Stapes was further unnerved by the sheer confidence of the guy. This was not going to be one of those get to spill gigs.
This was done and dusted. He was fucked and they weren’t making any attempt to hide their glee. For some bizarre reason, Stapes tried to summon up what he could of legal dramas on TV. Yeah, that desperate. He asked,
“I want a drink, a phone call, and a lawyer.”
Felt he showed a small amount of hard in there.
Sheridan laughed, said,
“That’s priceless, love it.”
He leaned across the chair, whispered,
“Tell you what, even though it’s a huge breach of protocol, I feel today I can risk it.”
Stapes felt a mad stirring of unholy hope and it increased as Sheridan produced a pack of Marlboros. Stapes near wept. A cig would be just freaking near perfect now. He muttered,
“Oh, thank you.”
Sheridan looked puzzled as he withdrew a cig, lit up, inhaled deeply, asked,
“For what?”
Stapes indicated the cigs with what was now a trembling hand.
Sheridan laughed again, a laugh deepened by the nicotine, exclaimed,
“For you, your days of getting anything, any fucking thing, are so over.”
Stapes whined.
“Why?”
Sheridan leaned back, blew a smoke ring at the ceiling, said,
“Shite, you really don’t get it.”
Stapes, in a state of near collapse, screamed,
“Get what?”
Sheridan sat up straight, said,
“We got a call that the Guard killer was hiding out where we found you and there you were.”
Stapes was incredulous, screeched,
“But that’s insane.”
Sheridan gave him a smile of faux warmth, said,
“Bottom of your bag, we found a bullet and, for your sake, we did a rush forensics, and guess what?”
Stapes was truly lost for a reply, so Sheridan said,
“’Tis a match.”
Waited.
Then,
“So, every which way, you are absolutely fucked.”
Stapes tried,
“I was there to get a Jack B. Yeats. You can check, it’s in the bag.”
Sheridan sneered.
“That piece of shite? It’s not even close to a decent copy.”
As a last resort, Stapes tried,
“It’s a setup. The bullet was planted.”
Sheridan stood, stretched, said,
“Cop killers, phew, they get the very special treatment, so get ready for suck city.”
When Jericho heard that Stapes was in custody she sighed. She would have really loved to see his face when he walked out to the sea of blue.
Now just Taylor remained.
As for Scott, she had such little regard for him that she didn’t even bother setting him up.
The grand theatrical event she was planning was almost ready.
As she relished the sheer audacity and cold-bloodedness of what
Was coming, she let out a mighty cry of,
“Shock and awe.”
Did glance at the window and recoiled in terror.
A large black crow was pecking at the glass, its dead eyes riveted on her.
In the dying weeks of May 2018,
Ireland voted by 70 percent to 30 percent in favor of legalizing abortion,
One of the few remaining countries where it had been illegal.
Wild celebrations with women sporting Repeal
On sweatshirts.
A man with a Down syndrome child wore his own sweatshirt.
It read,
Repent.
Not even sure why I agreed to help Father Malachy with the issue of his sister.
Curiosity, mostly, to see what on earth a sister of his was like. She lived in a huge house off Grattan Road. No trouble identifying her home as a large plaque proclaimed
Duchess
Jessica
Selwyn
Rose
Obviously, modesty wasn’t a problem for her.
I said to myself,
“All you have to do is persuade her young companion to leave.”
Piece of cake.
Rang the doorbell and fuck, it sounded like the gong used back in the day by the Rank Organisation. The door swung open and a young woman in cut-off denim shorts, black T, bare feet, asked,
“Yeah?”
She was pretty in a haphazard way but something in her look suggested ugliness, plus she seemed to have a smirk.
I said,
“I’m here to see Ms. Rose.”
She considered that, then said,
“No.”
And slammed the door.
I banged the door, the fucking gong again, and the door opened. She asked,
“What?”
As if she’d never seen me before.
I put my foot in the door, snarled,
“You look familiar.”
She was saved from answering by a cry from inside.
“Who is it, dear?”
I pushed by, entered a marble hall, saw a large sitting room to my left, and turned in there.
An elderly woman, dressed in what appeared to be a Barbara Cartland / Shirley MacLaine / Fionnula Flanagan medley outfit, i.e.,
Swaths of scarves,
Bangles,
Big hair,
Gold kimono / dressing gown.
Her face had been lifted so she appeared expressionless. She purred,
“Who have we here?”
A wave of patchouli engulfed me. I said,
“Jack Taylor, a friend of your brother’s.”
She gave a massive roar, which I realized was actually a laugh, but her face didn’t move. She said,
“Don’t be ridiculous. My brother has no friends.”
Argue that.
The girl had moved in to stand too close to my back. I turned, said,
“Rein it in.”
The woman said,
“You may call me Jess.”
Fuck, lucky me.
I said,
“Jess, Malachy was concerned about your welfare.”
The girl snorted.
Jess said,
“My intern PA with the intriguing name Jericho is very protective of me.”
I said,
“That’s sweet but I need a word in private.”
Jericho moved next to Jess. Didn’t quite sit in her lap but was in the neighborhood. Jess said,
“We have no secrets in this house. That’s the sort of thing Malachy and his cronies indulge in.”
Dilemma.
How to delicately say,
Get shot of the girl,
Fire her,
Kick her arse out.
I said,
“Get rid of the girl.”
They both gasped as if they had rehearsed and maybe they had. Jericho said,
“Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on your way out.”
I tried,
“I’ll leave my number, if you want to talk.”
Jericho moved up real close to me, said,
“Fuck off.”
I gave her my benign face, said,
“We’ll meet again.”
She sneered, said,
“Count on it.”
Psychopaths are distinguished by two characteristics. The first is ruthless disregard for others; they will defraud, maim, and kill for the most trivial gain. The second is an astonishing gift for disguising the first. It’s the deception that makes them so dangerous. You never see them coming.
It is said that childhood forms utterly who we are.