I wore the damn jacket, black it was, as my heart, but it did have a lot of pockets so there’s that.
She stood back to admire it, said,
“You look like the gentry.”
I said,
“I’m elected.”
She then opened the gift I brought her, made a breath of admiration when she saw the cover, then opened it and read in bewilderment
... to
My
Favorite
Actress
Oh, fuck.
I tried, said,
“I mean you act like, um, life is simple.”
She put the book aside with a sigh and, shortly afterward, I left in my new coat.
Outside, on the small wall, sat,
Jericho,
Who sneered,
“Fucking a nun.”
I said,
“The bloody wall of Jericho.”
We stared at each other for a long Galway minute, hostility dancing on the very air.
She asked,
“How much do I remind you of Emerald?”
I told the whole truth.
“You’re a piss-poor copycat, you have no style, no wit, and you’re almost English, killing a defenseless old woman. That’s who you are.”
And for the very first and only time in my life I spat. Literally.
Continued,
“That’s what I think of you.”
It landed on her much-scuffed Doc Martens boot. She was dressed in faux combat gear, all too big for her, and she resembled a petulant child in her dad’s clothes.
Her face went through a range of emotions.
Part shock Rage
A hint of fear
And then the defiance.
She snarled,
“Surely you admired the street theater of the old bitch’s death. Come on, Jack, it was impressive.”
I asked,
“Who was the other scum helping you?”
A smile of malevolence. She said,
“An apprentice, an intern, if you will.”
I felt tired and said,
“Tell her she’s facing early retirement.”
She clapped her hands, said,
“Oh, goody gumdrops. You’re coming after us.”
I began to walk away, she yelled,
“The jacket makes you look like a ponce.”
I gave her the finger without breaking stride and she hollered,
“I thought you loved Galway girls.”
I snapped back,
“Only the Steve Earle version, and maybe Mundy’s.”
Jericho remembered the day she killed
her father.
She’d come home unexpectedly, bearing a bottle of Hennessy brandy,
His favorite.
He’d received her coldly,
Asked,
“What do you want?”
She purred,
“To make peace.”
Before he could answer, she headed for the drinks cabinet, poured two glasses of the brandy, said,
“Drink first, and then I have some amazing news.”
He drank,
She didn’t.
Took maybe two minutes before he began to clutch his chest, gulp furiously.
She said,
“No hurry, it will take a few agonizing minutes before it actually kills you.”
He was on his knees, she knelt, said,
“I pushed Gina into the traffic.”
Then she said,
“Oh, my God, I almost forgot to tell you my news.”
Hit her head with an open palm in mock reprimand, then,
“It’s amazing that I didn’t kill you years ago.”
His body jerked in spasms, then he was still.
Jericho stared at him for a moment, then said,
“Bye-bye, Daddy.”
29
This killing grip is an old deep pattern in her brain.
Stimulus: people.
Response: kill.
At half past six, a small, unhappy wail
Came from a baby.
Straightaway, the hawk
Drove her talons into my glove,
Ratcheting up the pressure
In savage, stabbing spasms.
Kill, the baby cries.
Kill
Kill
Kill.
Galway lost the All Ireland by one point.
One damn point, which, in hurling, is like nothing.
We didn’t begrudge Limerick the win so much as they’d waited forty-five years for the title and the Liam Cup still crossed the Shannon.
In Galway, Jericho pulled herself from a deep, untroubled sleep, stretched like the feline she was, then began to roll a spliff. Her lover stirred slowly, purred,
“Come back to bed, babe.”
Jericho lit the spliff with the Zippo she’d stolen from Jack Taylor’s apartment. She truly got off on breaking in there, leaving weird things behind — this time, a small statue of Shiva, thought,
“The dumb bollix probably thought it was a Marvel figurine.”
But,
She had to admit he was showing a resilience that surprised her, knew she would have to kill him soon, but it was such a rush to mind-fuck him.
Her lover sat up, reached for the spliff as her other hand traced the tattoo etched on Jericho’s back; it was of the Archangel Azrael.
“The Angel of Destruction, known as a sibling of Lucifer.”
She moved in front of Jericho, her naked body as a lure.
Jericho had been fingering a chain around her neck, the tiny gold pendant with two letters,
GG.
The second G was almost emerald.
She slipped it off, put it round the neck of her lover, who purred, guessed,
“GG, is that good grief?”
Jericho was very quiet, then said,
“Galway girl.”
Her lover knew not to push,
Asked,
“What’s the plan today?”
Jericho smiled with utter malevolence, asked,
“How’d you like to kill a nun?”
After they had arranged a batch of very sharp knives, Jericho paused, asked,
“Is there one with a serrated blade?”
Her lover laughed, asked,
“What does it matter?”
Jericho said,
“The serrated edge makes the pain sharper.”
Her lover was puzzled, so Jericho said,
“Nuns, they practice exquisite pain, it’s part of their gig.”
Her lover asked,
“But what’s the point?”
Jericho gave a full smile, laden with witchery, said,
“Bonus points: more pain, more glory.”
Her lover said,
“Sounds nuts.”
Jericho sneered,
“They’re nuns, they married God, and you want them to be sane as well.”
30
The most beautiful, fastest, lethal, brutal
Killer
On the planet
Is the falcon.
What do I know about hockey?
Sweet fuck all.
But the guys in the pub were weighing the merits of the women’s hockey team being in the World Cup final against Holland.