The Ghosts of Galway (Jack Taylor)(41)

She did a little jig, spun ’round to face me, said,

“Then, it’s party time.”

I said,

“There is a super cop, some kind of Special Branch guy named

Sheridan, who is gunning for you.”

She echoed,

“Gunning?”

Then,

“How very you.”

She stretched and, I think but I’m not sure, yawned, said,

“I’m off and will see you on …”

Searched for a description, got

“The road to happy destiny!”

As she reached the door, I said,

“I have one major advantage.”

She asked,

“Pray tell?”

“I don’t give a fuck.”



If the ghost of your dead father

Comes to you,

It is a sign of good things.

If your dead mother comes to you,

Get a Mass said.

No,

Get many said.





Doc.

I hadn’t seen him since the pup was killed. I knew his climb of Everest was due very soon. We had once been fairly tight but Emily got in the middle and screwed that.

When he did knock on my door, I wasn’t entirely sure how to respond. He asked, “May I come in?”

I nearly said no. He looked like a down-and-out and his eyes had that bleak despair I had sometimes witnessed in the mirror. I said, “Okay.”

He had an air of being dazed and his clothes were shabby. This was a guy who always turned out neat and polished. He glanced around the room, asked, “Where’s the pup?”

Fuck.

I said,

“He ran off.”

He had no reply to this bare statement. Asked,

“Could I get a drink?”

I made him work for it, asked,

“Tea, coffee, or a cool bottle of Galway water?”

I could see the pain in his face and thought,

“Yeah, payback’s a bitch.”

He near cried,

“Something with a kick?”

The temptation to snap,

“Like a twelve-gauge?”

Instead I got the Jameson, poured him a fine wallop, handed it to him. His hand shook like a withered prayer. He asked, “You not having one?”

Twenty years I waited to say this,

“Bit early for me.”

Oh, the jolt of self-righteousness.

Divine.

He tried not to gulp it but failed and stared into the bottom of the now empty glass. I could have told him there was nothing there even if I still looked into that emptiness every empty day. He said, “Whoever took my laptop got into my online banking and cleaned me out.”

I said, trying not to inject too much granite in my tone,

“If I recall you told the Guards it was me.”

It was like a lash in his face and his head dipped but I was far from finished, I added, “Least we both know that level of expertise is beyond me.”

He said,

“I’m sorry, Jack.”

Bit late.

I asked,

“So what do you want?”

In as harsh a sound as that echoes.

He stood up, as if that would help, asked,

“I hate to do this but could you lend me some money?”

Before I could answer, he added,

“I’d pay you back, even add interest.”

I said,

“I could maybe go a hundred.”

He stared at me for a long minute then gave a harsh bitter laugh, said,

“A hundred? A fucking hundred? Are you kidding me? What the fuck would that do? Wouldn’t pay for one fucking day.”

I felt a vague string of rage, not spitting but there. I asked,

“What sort of figure had you in mind?”

He was near trembling with,

With,

Indignation?

He said,

“About ten grand.”

I took a deep breath, said,

“Maybe I should be flattered that you believe I have that kind of dough.”

Dough.

Well, I was a bit thrown. I tried,

“Sorry.”

He looked at me like sorry was the last fucking thing he wanted to hear, said, “You know people.”

What did that even mean?

I asked,

“What does that even mean?”

He snarled.

“Don’t play fucking coy.”

I tried,

“You think some of the hotshots I have dealt with would give me the bloody time of day?”

He gave a slightly sinister grin, said,

“You have information on a lot of them.”

The whole experience was so bizarre that it took me a moment to grasp the implication, then I near shouted, “Blackmail?”

For the very first time his English accent emerged fully as he said,

“You Paddies like to soft soap things, so let’s say persuade.”

Before I could savage him, he was on his feet, said,

“Don’t go anywhere, I have something.”

He rushed from my place, across the corridor, and spent about five minutes in his apartment, then back, clutching a large ornate box, put it on the table, opened it, and said, “Voilà.”

Not sure what I expected but dueling pistols?