“Nice butt!”
“He’s into bikes.”
“My kinda guy.”
He brought the drink and gave her a dazzling smile. I thought Jeff still had some moves. Cathy said,
“You old guys, you got class.”
I laughed as if I meant it, said,
“I’m moving to London.”
“Don’t bother.”
“What?”
“I’m from London... remember? Save yerself the trip.”
“It’s a done deal. I’ve bought the ticket.”
“Whatever.”
She took a sip, said,
“Perfect.”
“I’m serious, Cathy, I’m off.”
“The bar guy, is he married?”
“No... he used to be in a band.”
“I’m in love.”
“Cathy... yo... could we just focus for a minute here. Do you need money?”
“Naw, I’ve got gigs lined up.”
I stood up, asked,
“Want to take a walk, feed the swans?”
“I’m gonna hang here a bit, put the make on this dude.”
I was expecting a hug, would have settled for an air kiss, said,
“Well, see you then.”
“Yeah, yeah, like later.”
I squeezed the ball in my left hand. If it helped anything, I didn’t notice.
Storms
I had one hell of a bad dream. Like you see the guy in the movie, waking, drenched in sweat, shouting,
“Nam... incoming.”
Like that.
I was dreaming of Padraig, Sean, Planter, Ford, Sarah Henderson. Lined up before me, eyes black in death, reaching for me. No matter how I ran, they were always in front of me. I was screaming,
“Leave me alone or I’ll drink.”
Came to with a shout. The sun was streaming through the windows, and I felt such dread as I had never known. Staggered outa bed and got a beta-b — fast. If I had known how to pray any more, I’d have gone for it. I said,
“Sé do bheatha, a Mhuire.”
The opening of the Hail Mary in Irish. Began to ease. My early schooling had been solely through Irish. Moving up a grade, we had to relearn our prayers through English. During the transition period, I was prayerless.
Believed if I died, I’d go straight to hell. Those were the early nights of terror. As I got the swing of the new liturgy, the terror abated. Somewhere, though, the idea rooted that I’d been safer in Irish.
Serendipity was about to come calling. Coincidence being when God wants to maintain a low profile. When He’s sidestepping the paparazzi.
I’d had my shower, managed a weak coffee and dressed. Wearing a faded-to-white denim shirt, tan needle cords, and the moks, I could have passed for an out of focus American Express ad.
Knock on the door. I hoped to hell it wasn’t Sutton.
Janet.
She said,
“I hate to intrude.”
“That’s OK.”
“Mrs Bailey said you’re leaving.”
“I am.”
“I’d like you to have these.”
She stretched out her hand. A black rosary beads. They appeared to shine. As I took them, they looked like handcuffs against the denim. She said,
“They were blessed at Knock.”
“I am very moved, Janet. I’ll keep them with me always.”
She got shy and I added,
“I’ll miss you.”
A full blush. Not something you see too often any more so, to cover, I asked,
“Do you eat chocolate?”
“Oh God, I love it.”
“Well, I’m going to get you a vulgar amount in a fancy box.”
“With the dog on the lid?”
“Exactly.”
She left with the blush in neon.
I put the beads under my pillow. I could use all the help available.
Walking towards the statue of Padraig Ó Conaire, a garda approached me. I thought,
“Uh-dh.”
He asked,
“Mr Taylor? Mr Jack Taylor?”
They call you mister, call a lawyer. I said,
“Yeah.”
“Superintendent Clancy would like a word. This way.”
He led the way to a black Daimler. The back door opened and a voice said,
“Get in, Jack.”
I did.
Clancy was in full uniform. All the epaulettes, insignia on show. He was stouter than our previous meeting. I said,
“Not getting to the links too often?”
“What?”
“Golf. I hear you play with the big boys.”
His face was purple, the eyes bulging. The guy used to be skinnier than a rat. He said,
“You should take it up, good for the health.”
“I can’t deny you’re the living proof.”
Shook his head, said,
“Always with the mouth, Jack.”
The driver was built like the proverbial shithouse. Muscles bulging in his neck. Clancy said,
“I might owe you an apology.”
“Might?”
“The suicides. Seems you were on to something.”
“And, Super, are you on to something... like the whereabouts of Mr Planter?”
Clancy sighed, said,
“He’s long gone. Money buys a lot of clout.”
I didn’t want to push too far in this direction, said,
“I’m leaving Galway.”
“Indeed. Any hope your friend Sutton will go with you?”
“Don’t think so. His muse is here.”
Clancy was quiet, then,
“Did you know he once applied to the force?”
“Sutton?”
“Oh yes. Turned him down, there are standards.”
“Are you sure? They took us.”
He allowed himself a grim smile, said,
“You could have gone far.”
“Wow, maybe even turned out like you.”
He put out his hand. I was fascinated by his shoes. Heavy black jobs, with a shine you could see yourself in. I took his hand. He asked,
“Are you leaving because of Coffey?”
“What... who?”
“You remember him, a gombeen from Cork.”
I let go his hand, pulled my eyes away from those shoes, said,
“Oh yeah, a big thick yoke. Fair hurler though.”
“He works under me, and to hear him tell it, the Ann Henderson wan is working like a whore under him.”
The words hung in the air. I could see the driver shift awkwardly behind the wheel. A line of sweat popped out along my brow. I could feel Clancy’s grin in my back. The world spun for a minute and I thought I’d fall. Must have been the sudden exposure to the sun. Took a second, then leant back into the car. With all my might I spat on those fine garda shoes.
I went into Supermacs on the square. Needed something very cold. Got a large Coke, ice-loaded, and took a window seat. My eyes were stinging, and I squeezed the ball in my left hand till my fingers ached. Took a long swallow of the Coke, felt the ice click against my teeth. A red cloud seemed to bend my vision. More Coke, then the sugar rush kicked.
It helped.
My vision cleared and I stopped the incessant squeezing. A man approached my table, said,
“Jack.”
I looked up. Knew the face but couldn’t place the name. He said,
“I’m Brendan Flood.”
“Ah... the God guy.”
“May I sit?”
“I’d prefer if you didn’t, pal. I’m all out on guards.”
“Ex-guards.”
“Whatever.”
“I need to tell you something.”
“Is it about God again?”
“Everything’s about God.”
He sat and I looked out the window. Despite the sunshine, I could see black clouds on the horizon. Flood said,
“A storm is coming!”
“Are you being biblical or informative?”
“I heard it on the news.”
I didn’t answer, figured he’d spout some homily and be gone. How long could it take? He said,
“My condolences on the death of your friend Sean Grogan.”