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Prisoner 123 written by Joe Murray

Prisoner 123 A short story by Joe Murray

When the prison officer wandered into the prison that morning, he could hardly believe his eyes.  What was in front of him was a scene he thought was impossible - a big hole where the wall should be and an empty space beyond.  Not a prisoner to be seen.

Panic set in; one prisoner in particular was particularly dangerous and had been incarcerated for stealing diamonds and other priceless things.  He probably just wandered out through this big gaping hole in the wall, the officer figured.  The officer knew he had no family, no friends, no money and no clothes.  By now, he didn’t even have a name – he was just known as Prisoner 123 – owing to the three scars etched on his face, scars gained from fights he was involved in down through the years.  No doubt the Gardaí will launch a man-hunt, the officer thought to himself. 

The officer figured it would be difficult to catch this man as he remembered him telling that he had lived in a jungle in South America and that he can survive for a long periods of time in the outdoors.  He will eat grass, roots, frogs and mice.  He will drink from rivers and lakes.  He has the ability to disappear and then re-appear like the sun on a partially cloudy day, the officer figured.  Local radio stations announced that people should stay indoors until he is caught, but, thought the officer, this prisoner would not be caught.  Prisoner 123 would never be seen again, not in Ireland anyway, the officer reasoned.

Thirty-seven years later, in a bar in Boston, USA, an old man sits alone at the end of a counter.  He looks up at a Wanted Poster which read:  WANTED – DEAD OR ALIVE-PRISONER 123.  He starts to talk about his younger days in Ireland and tells the barman that he is the man in the poster.  The barman laughed at this, but suddenly realised he was telling the truth.  The barman said: “I have just one question”. “What is it?” asked the old man.

“What is your real name?”  The old man started to tremble and shake, beads of sweat ran down his face and the colour of his cheeks turned grey.  Then he whispered: “My name is Tom Donnelly”.  “That’s strange” said the barman.  “My name is Tom Donnelly too!. “I know”, said the old man.  “How did you know”? asked the barman.  “Because I am your father, Tom Donnelly, aka Prisoner 123.

The barman could barely stand up in his shoes and shouted at the old man, “You’re not my father! My father died when I was just a baby.  Now, get out!”

He reached for the phone to call the police and by the time he turned around the old man had gone.  He was good at that, after all.  The next day, the barman phoned home to talk to his Mother and he told her about the man in the bar. “That’s ridiculous!  Your father died when you were a baby!”  said his mother.  The barman went on to say how convincing the old man was and how he claimed to be the infamous prisoner 123.  He explained to her how he did look the part and he even had five scars on his face.  “You mean three scars? asked his mother.  “yes, sorry, my mistake, three scars, not five”.

 There followed a silence and then his mother broke down and began to tell Tom the truth about his father and about the one night she had spent with him after he had broken out of prison.  She told her son how she had given Tom Donnelly one of the scars and he had given her a baby.  She named her son Tom Donnelly.  A reminder for ever.

She asked Tom would he try to find his father, try to find out how and where he had spent the last 37 years.  “Get to know him, Tom”, she said, “and when the time is right, tell him I love him”.  Tom promised his mother he would do his utmost to trace Tom Donnelly. 

Young Tom spent the next four years searching and looking, looking and searching and soon became obsessed with finding his father.  He travelled all over the USA, Canada and South America in his quest to trace him.

Prisoner 123 had been granted a pardon by the Irish Prison Service and he was now a free man but he was not to know this.  Young Tom spent his savings, sold his house and his car as he searched for the man he could call Dad.

Tom’s mother, by now almost 80 phoned Tom to enquire about the tracing of his father.  “Have you found him yet, Tom”? she asked.  “No, Mother, I’ve had no luck and right now I am out of money and ideas”.

Tom knew his mother was very upset to hear this and Tom himself felt the determination to find him slip away.  It was the lowest point he had reached and he considered the option of giving up.

 A phone call received one night shortly after this changed his mind, however. “Are you the man who’s been looking for Prisoner 123, Tom Donnelly?”, asked the stranger on the phone. “Yes, that’s me.  Can you help me?  Do you know where he is?”, asked an anxious Tom.  After about a five-second silence, the man at the other end of the phone whispered: ”You’ve found him”.  “Is that you, Dad?”  “Yes, son, it’s me, Prisoner 123, Tom Donnelly or Dad or whatever other names you may have used for me”. 

Young Tom explained to his father that he was no longer a fugitive and he was therefore free to come home.  The two men, father and son, talked for hours, they talked of the life of crime Tom Senior had lived, his break from prison and his life on the run.  Young Tom talked of his life experiences and the various characters he had met as he worked behind a bar in Boston and how he had devoted so much time and effort in finding him.

Tom asked his father to come home and told him of the promise he had made to his mother and gave him the message from his mother about still loving him.  When old Tom heard about this message, he hung up immediately.  “No, no! Don’t hang up on me now! Don’t hang up PLEASE”!  shouted Tom in vain.

