I’ve seen you run since your ex-wife stopped by yesterday.”

  I laughed. So the ex had not been deterred by Sharkey’s previous cool reception.

  “Great goal, Malcolm,” Aileen said. “And it’s nice to see you finally have a real goalie. Youse might just finish out the season with an actual win.”

  “Are you saying that you haven’t won any games this year?” I asked, wondering if Father O’Malley had proclaimed my goal best of the season when in fact it was the first.

  “This is only our third game of the season,” Sharkey defended.

  I decided not to ask about their previous seasons. But it was nice to be needed, especially in one’s forties.

  Sean O’Malley grumbled something about a losing streak, threw down his orange wedge, and stomped off.

  “What was that about?” I asked.

  Sharkey raised his eyebrows. “Doesn’t take well to losing?”

  Aileen snickered. “Has anyone told him he joined the wrong team then?”

  “We have a good time, lass.” Archie Sinclair winked at her as he headed back onto the field.

  The majority of the second half was anticlimactic. It looked as if the score of 1-0 would hold until the final ten minutes when, despite Charlie’s expert goalkeeping skills, Bainbridge scored.

  With five minutes left in the game, I managed to get my head in the way of a cross from their forward. Taking possession of the ball, I looked up for anyone who was open, again spotting Sharkey who had drifted off to the left wing where no one seemed to notice him. Sneaky rascal. I pushed up field, then lofted a long ball to him as he took off at full speed. He gained control of the ball, beat a defender, took the ball up to the goal line and passed back to Father O’Malley who hit a left foot rocket past the Bainbridge goalie.

  Our team erupted with ecstatic cries as they mobbed the three of us. I wasn’t certain they would be able to play out the last few minutes of the game, they were so drunk with shock and merriment. But Sharkey gave them a quick warning not to let down the pressure now and we took the younger team with a 2-1 score. Never had I been so relieved to hear a referee’s whistle, and it wasn’t only because it signaled our triumph, but rather because of my leg muscles that were already tightening up.

  “What do you say we go to O’Connell’s for a beer then?” Sharkey asked.

  “I’ll meet you there in a wee while,” I told him. “If you don’t mind dropping me off at home, I think I’ll stop off at my Jacuzzi. What about you, Charlie?”

  “Oh, aye, I’ll join you.”

  “We won’t stay long at the pub,” Sharkey said. “And a pint will work faster that Jacuzzi jets. There’s nothing that a pint can’t put right.”

  Charlie and I exchanged looks. “Very well, then,” Charlie said. “We’re off to O’Connell’s.”

  By the time we arrived at the pub, there were several pitchers of Smithwick’s and Guinness on the tables. Celebration had begun.

  O’Connell’s was a pleasant pub but Charlie and I tended to frequent The Shamrock and Thistle where Charlie’s band played. There was something about it that felt more like
home. The local soccer and rugby teams preferred O’Connell’s and now that we had joined the Westside Wanderers, we were likely to divide our time more evenly between the two.

  “Where did you find these boys?” Archie asked. “They’re not bad. And Scots to boot, no pun intended.”

  “I was kicking the ball around the other day and I came close to scalping Charlie. He was playing tennis about seventy-five yards away.”

  “You never kicked the ball seventy-five yards in your heyday,” Father O’Malley said, laughing, a pint of Guinness in his hand.

  “Och, not so,” Sharkey objected. “When I was playing for Scottish Schoolboys against Ireland, I scored a goal from eighty yards out! Needless to say, it was the goal that won the game.”

  Father O’Malley tsked and rolled his eyes. “Must have been a fluke.” Then under his breath, “Or a hyperbole.”

  Having more than a couple pints since we weren’t driving, Charlie and I enjoyed ourselves as we replayed the game several times over. A couple women, one being Aileen, joined in the conversation. The other was the girlfriend of one of the players, evidently a dedicated fan. But when Sharkey’s daughter Maureen showed up, Aileen quietly slipped out. It was also then that the wife of one of the pub patrons moved in closer, smiling flirtatiously at the charming Irishman until her husband noticed and took her by the arm to escort her away.

  “Does that happen often?” Charlie asked, nodding toward the departing couple.

  Sharkey rolled his eyes. “Unfortunately. One of my curses in life.”

  Charlie chuckled. “We should all be so lucky.”

  “To change the subject, it was a great game,” Maureen said, slapping her dad on the back. “About time your team scored some goals! And you set them up!”

  “I had a wee bit of help,” Sharkey said, nodding in my direction.

  “Pretty sneaky out there,” Charlie said. “Walking up the sideline as if you’re not even in the game. You’d think they’d have caught on after that first goal.”

  Sharkey guzzled his beer, the smile still plastered across his face.