I could recite the above by heart and did so at the oddest times.
When Brennan’s Yard was opened, the general response was,
“You’re kidding.”
Who’d call a hotel after a yard? But it’s been doing good. Round the corner from Quay Street, it does a brisk trade. Sure, it has notions, but they’re not flash notions. The bar doesn’t require a suit, but it whispers the suggestion.
I went in, and an eager barman hailed,
“Good evening, sir.”
Like I said... notions.
I got a pint of Guinness and took a table at the rear. Didn’t recognize the ban garda when she appeared dressed in denim top, short black skirt and medium heels, a drink in her hand. I said,
“I wouldn’t know you in that gear.”
“Can I sit?”
“Unless you’re happier standing.”
She sat.
I looked at her drink, said,
“Let me guess, a spritzer?”
“No, white wine.”
I lit a cig and she said,
“Could you please not smoke?”
“Jeez, Ridge, what kind of tight ass are you?”
“The kind who doesn’t enjoy passive smoking.”
I leant back, had a hard look. She had nice features in a bland fashion. You wouldn’t pick her out of a crowd, but I felt she wanted it that way. I said,
“You asked to see me. I don’t remember you saying there’d be rules.”
She took a sip of the wine. Impossible to say if she derived any satisfaction. Her eyes had the fevered shine of the dedicated. Not a zealot but in the neighbourhood. Her voice was quiet as she said,
“Why do you like annoying people?”
“I don’t... not really. Let’s say I don’t like ‘annoying people’. And God knows, they’re thick on the ground. Prosperity’s made them worse.”
“You prefer the good old days.”
“Don’t be snide, Ridge, it twists your mouth.”
She watched as I finished the pint, said,
“Could you stay sober till we have our talk?”
“Depends how long winded you are.”
She leaned forward, said,
“I’m good at what I do.”
“So was I.”
She shook her head, went,
“I’m serious. I love being a guard. I don’t sneer at the force.”
Pause,
“Like you do.”
I stood, asked,
“You want a drink?”
“No.”
As I ordered, I tried to rein in my temper. No question, she got to me. I lit another cig, checked to see if she was watching.
No.
Staring out the window. Probably dreaming of one day being the chief. It crossed my mind to hammer the drink, then fuck off. Leave her to the high moral ground. Knew she wasn’t the type to let it be. Some other day she’d waylay me, and I’d have to hear whatever it was she wanted to say. A priest came bustling in, Fr Malachy, my mother’s friend. He spotted me, said,
“Propping up the bar as usual.”
“And you’re being an asshole as usual.”
He stepped back, my bitterness assaulting him, but he rallied, said,
“I thought here would be a cut above your station.”
“They let you in.”
“It’s the sodality dinner. We have a room booked.”
“Prayer pays, eh?”
“Your mother is poorly. You might sober up enough to visit.”
I grabbed my pint, began to move, said,
“For that visit, I’d need to be very drunk.”
When I sat down, Ridge said,
“Is that a priest?”
“No, that’s the dregs of the barrel. So, what’s on your mind?”
“The Magdalen.”
“And...”
“Galway is a European city now.”
“So?”
“So, there are people who’d prefer not to have old history on display again.”
“What’s this to do with me?”
“You were searching for a woman who worked there.”
“And you know this how?”
“My uncle... was a guard.”
“Jeez, a family of ye.”
“I can help you.”
“You’re a little late. I already found her.”
“You’re not listening.”
“To what? The case is closed; it’s a done deal.”
She took a deep breath, said,
“Two young men have been murdered in the city recently.”
“Yeah, I heard it on the news.”
“And that’s all you know?”
I was getting exasperated, near shouted,
“What the hell else is there to know?”
“Their names?”
“Why should I want to know that?”
She sat back, waited, then,
“Because they’re related to Rita Monroe... her nephews.”
I tried to get my head round this information, muttered,
“Are you sure?”
“What do you think?”
“Jesus.”
I went back through what I knew, or thought I knew, asked,
“Why would anyone want to kill her nephews?”
“To hurt her.”
Then I recalled the time I’d met Rita Monroe. She’d said,
“I’m not feeling well. There’s been a bereavement.”
Or words to that effect. And she’d been very shook up. I, of course, had completely ignored that. Too, her house had been ransacked, as had my room. Ridge said,
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Let me think.”
The name that came to mind, the common denominator, was Bill Cassell. But he wanted to thank her, to express his gratitude for the help she had given his mother. I asked,
“What do you know about Rita Monroe?”
Ridge opened her handbag, took out a notebook, flipped through some pages, said,
“The Magdalen girls called her Lucifer, the devil incarnate. No one rained down abuse and torment like she did.”
My head reeled. Bill Cassell had told me she was an angel, and I just outright accepted that. Never once had it struck me to check out his story. I was so anxious to be free of my debt, I’d have stood on my head. I asked,
“How did you find out about her?”
“My uncle suggested I do some checking.”
“Oh... the guard.”
“That’s right.”
“How come he’s so fucking smart?”
“Was.”
“What?”
“Was so... as you put it... f-in’... smart. He’s dead.”
“I’m sorry. Were you close?”
“Were you?”
“Excuse me?”
“To my Uncle Brendan... Flood.”
“But your name...”
“He was my mother’s brother.”
I didn’t know what to say, said,
“I don’t know what to say.”
She sipped some more wine, said,
“He thought you could have been a great guard. Even in your current occupation, you managed to impress him, despite...”
She didn’t finish so I asked,
“What?”
“Despite your weaknesses.”
“Yes, well, I’ve plenty.”
“That’s what he said.”
My glass was empty. I debated another trip to the bar. She said,
“He told me to contact you if ever he was ‘unavailable’. That you needed a contact, a connection to the guards. He called it your lifeline.”
I had to ask, so,
“Were you surprised he... did what he did?”
“Killed himself?”
“Yes.”
“I was shocked, but I don’t know if I was totally surprised. He was a man who needed to passionately believe in something. You probably don’t understand that.”
I held the empty glass, asked,
“You think I have no beliefs?”
“Alcohol... that’s all you have.”