Young Tom thought he may have frightened his father and caused him to go the run again; this time not from the law but from the other L word; an L word that is much more dangerous and a lot harder to escape from.

The next day, young Tom visits his Mother in the retirement home where she now lives and tells her about the phone call the day before.  Tom’s mother cries as she tells her son to stop looking for his father.  “Give up, Tom; he’s put us through enough”. Tom agrees but thinks of all the time and money he has spent trying to fulfil a promise he made to his mother and feels he can’t give up now.

Six weeks later, at the retirement home, young Tom and the staff are gathered around his Mother’s bed.  It is the occasion of her birthday and they all join in singing ‘Happy Birthday”. She hadn’t wanted a fuss but went along with it to keep everyone happy.  A single voice could be heard above the rest.

One by one, the staff stopped singing, leaving the one voice, coming from the hallway.  All heads turned, the singing ended and the door opened.  There, in front of them, was a frail, old man in a wheelchair.  “Get that man out of here”, ordered one of the doctors. “No, let him in”, said Tom’s mother.  The nurses, doctors and other members of staff parted like the waters of the Red Sea as the man slowly wheeled himself in to the room.  “Closer”, said Tom’s mother.  The old man in the wheelchair wheeled himself up to the bed, lifted his head and said: “Happy Birthday, Kathleen”.

Tom’s mother Kathleen was now speechless. She looked over to her son Tom.  “Happy Birthday, Mum”, he said.  “I found him”.  The doctors, nurses and other members of the staff could not believe their eyes.

They all knew the man in the chair was the infamous Prisoner 123.  One doctor gathered his thoughts, cleared his throat and said: ”ok people, pick your jaws up off the floor and let’s get back to work”.

One by one, they filed out of the room.  Young Tom said “I’ll leave you two alone.  I’m sure you have a lot of catching up to do”.  Old Tom and Kathleen talked for hours, hours turned into days, days to weeks and weeks turned into years.  They lived together in the Retirement Home for the rest of their lives.

During their time there, young Tom visited his parents every day.  Both of them thanked him regularly for what he had done for each of them.

Tom had given up everything to find his father; he sold his house, lost all his money and although he was now penniless he still felt it had been worthwhile when he saw how happy his parents were in their final years.

On March 17^th. 1997, young Tom stood over his parents as they lay on their death-beds. Tom’s mother whispered to Tom, “Tom, I need you to make me one more promise”.  “What is it, Mother”? asked Tom. “In carrying out your last promise to me, you destroyed your own life.  Promise me now that you will re-build it and life to the full”.

Tom cried and promised his mother that he would carry out her wishes.  That night, his mother he loved so much, passed away peacefully in her sleep.

Old Tom, now in his final hours, talked to his son and told him that he had made the last few years the happiest of his life and told him how grateful he was to him.  Then the old man beckoned and pointed to a drawer of his bedside locker.  Tom opened the drawer to find a small, white, sealed envelope with Tom Donnelly Junior written and a note on the outside which read: To be opened on the death of Tom Donnelly Senior.

Tom Donnelly Prisoner 123 looked and smiled at his son as he looked at the envelope.  He lay back on the pillows and just six hours after his beloved Kathleen passed, Tom joined her on her journey to meet her maker.

Three days later, a destitute Tom, lay his mother and father side-by-side in their final resting-place.  He watched the rain bounce off the two coffins as his father ‘s remains were lowered into the ground. Then, gazing up at the sky, he wondered what he would do now and whispered sarcastically: “Thanks a lot, Dad”.

As the last of the mourners sympathised and left the grave-yard, Tom stayed behind, head bowed and gazing at the ground, the rain ran down his back and tears ran down his face.  Then he remembered the promise he made to his mother on her death-bed and he knew he would have to turn his life around.

As Tom walked slowly towards the gates of the cemetery, he noticed a man standing, alone, in the corner.  He was a tall figure, wearing a long black coat and dark sunglasses.  Tom thought he looked out of place – he would be more suited on a Hollywood film-set but thought no more of it.

The next day, while Tom sits alone at a table in the local soup kitchen, eating a bowl of Irish Stew, he notices the same man wearing the sunglasses that he had seen at the cemetery the day before walking by outside.  Tom felt he was looking at him but it was hard to tell….

Every day after that, Tom saw the same man somewhere or other, walking down the street, sitting in the soup-kitchen or while Tom waited in the queue at the Social Welfare Office.  The man wearing the long black coat and dark sunglasses seemed to be everywhere he went.  Tom figured that he might be an American tourist and thought no more of him – that is, until one day while he was out walking, a black stretch limousine pulled up alongside him.  Tom immediately noticed that the back window was rolled down. He saw the mysterious man in the coat and sunglasses.  “How you doing, Tom”? said the man as he slowly removed his glasses.  “Fine”, said Tom, wondering how this man knew his name and at the same time thinking to himself ‘so that’s what you look like’. “How may I help you”? asked Tom.  “I was, what you might say, a business partner of your late father”,  said the man.  “That’s nothing to do with me”, said Tom.  “We have unfinished business”, said the man.

