Let a beat pass, then,
“Tom?”
He was checking out the room, seeing nothing to impress him. He said, gritted teeth,
“I, um, appreciate you doing this, Jack.”
I shut the door, walked carefully to the chair, sat opposite him, the coffee table between us, and thirty years of bile. I said, with great warmth,
“Glad to be of help.”
And I sat still.
He glanced around, definitely on edge, tried,
“If ever there is anything you need, some special assistance with?”
I let that hum, then asked,
“Like if I hadn’t paid my TV license?”
He gave a tight smile, said,
“Always the smart mouth but, really, if you get in a bind?”
Bind!
I said,
“Bind? Hell of a word.”
Enough fencing.
I reached behind me, produced a large brown envelope, laid it flat on the table. He stared at it, tried,
“Thing between me and Anne, it was simply a fuck and run.”
I bit my lip, managed not to smash his face, said,
“There you go and... off you go.”
He stood, contemplated a hand shake, settled for
“Thanks again.”
And was gone.
Clancy was in his office, the envelope before him. He had shut his door, barked at his secretary,
“No calls.”
He let out a sigh of relief, couldn’t believe it had been so easy. He picked up a gold letter opener, presented to him by the Rotary Club, sliced the top of the package.
Went,
“Huh?”
As he pulled out large blank sheets of paper.
In the middle was a page with black capital letters.
Took him a moment then he read
AS
IF.
For once, I did the right thing.
I mailed the photos to Anne. I didn’t want to. In truth I wanted to wound her but I ignored the base instinct and sent them. There was the bonus of Clancy not sending his thugs to collect them from me. After I left the post office I paused to take a moment. A bedraggled busker was hammering
“Galway Girl”
So badly, as if he had a mission to ruin Steve Earle’s song. I walked past him and he muttered,
“Call yerself a patron of the arts?”
I couldn’t think of a witty rejoinder so I gave him ten euros. He looked at it, said,
“Great, I can now retire.”
When buskers on the street abuse you, after you gave them money, something is seriously fucked.
I got back to the apartment and immediately knew there was someone inside. Not that I am psychic but loud music was playing. Sounded like Status Quo. I eased the door open and saw Emily dancing in the middle of the room, singing along with Quo. Trust me, to sing along with them is a feat of dark madness. I found the source, a small player on the bookshelf, turned it off. Emily stood mid — dance step, went,
“You’re not down with the headbangers?”
I didn’t even know what that meant, asked,
“Why are people constantly breaking into my home?”
She giggled, yeah, giggled! Said,
“Because we love you, Jack-o.”
She was dressed in black jeans, white T, and her hair was brightest blond. The whole outfit gave her an almost waif appearance, which might have been appealing if she wasn’t so flat-out crazy. She flopped into a chair, drew a silver flask from her bag, drank deep, did a mock shudder, gasped.
“Fuck, that is good.”
Then looked at me, offered the flask, which I declined. She said,
“Jack me boy, we have us a
Quandary,
Quagmire.
Laughed.
Added,
“Well, all sorts of shite beginning with a Q.”
I waited.
She let out a deep dramatic sigh, said,
“One of us has to go.”
I asked,
“I’m thinking it’s not you?”
She did a tiny two-step shuffle, said,
“Exactly. And, logically, I’m prettier and younger, well, just about everyone is younger than you now, save for Bruce Springsteen.”
I asked,
“Where might you suggest I go?”
She seemed to give it some serious thought, then,
“I’m hearing Honduras is lovely this time of year.”
I nearly laughed.
I gave her a long hard stare but she merely smiled back. I asked,
“And if I don’t?”
She did a little jig, spun ’round to face me, said,
“Then, it’s party time.”
I said,
“There is a super cop, some kind of Special Branch guy named
Sheridan, who is gunning for you.”
She echoed,
“Gunning?”
Then,
“How very you.”
She stretched and, I think but I’m not sure, yawned, said,
“I’m off and will see you on...”
Searched for a description, got
“The road to happy destiny!”
As she reached the door, I said,
“I have one major advantage.”
She asked,
“Pray tell?”
“I don’t give a fuck.”
If the ghost of your dead father
Comes to you,
It is a sign of good things.
If your dead mother comes to you,
Get a Mass said.
No,
Get many said.
30
Doc.
I hadn’t seen him since the pup was killed. I knew his climb of Everest was due very soon. We had once been fairly tight but Emily got in the middle and screwed that.
When he did knock on my door, I wasn’t entirely sure how to respond. He asked,
“May I come in?”
I nearly said no. He looked like a down-and-out and his eyes had that bleak despair I had sometimes witnessed in the mirror. I said,
“Okay.”
He had an air of being dazed and his clothes were shabby. This was a guy who always turned out neat and polished. He glanced around the room, asked,
“Where’s the pup?”
Fuck.
I said,
“He ran off.”
He had no reply to this bare statement. Asked,
“Could I get a drink?”
I made him work for it, asked,
“Tea, coffee, or a cool bottle of Galway water?”
I could see the pain in his face and thought,
“Yeah, payback’s a bitch.”
He near cried,
“Something with a kick?”
The temptation to snap,
“Like a twelve-gauge?”
Instead I got the Jameson, poured him a fine wallop, handed it to him. His hand shook like a withered prayer. He asked,
“You not having one?”
Twenty years I waited to say this,
“Bit early for me.”
Oh, the jolt of self-righteousness.
Divine.
He tried not to gulp it but failed and stared into the bottom of the now empty glass. I could have told him there was nothing there even if I still looked into that emptiness every empty day. He said,
“Whoever took my laptop got into my online banking and cleaned me out.”
I said, trying not to inject too much granite in my tone,
“If I recall you told the Guards it was me.”
It was like a lash in his face and his head dipped but I was far from finished, I added,
“Least we both know that level of expertise is beyond me.”
He said,
“I’m sorry, Jack.”
Bit late.
I asked,
“So what do you want?”
In as harsh a sound as that echoes.