He nodded as two men plopped onto the stools next to him. Maura was in front of them before they had looked up.
The older man, maybe sixty, next to him just said, “Pint.”
Maura knew to draw a Guinness stout. The other man, a good ten years younger and wearing a light sweater, said, “Harp, my dear.”
The older man turned to him and in a loud voice said, “Harp, Jaysus Christ, didn’t know I was drinking with a girl.” He roared with laughter and looked around for support. Finding little, he settled back with his stout.
Reed cut his eyes to the loud older man who had what sounded like a Limerick accent. Too bad these two were at this bar. They would’ve been perfect except that he knew to never shit where you eat. But the longer they sat there the more enticing it became. The older one told bad joke after bad joke and then commented on every subject from the weather to the euro.
“I tell you, it’s a German plot. They want a consistent currency for the next time they take over the continent. Just more convenient that way.”
He and his friend finally started chatting about some- thing of interest. The younger one said, “Things are quieter in here since the damn butcher’s been roaming the streets.”
“Aye, that’s the Gospel truth. You’d think the Gardaí would be swoopin’ in here like the wrath o’ God.”
Maura walked by adding, “Does nothing for our business and I don’t walk home alone anymore. Three dead in three weeks. It’s a shame.”
The old man said, “Everyone’s hurting, love. Restaurants are closing. The cinemas have three people per show. Even the airport is empty as more and more people hear about our problems.”
Reed kept his mouth shut, not correcting the lovely barmaid that it was four dead in the three weeks. She’d know by tomorrow morning at the latest. Tomorrow would be his last one. That way he’d have plenty of people scared, and by doing it two nights in a row he avoided patterns the police would pick up on.
Reed said to Maura, “You know if Blue Balls are playing tonight?”
“No, they’re only at the International on Saturdays. But with the trouble they may not be playing at all.”
“A shame.” He left some bills on the bar for her and headed out the door, nodding to the few regulars. It was good to be seen.
He slept soundly after a shower and a few minutes cleaning his scratches. He wasn’t used to sleeping late. Usually the twins would start their day early by jumping into bed with him until he woke, pretended to be a monster, and tickled them until everyone had to lay back and catch their breath. The whole time the flat would fill with the smell of sausages as Rose prepared breakfast. It was a grand existence, but he didn’t mind just lying in a big bed as the sun climbed a little higher behind the clouds that seemed to constantly surround Dublin.
By 10:00 he was out of bed and checking his forehead for any sign of infection. Aside from being fresh, they didn’t look much different than the set of scratches he had on his neck from the day his old man lost twenty-five quid on some horse at Gowran Park. He shrugged. It was almost over and he’d be the toast of the town when he got back.
Later that day, as the sun began to set-at least he thought it was setting because it was getting dark though he couldn’t actually see the sun-Reed stepped out of his hotel room and down through the main lobby. He had the last of the knives he had bought in Limerick. A sharp Gerber four-forty steel, with a four-inch blade. With luck he would have to toss it in the Liffey by 10 o’clock. As he turned toward the river, he heard a voice.
“Hang on there.”
Reed turned to find a Dublin cop with hard brown eyes staring down at him. His dark-blue uniform had the name Reily on the left breast. The cop was near his age and looked to be in good shape. That might cause problems if things didn’t go well.
Reed turned and faced the cop, conscious of the bandage he’d stuck over his scratch.
The cop walked over to him, eyeing his forehead. “What happened there, boyo?”
“Tree branch.”
“What were ya doin’ in a tree at your age?”
Reed wasn’t sure if the cop was having a go at him or serious. “Low branch. I was walking.”
The copper nodded and said, “Where you off to this time of night?”
“Six? This time of night is right for a pop before dinner.”
The cop nodded at the answer. “Where d’ya go?”
“Usually the Ball Alley House.”
The cop took in the information and stepped back. Reed tensed like he might be hit or more cops would swoop in and grab him. He had the knife on him. He’d hate to use it on this cop. He wiggled his hip and felt the knife in its scabbard snug against his waistband. He checked out the copper’s uniform, trying to detect any kind of protective vest under it. Too hard to tell. Reed decided he’d have to stab him in the neck quick and deep. The only problem was that it would bring a lot of heat. He’d be gone, but it was a danger regardless.
The cop said, “Bollocks.”
Reed just stared at the beefy man.
“Bakurs on Thomas or the Cukoos Nest beat the arse off the Ball Alley House.”
Reed relaxed slightly. “Ah, it will have to do. That’s my place.”
The cop said, “You got a funny accent. Where you from?”
“Galway.”
“What brings ya to the Big Smoke?”
Reed considered his answer as he calmly placed his hand on his hip, an inch from the knife. This would have to be fast.
An old Honda zipped around the corner and swerved to miss a trash bin in the road, nearly causing it to run down the cop. To make matters worse, the driver beeped at him. The cop hopped onto the sidewalk, pushing Reed away from the street too.
With the cop next to him and distracted, Reed reached under his loose shirt, gripped the hard handle of the Gerber, and prepared for a fluid motion of slashing up, then planting that thing right in the cop’s thick neck.
But the cop jumped back into the street yelling, “You fucking rice-grinding shite!” Without a glance back at Reed, he trotted down the street and hopped into his small, unmarked car. Within twenty seconds the vehicle was racing past Reed toward the speeding Honda.
An hour later, Reed was behind a young American couple slowly strolling toward one of the local hotels. The five-story building had a decent restaurant and bar in the lobby. Reed hoped they were staying at the hotel and were on their way back instead of stopping for a bite and pint. He stayed back a ways until they were to the door of the hotel, then closed the distance to see where they were headed. The man was maybe thirty and built like a model, too thin and too neat. The woman was younger, about twenty-three and fresh-looking like a lot of the Americans from California or Florida. She had long blond hair and looked like she’d had to grease herself to slide into the Levi’s gripping her hips.
Reed came up the front steps and almost knocked into them in the lobby. They had stopped to look over the restaurant’s posted menu. Reed peered at the man. He wouldn’t be thinking about a toasted sandwich if he had a girl like that stuck on his arm. Typical Yank.
He eased past them like he was heading to the lifts, and then a miracle happened. They followed him. It couldn’t have been more natural. As he stood by the buttons, he asked the man, “What floor?”
He had a funny accent, even just saying, “Four, please.”
Reed nodded and mumbled, “Me too,” as he hit the button. He glanced over at the couple. The girl smiled at him with a dazzling spray of white.
Reed paused so they could get off the elevator, then followed them down the narrow hallway. The cheap carpet made a swoosh sound as they all glided along. His right hand was up on his hip.
The couple slowed at a room five from the end of the hall and the man fumbled with the plastic card key. Reed heard the door click and then saw a crack of light from the inside. He was on the man right as he entered the doorway, knife out and slashing deep across his throat before the girl even turned to see what the funny noise was. He shoved the shocked man into the bathroom to his left and advanced down on the girl as she turned. Before she could say a word, he had a hand across her beautifully sculpted face and the knife deep into her solar plexus. He wiggled his hand, slicing through veins and heart tissue as he watched the life seep right out of her blue eyes. He pulled the blade out and sliced into her left breast, amazed at the clear liquid that gushed out before the blood. Fucking implants. Unnatural.