All kinds of thoughts flashed through Tom’s mind….after all, his father had been a notorious prisoner – in prison for stealing diamonds.  Maybe he had been mixed up in diamond-smuggling or maybe he was a drug-dealer who owed money to a Columbian drug cartel.

“Meet me here tomorrow morning at 7:00 am; have your passport and the sealed envelope your father gave you just before he died”.  He replaced the dark glasses, rolled up his window and the limousine glided past him.  As the car picked up speed, Tom shouted in vain “How did you know about that?”  Tom was puzzled.

Tom rushed home in a panicked state and found his passport and the sealed envelope.  He quickly packed a small suitcase and within a few hours he was scanning the information screen in Dublin airport.  He approached a lady at a desk and asked her to get him a flight out of here as fast as possible.  “Yes, sir, and where would you like to travel to today”?  Before Tom had a chance to answer a voice from behind said “He’ll be travelling to Boston today, Mam”.  Turning, Tom saw that it was the same man in the black coat.

“What is it with you Donnellys”? “You always want to be on the run”, the man said to Tom.  “What do you want with me”? asked Tom.  “All in good time, my friend”, replied the man.  The two men were given tickets, walked to the boarding gate and boarded a flight to Boston U.S.A.  Boston was a city Tom knew and loved but thought he would never see again.  The two men sat silently on the plane, neither uttering a single word on the seven-hour flight to Logan International Airport in Boston, Massachusetts.  After touch-down, the two men walked to the Arrivals hall where they were met by three tall men wearing similar attire.  Tom, feeling very anxious is afraid to question what was happening, he simply followed on to where a limousine awaited them.  By now, Tom figured that his father must have belonged to the Mafia and that he probably owed money to them which they now wanted to be paid back.

“Look, I have no money.  My father left me penniless.  Please let me go”, Tom pleads.  They, in silence, two in the front, and two in the back, one seated each side of Tom, looked straight ahead.  They drove through the busy streets of Boston, into the city centre and found what seemed like a reserved space to park outside TDB bank.  “We are here”, said one of the men to Tom”.  “Where exactly”? asked Tom who by now was even more bewildered.  Inside the plush lobby of the bank, Tom is greeted by more men in suits.  Tom is nervous but concludes that whatever is ahead of him he will handle it and this eases him a little.  He is taken to the top floor of the fifty-story building and into a board-room where there is a large, gleaming oval table the likes of which Tom had only ever seen on television.  Sitting around it were very important-looking people.

One man stood up and walked towards Tom, extending his hand and welcomed him in.  He explained all about TBD, how it was founded more than thirty years ago and how it had grown to have branches in other major cities such as Chicago and Washington with this being the headquarters.  He went on to say that the bank was very profitable indeed and showed a profit in the previous year of about forty million dollars.  Tom’s head was in a spin and wondered where all this was leading to.

“That’s great.  I’m delighted for you.  Can I go now”? Tom knew his voice was sarcastic but he felt totally out of his depth.  The people seated at the table began to laugh.  “Ok, what’s the laughing about”? shouted Tom.  The room fell silent.  An elderly lady, sitting at the top of the table, stood up and spoke directly to Tom. ”I think you should sit down.  We have missed that type of humour around here”.

“ Has my father done something to this bank”?  asked Tom. Tom tells all in the room he has no money to pay back anything that his father might have stolen or conned off their bank.

“You own the bank”, said the little old lady, “I don’t owe this bank one cent”, replied Tom.

More laughter rippled around the room. “I’ve had enough of this, “said Tom and turned to walk out the door. “Come back you don’t understand”. Shouted the old lady. “You OWN this bank, we all work for you”. Tom stopped at the door and slowly turned. The old lady explained to Tom that he is the sole heir to his father’s fortune. “This would have been a lot easier if you had opened that sealed envelope your father gave you, Tom”. she said.

Tom pulled the envelope from the inside pocket of his jacket and opened it as quickly as he could. Inside was his father’s last will and testament, bank account numbers  and deeds to Tom’s new house on  Cape Cod and a little note that read: There are some people waiting for you in Beantown. (ENJOY).

Tom, numb with shock walked slowly to the big window that looked over Boston and realised he was the C.E.O.  Of the TOM DONNELLY BANK the T D B. “You don’t look so good sir, can I get you a drink”? said the little old lady.

Tom just smiled at her and said “some champagne I think is on the cards.”  He looked back out the window and whispered “Thank you, Dad”. Everyone in the room clapped and cheered. Tom was home.

Seosamh O’Muireadhaigh
Joseph Murray

Strokestown House

Christmas 2012

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