The Parting Glass

She was ashamed. She had been so sure Rooney was just talking crazy. “When I was a little girl the grown-ups talked about tunnels down here. Not when they thought we could hear them, of course. We weren’t really supposed to know. It was a family secret. But I haven’t thought about that for years. I thought the tunnels were probably just a story, a Donaghue fairy tale.”

“Bootleggers?” Niccolo asked.

“I don’t know for sure, but if there are tunnels, maybe they were built to smuggle in bootleg whiskey during Prohibition. There’s another bar on the West Side that claims they have tunnels that lead all the way to the water.”

“The Shoreway would make that impossible here.”

“It wouldn’t have then, because the Shoreway wasn’t there in the twenties. Besides, if there are tunnels under the saloon, maybe they led out to a road on Whiskey Island where liquor was brought in from the water. I do know Cleveland had its share of rum runners. Canada’s right across the lake, and Canada never bought into Prohibition.”

“So if it’s true, the tunnels might still be here?”

“Could be, although in what kind of shape, I don’t know. If they exist, they’ve been walled away my whole life. I guess it depends on how sturdy they were to start with.”

“Sturdy enough, I bet. If they were built for bootleggers, they wouldn’t have taken any chances. Liquor was a profitable business.”

“Yeah, for people like Al Capone. This is Cleveland.”

“Elliot Ness came here after Prohibition to clean up the city,” Niccolo said. “There must have been some business here to draw him.”

Obviously he’d been listening to Jon, for whom Cleveland history was a favorite subject. “Are you thinking we might tear out this wall and see what’s here?” she said.

“Rooney, does the tunnel lead outside?” Niccolo put his hand on the old man’s shoulder. “Can we get out this way?”

Rooney gave a slight nod.

That was enough affirmation for Niccolo. The possibility existed. “Can you get my kids and get us some tools?” he asked Megan. “And more flashlights, if you have them?”

“The kids?”

“Do you know anybody more talented at destruction?”

She left the two men below and raced up the stairs. In the saloon, she clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention. “Has anybody been able to reach the fire department?”

Nobody had. Sirens had been heard in the distance, and shouting somewhere down the block.

She explained quickly what Rooney had found and what they planned to do. Jon and Casey had organized people into small groups. One was tearing towels into makeshift bandages to supplement the small first aid kit. Another had stationed themselves as close to the front as possible to yell for help. Another was washing and doctoring cuts and bruises. One group was making attempts to comfort and entertain the children.

Barry the bartender kept a crowbar behind the bar for security. He gave it to Winston, who headed straight for the kitchen. The other kids followed with whatever they were handed. Megan pulled a toolkit and more flashlights out of the storeroom, Greta gave Josh a mallet she used for pounding round steak. Peggy, trying to manage a struggling Kieran, volunteered to go upstairs and look in the apartment for more flashlights, but that effort was vetoed as too dangerous.

Megan promised she would come back with news the minute she knew if the tunnels existed and if they led to safety.

“They exist.” Deirdre grabbed her arm as she was heading back into the kitchen. “Your father’s not imagining this.”

“Do you know where they lead?”

Deirdre shook her head. “We weren’t supposed to know. I think my father’s generation was afraid we’d find a way to get inside and someone would get hurt. Do you want me to go down and help?”

“Stay here and help Peggy with Kieran, will you?” Megan could hear her nephew wailing. The crowd, the noise and the confusion were bad enough for a normal child.

She left Casey and Jon in charge, confident they could keep chaos at bay. Downstairs, she saw the boys at work and marveled. The tornado had nothing on the Brick kids for destruction.

Someone had wanted the tunnels sealed for all time. Five minutes into the pounding and prying, that someone was thwarted.

“Step back,” Niccolo commanded, and the kids did so without argument. He kicked away the last remnants of the paneling and shined his flashlight inside.

“What do you see?”

“I’m going to have to go inside to find out.”

She didn’t want him to go. Even if the tunnels had been safe at one time, they had been sealed off for decades. But what choice did they have? The saloon wasn’t safe, either, with a quarter of the roof on the floor and gas seeping from God knew where.

“I’m coming, too,” she said. “Two lights are better than one.”

“Please don’t,” Niccolo said. “Not until I’ve checked it out a little.”

“I’m coming.”

He knew better than to argue, especially in front of the young men, who seemed entranced at the possibility of marital discord so soon after the wedding. “Okay, but step carefully.”

“Really? I thought we could do an Irish jig or two on the way through.” She winked at Josh. Now that the fun part was over, the kids were beginning to look uneasy. “We’ll be right back,” she promised. “One of you run upstairs and see if anybody’s had any luck calling the fire department.”

Nobody moved. “Or not,” she said. She watched Niccolo step through the ersatz doorway into the tunnel. Rooney, who had stayed to watch the demolition, stepped in after him.

“Rooney,” she called. “Please don’t do that.” Her plea was ignored. She followed, stepping into the space and shining her light all around. Niccolo and Rooney were just ahead.

She hadn’t had time to think about what they might find in the little time that had passed since they found Rooney beating on the cellar wall. She’d formed a fuzzy mental image of a narrow dirt passageway filled with debris, bats and cobwebs. She had not expected a tunnel wide enough for three people to walk abreast. She hadn’t expected massive, roughly-hewn ceiling beams or dirty plastered walls. She caught up to her husband and father.

“Look at this.” Niccolo aimed his light to the right.

She followed the beam and saw a storage cellar similar to the one they’d just left. It was piled with boxes, and the shelves lining it held old glass canning jars, some of which were still filled with garden produce.

She whistled softly. “I had no idea. Look at this place.”

“Let’s keep moving.”

“Where do you think it comes out?”

“It goes down from here. There are steps ahead.” Niccolo shined his flashlight.

“When they built the Shoreway, they must have buried the entrance,” Megan said. “We’re going to find a dead end.”

“No,” Rooney said.

She had new respect for Rooney’s grasp of their situation. She followed, trailing her flashlight along the walls.

The steps were steep, ten of them, each so narrow they had to walk single file, and the ceiling grew lower until she was stooping. They halted abruptly at a small flagstone-surfaced platform. Stones layered the wall, too. Her heart sank. Then Rooney stooped and began to jiggle a stone near the top.

She saw light.