Ken Bruen
American Skin
For Eoin Colfer, who writes the
books the world reads
and
McKenna Jordan and David Thompson
who sell the books the world
should read at Murder By the Book,
in Houston, Texas
Glossary of Irish Words, Expressions and Irish-English Usage. Irish-English is as different from The Queen’s English as a pint of Guinness is to a pint of Bitter. The former is as dark as the latter is weak.
Agus a mhathair: And His mother
Agus bheannacht: And blessings
Airgead: Money
Bangers: Sausage/secondhand car
Banjaxed: Fucked
Bhi curamach: Be careful/mind yourself
Bollocks: See bowsie
Boreen: Small unpaved road
Bowsie: Thug/shithead/accountant
Bringlodi: Dreams
Ceili: Irish music festival
Crack: Fun... party time
Culchie: Anyone not from Dublin (not flattering)
Currachs: Boats used by the Aran slanders
Cute hoor. Smart-ass
Dia leat. God be with you
Dubh: Black
Ejit: See bollix
Feck: The polite form of fuck
Filum: Movie
Fuaraigh: Chill (out)
Gobshite: A bollix with notions
Gra go mor: Mega love
Gunna: Gun
Gurrier: Thug
Kybosh: Jinx
Leat fein: You, too
Mobile: Cell phone
Notion: Ego inflation
Och ocon: Woe is me
Oul wan: Old woman
Pg mo thoin: Kiss my ass
Pishrog: Belief or expression based on superstition
Ride and a rasher: Sex followed by breakfast
Shebeens: Illegal drinking clubs
Sin sceal eile: That’s a whole other story
Slainte: Cheers
Slainte amach: Cheers with feeling
Smashing: Terrific
Sneachta: Snow
Ta tu aras: You’re back... couldn’t cut it, huh?
The Boyos: The IRA
Wan/yer wan: A woman, derogatory term in heavy Galway accent
The tribes of Galway were fourteen merchant families who settled in the town between the 1230s and the 1540s and who held power and prestige until the early decades of the twentieth century. They were not tribes in the usual sense. The term was apparently adopted by the townspeople themselves or used as a derisive term by Cromwellian soldiers.
Among the most ferocious of the tribes were the Blakes... famed as soldiers.
The Browns — no mean fighters, either — are sometimes known as Bruen.
One of the first casualties at Gettysburg was a D. Bruen. A Richard Bruen is reputed to have skinned his enemies. Richard respected and feared a local warlord and eventually killed him. Donning the skin, he tried to literally become the man he’d admired.
DIVORCE
Glen tried to keep the SUV steady. It was the oldest model, lacked the safety features of the newer ones; not even the seat belts were secure and Karen had been on Glen’s case about how unsafe it was, but with his drinking, he’d let it slide, like everything else.
He’d sworn to get it adjusted now he was sober but they had to run... right now.
The needle was hitting 100 and Karen was screaming, “He’s right on us.”
Glen, sweat pouring into his eyes, shouted,
“Goddamn it, Kar, I can’t risk going off the road.”
The vehicle on their rear was blinding them with mega lights. Behind Karen, Rosie, their four-year-old daughter, was staring saucer eyed at her parents; she’d never heard them cuss each other. Beside her was Ben, ten years old, wearing a Jet shirt, his father’s old catcher’s mitt in his lap. He pulled at it, as if it might end the terror. Glen felt the chassis sway dangerously, — if a car came from the other direction, they were fucked. He was hogging the middle of the road as it was. Karen, near hysteria, howled,
“Glen...”
Rosie tried to cover her ears; her mother’s fear frightened her more than the bogey man behind. The man behind popped a Juicy Fruit, hit the volume on the stereo, The Clash with “London’s Burning.”
He was in his late forties, wearing tooled cowboy boots, faded 501s, and a Lakers shirt. A jagged scar on his left cheek resembled a lightning strike. A whore in Philly, whom he’d tried to cheat out of her fee, had come at him with a broken bottle, attempting to gouge his eye out. He’d beaten her to an inch of her life then fucked her again, all the time, the blood pouring from the slash she’d inflicted. He was proud of it now, told folk it happened in the First Desert Storm, a raghead had tried to take him out. On his left arm was a tattoo with the name “Dade”... a souvenir of a time he’d been incarcerated down in Dade County, of all his jail time, it was the most fun, he got to kick the shit out of a drag queen and the food was fine, hash browns, gravy, grits, and mashed potatoes, with pecan pie to follow. On the seat was a Walther PPK. He fastened his foot on the accelerator, the grill on his truck jolting the tail of the SUV. He reached on the dash for his Kools, one fluid motion, working the cig into his mouth and flicking a Zippo, bearing the logo “1st Airborne.”
He’d bought it off a guy in Tijuana.
He glanced at the weapon, the butt was custom fitted and he touched it, muttered,
“Lock and load.”
A snapshot of Tammy Wynette hung from the mirror, tied with an Indian braid. He grinned at her, pedal to the metal, having more fun than hunting bear in god’s own country.
Karen, terror soaking her top, knew who was behind. When she first met him, he was the soul of charm. She and Glen were having a trial separation, see if the 12 Step program would work for him. Even now, she couldn’t quite figure how the man had become so quickly part of their lives, as if he’d planned it. He was so good with her son, played ball with him, treated her like a princess, never raised his voice and, if anything, he was almost too good to be true.
He’d even offered to fix up the SUV, saying that old model was a real hazard.
As the pursuit intensified, she wished now she’d let him do that.
Then Glen returned, sober, quiet, and attentive, asking for one more chance. The kids were delighted and she’d agreed. Told Dade, and watched in astonishment as he said,
“Ain’t gonna happen, lady.”
The change in his voice, the change in his face, like a demon had been revealed.
Unnerved, she’d said,
“I never promised you this was going to develop into something.”
Keeping her voice reasonable, though a fierce sense of dread was building, she just wanted him to go away. They’d been sitting in her kitchen, coffee mugs on the table and without any warning, he’d lifted a mug, hurled it through the window. The effortless power he’s summoned without exerting himself. Her little girl had come running in and he said,
“Nothing to worry about sweet thing, Mom and Dad just having a little disagreement.”