He laughed, said,
“She said more like Sancho Panza.”
There was no sign of him leaving, I asked,
“Something else?”
Again with the smile, he said,
“I’m waiting to be invited in.”
Now I smiled, with absolute no warmth, said,
“Never happen son.”
He put out his hand, said,
“I’m Hayden, that is with a capital H.”
The pup had decided he was no threat, just an idiot, and went back into the apartment. I said,
“Time to fuck off, H.”
He lost the smile, edge leaking over the mouth, said,
“Emily said you could be... difficult.”
I said,
“Indeed, and you know what?”
He wasn’t entirely sure this was a question so settled for the ubiquitous,
“Okay?”
The tone rising up like a blend of whine and question. Another vocal our young had adopted from the U.S. I said,
“You need to fuck off with a capital F.”
He said,
“I was hoping to like, you know, hang with you and, like, you know, chill.”
I let out a sigh and decided it was wasted energy. He was definitely the type who had never been punched in the mouth or, at least, not often enough. I said,
“The dog doesn’t like you.”
Now he let the whine full play, whined,
“Like seriously? Is that even a reason?”
I shut the door with
“The only reason that counts.”
The pup wagged his tail. It seemed I still had some moves.
On Eyre Square, a dead cow was found with white paint on its flanks reading
“Not cowed.”
The papers yet again had a wild old time with speculation as to the culprits.
Were they
Water protesters,
Pranksters,
Supporting the nurses,
Animal rights,
Or simply
Pissed off?
Like the whole country.
Superintendent Clancy made a forceful statement with the usual blather,
“Definite line of inquiry.”
Which meant they had zilch. The culprits were definitely getting our attention but to what?
I opened Don Quixote and was rewarded with the aroma of fine leather and gold binding, a scent of class. I didn’t expect to find a clue in there but what the hell, tilting at windmills seemed like as good an idea as any others.
Next time I went to the hospital I was allowed to see Emily. She was out of Intensive Care and had a private room. Our health service was in such a shambles that most patients had to lie on trollies in corridors before they even caught a glimpse of a doctor. Only Em could have gotten a room. She was sitting up, dressed in a bright kimono-type top, her face heavily bruised and bandages around her head. The eyes, phew, they burned even more fierce than ever. She snarled,
“The fuck kept you, Taylor?”
I said,
“Life, I guess.”
She studied me, then,
“You’re old, Jack.”
Great, just fucking great. I asked,
“How are you?”
Got the withering look, then,
“I’m hurting Jack, in so many ways, but hey, I have the key to recovery.”
“Determination?”
She scoffed.
“Drugs, heavy-duty ones.”
I tried,
“I dealt with the guy who hurt you.”
Was I expecting gratitude?
A little.
She sneered.
“He was just one of the disposable ones.”
Did she mean it literally or was she getting philosophical? I asked,
“What does that mean?”
She said,
“The ghosts of Galway.”
A tiny shudder crossed my spine and lodged. It was like she could read my mind but I asked,
“Who?”
She adjusted her position then reached in the nightstand and took out an e-cig, flicked it, blew large clouds of vapor, said,
“Same dudes who are dropping animals in Eyre Square.”
I thought that was ridiculous, said,
“That is ridiculous.”
She settled down in the bed, some of the bluster gone, then,
“They are a combination of Old Testament, ferocity, fundamentalism, and your plain run-of-the-mill violence.”
I wasn’t buying this, asked,
“Why?”
“They want to return to the Latin Mass, parental authority, the Ireland of the fifties. No fun, just bleakness and darkness.”
I said,
“Like an Irish ISIS.”
She said,
“Pretty much.”
A thought hit and I asked,
“How come you know so much about them?”
She smiled in a knowing way, said,
“I was fucking their head honcho.”
Like most everything she said, it was designed to shock. Finding the truth among her chaos was a challenge. I didn’t feel like traveling that mad road again. I said, sarcasm leaking all over my tone,
“How nice for you.”
She said,
“You don’t believe me.”
I asked in all sincerity,
“Does it matter?”
She looked like she might leap from the bed, spat,
“It is going to be a little difficult to help me if you think I’m making it up.”
I could engage a bit, asked,
“What is it you think I or we can do?”
She eased back in the bed, let out a long sigh, conceded,
“You might not be up to it after all.”
Here’s the crazy thing, my pride took a wee hit, and I asked,
“Why?”
She turned to the wall, said very quietly,
“It’s not just you’re old. You’re weak.”
I wish she was the type you could give a reassuring hug to. Fuck, I wish I was the type who could give one. I said,
“We might work something out.”
I didn’t catch her quiet reply and moved closer. She said,
“Fuck off.”
I was standing outside the hospital, debating a pint in the River Inn. A car pulled up, a blue Toyota, the window rolled down to reveal Ridge. She was dressed in casual clothes, her hair tied back in a severe bun, accentuating her no nonsense air. She said,
“Get in.”
I was in no mood for any more shite so asked,
“You asking or ordering?”
She sighed, sounding not unlike my dead mother, a walking bitch. She gritted her teeth, said,
“A request.”
I got in, made a show of settling my own self. She pulled off with a screech of tires. We drove in silence until she asked,
“How is the she-wolf?”
“You mean Emily?”
Gritted teeth, then,
“Yes.”
“She is recovering and good of you to care.”
She near rear-ended a lorry, then,
“I don’t care.”
Well, that killed that topic. I played fake pleasant, asked,
“Day off?”
“Crime doesn’t have days off.”
I laughed, genuinely amused. Asked,
“They teach you that in detective school?”
She pulled up in Woodquay and parked, very badly, mostly from bad temper. I suggested,
“I could show you a real simple method of effortless parking.”
Nope.
She went,
“The day I need you to teach me anything I will shoot myself.”
She got out, indicated the Goal Post, asked,
“Have you been there?”
One of the very few pubs I’d missed, I said I had not. Followed her in and she grabbed a table at the rear, barman came over, asked,
“Get you folks?”
She said,
“Two coffees.”
The guy smiled, then,
“And you, Jack?”
“Pint and chaser.”
She glared at us both, then to the guy,