Tierney took a step back and looked him up and down.
“Even in here I can see how wasted you are. The state of you. You’re sweating.”
“It’s a heat wave, man.”
“Oh yeah? Look in a mirror, Leonardo. You’re a mess.”
“Looks aren’t everything, Jammy, man. Come on, man. I just came by to talk to you for a minute.”
“ ‘Talk to you?’ Sure you’re not sussing out the place to see if you can do some dealing to the kids in here? Because if you are, I’ll burst you.”
“I just wanted to say hello. Is that such a big crime these days?”
“What are you into now, Leonardo? You graduated to the hard stuff?”
“No way!”
“Here, let me see your arms. Yeah, you’re wearing a jacket and it’s like the Sahara this last ten days here. C’mere!”
He pushed Tierney’s hand away.
“Don’t start with me, Jammy.”
Tierney laughed.
“Or what? What’ll you do, Leonardo? Faint on me?”
“All I wanted was to say hello and that.”
He looked back into Tierney’s face and took in his scorn. They were the same age. They had been friends since the first day they had started primary school together.
“Did you get a job?”
“I do a bit of this and that. They’re going to cut down me rock-and-roll. They found out I was living at home, you know?”
“And you’ve given up completely on the drawings and stuff, right?”
“No way! Well, not exactly. I go out some days with me stuff.”
“I never see you out there. I haven’t seen you for months. Anywhere.”
“Well, I’m trying to stake out new places, amn’t I? I don’t like to just do the one spot all the time, you know. That’s not how the art business works, Jammy.”
“The art business. That’s what you’re calling chalk drawings on the frigging footpath, is it?”
Tierney folded his arms. The tattoo of the snake and the guitar swelled out from his upper arm.
“It’s the summer, man. There are millions of chalkies out there. Jesus! Foreigners even. Every street-corner. What am I supposed to do, have a barney right there in the street with every single one of them so’s I can have a good spot to show me stuff?”
“Let me guess. You want me to stand there with you and collect money for you.”
“I can look after myself, so I can.”
“What, then? You came by to talk about the bleeding weather?”
“I want to get on with someone, Jammy. You know.”
The shadows dug deeper into Tierney’s forehead.
“What,” he said.
“You know. Get something going. A future. Show what I can do.”
Tierney continued to stare at him but his eyes had slipped out of focus.
“The Egans? You are a header. ‘The Egans’ he says. Like he really means it.”
“Don’t give me that look, Jammy. Come on! I done stuff!”
“Crack, you mean. Speed.”
“You’re not even giving me a chance, man.”
“Chance at what? Here, let me tell you something. Nothing personal now.”
He leaned in close to whisper.
“You’re a total waster. Okay? You’re out of your box.”
“All I’m saying is maybe you can put me in touch with people.”
“‘People’?”
“Everyone knows you’re clean, Jammy. They respect that, man. But the lads in here: you know them, they know you. Fellas come through here every day of the week. Some of them are in the line of what I’m talking about.”
“Listen, man. Get this through your head: I’m clean. Like I always been. Like you used to slag me about. I play an odd game here and that’s it.”
“Don’t get me wrong, man! I’m not asking you to get in on something you wouldn’t want to. Really, Jammy! I swear. All I’m saying is maybe you could put in a word for me. Only me, like. Not you. I’ve been thinking, right? I want to settle down, don’t I. Get a start and do things right. You know, move in with someone.”
“Who’s the lucky someone?”
“Mary, maybe.”
The scorn left Tierney’s face.
“Mary? Mary Mullen?”
“Well, yeah. Maybe you wouldn’t understand.”
Tierney blinked and looked away to the end of the hall.
“Come on, Jammy! You could get me in the door at least.”
“I don’t work for the Egans. I mind me own business. So should you. Fucking iijit.”
“It’s not just them, Jammy! You know people. People coming through here, like.”
“Get the message, man.”
“I’m good at stuff, Jammy! I am!”
Tierney’s eyes bored into his now.
“What the hell are you so good at that the likes of the Egans would want you for? ‘Pavement Artist: Leonardo Hickey. Specialising in chalk, and getting high.’ ”
“I can do cars steady, Jammy. I’m good at it. Regular fence. I do a bit every night now.”
“Oh, that’s brilliant, man,” said Tierney. “Just ace. Oh, yeah. Christ. I’m out of here.”
He walked alongside Tierney.
“And I can drive. Aw, man, you know I can do that.” Tierney didn’t slow his pace.
“You’re about ten years too old to be still joyriding. Get smart, Leonardo. Fuck’s sake.”
He rapped Tierney’s shoulder as they stepped out onto the footpath. Tierney whirled around, his face twisted in anger.
“Don’t do that, man! Don’t fucking touch me!”
“Sorry. It’s just that… you know.”
“It’s not like it was! Never!”
“I said I was sorry, didn’t I?”
“You never listened to me, did you? Ever. I told you to stay away from that stuff. To look out for yourself, you know. And now look… Jesus, you were the best soccer player all the way through school. You could have-”
“I still can, Jammy! You should see me, man!”
Tierney’s eyes rested on the far end of the street now.
“Yeah, right, man. Sure. But you’re running in the wrong direction.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean? It’s easy to judge people, isn’t it? Oh, yeah. So easy.” Tierney turned to him.
“Look, Leonardo. I don’t know if you really listen to anyone. Get this through your head: Nobody trusts a junkie.”
“I’m not a fucking junkie, Jammy. Don’t call me that.”
“Oh, yeah? You could quit cold turkey any time, right? Sure, man. Prove it. Sort yourself out and maybe someone might take you seriously.”
“They take Mary seriously and you know what she does-”
Tierney suddenly jabbed him hard in the chest.
“Shut up, man! I can just about put up with you lying about yourself but-”
“I was only saying that she gets to do-”
Tierney grasped his collar and twisted it.
“I don’t want to hear it, you lying bastard.”
Tierney shoved him away.
“I can do it, Jammy. Whatever it is. Swear to God.”
Tierney looked into the startled eyes again.
“What the hell are you talking about? Do what?”
“Whatever it takes, Jammy. I’m good! I’ve done stuff. Tell them, okay? Will you?”
THREE
Minogue’s back was prickly. A cyclist wearing only shorts and runners and a Walkman dawdled by their parked car. “181,” said Malone. Minogue looked at the flowers and the fresh paint. A dozen feet of brown lawn ran from the low pebble-dash wall to the house. Neighbours to one side of 181 had begun what might have looked like a rockery had they not lost interest. A Hi-Ace van squatted on cement blocks at the far end of the street.
Music with a disco beat sounded against the door. Minogue knocked harder. The chain pulled tight as the door opened. A woman with tied-up hair and sharp black lines on her eyebrows peered out. He pegged her for forty, for someone who didn’t like that one bit, for someone willing to fight it tooth and nail. She gave him a once-over and looked to Malone behind.
“The windows, is it?”
“No, ma’am. I’m looking for a Mrs. Irene Mullen.”
“No. No Irene Mullen here.”
She had said it too brashly for Minogue not to notice.
“Aren’t yous the Corpo come to fix the windows? I called them a fortnight ago.”
Her eyes kept moving from Minogue to Malone and back.