unlabeled brown beer bottle.
“Conn, Goddammit, if I’m gonna get shot because of you I want to know why.”
Knocko pointed a thick forefinger at Conn’s chest.
“Is there anything in there? Is there anything scares you, or makes you happy, or does anything?”
Conn took a deep swallow of whiskey. He felt it move inside him, spreading through him the way it did. He listened to the click of the balls on the pool table.
“No, there isn’t,” Conn said softly.
There was a sound in Conn’s voice that Knocko had never heard. Suddenly, Knocko didn’t know what to say. The two men sat silently. The vice detective finished his solitary pool game. He put his cue stick away, drank the rest of his beer, racked the balls, andleft. The bartender was at the other end of the bar reading a newspaper. Conn and Knocko were alone.
“I was in love,” Conn said. “She turned me in to the English.”
“During the troubles.”
Conn nodded. He was looking at his reflection in the mirror behind the bar.
“And that’s it? That’s why you don’t care about anything? I mean, I ain’t trying to tell you it was nothing, but, Conn, people get over things.”
“I’m over it,” Conn said. “I stopped caring about it a long time ago. But it was so hard to stop caring about her that I had to stop caring about everything. You understand that?”
Knocko shrugged. “So what’s that got to do with wanting to shoot the Chinamen?”
Conn stared into his whiskey glass, turning it slowly in his hands.
“I won’t let anybody threaten me,” he said. “One of the rules. You got no feelings, rules get to be important. You know?”
“You ever have any fun?” Knocko said.
“Sure I have fan. I fuck, I drink, I like a good meal.”
“Nothing else?”
“That’s about it.”
“How about Mellen?” Knocko said.
Conn shrugged.
“You knock her up?” Knocko said.
Conn nodded.
“Christ,” Knocko said. “I coulda sent her someplace. You didn’t have to fucking marry her.”
Conn shrugged again.
“I know,” he said.
“So why did you?”
“Why not?” Conn said.
Knocko was silent. Conn was silent, staring at his drink.
“That woman,” Knocko said finally. He didn’t look at Conn. He looked instead at the mirror. “The one in Ireland … That woman killed you, Conn.”
“I know.”
Conn raised his head slowly. Two tears ran silently down his face. They both saw the tears in the bar mirror.
“Oh, shit,” Knocko said.
1994
Voice-Over
“K nocko said Conn wasn’t really on the take,” I said. “Knocko was, and proud of it; but he says Conn didn’t really care about taking money or not taking money. When Knocko worked up some graft, Conn would take some, the way you might share some popcorn if it was offered. But he never seemed interested.
“Marrying Mellen didn’t change him any.”
“No,” Grace said. “I imagine not.”
“Mellen became somebody he serviced as necessary, and other women was where he put his money. I guess he didn’t solicit graft, that was Knocko’s deal, but stylish womanizing was expensive. This was during the Depression, remember, and a guy with a little money could buy a lot of things. He could take them to the air-conditioned movie theater. He could take them to eat at Locke-Ober’s. He could give some stumblebum a dollar for an apple. He could afford a room in a good hotel for seductions. There were about five million people unemployed the year my father was conceived, but Conn Sheridan was not one of them. He had steady work.
“My father was born, a little, ah, premature on the seventeenth of September, 1932. Conn took Mellen to the hospital about four o’clock in the morning and then sat and read stories in
Black Mask
magazine, which he probably found pretty funny, being an actual cop. Nothing happened, so he left and went down onCanal Street to an all-night movie and watched Paul Muni in
Scarface
which he probably found pretty funny too and came out and had
“Conn, Goddammit, if I’m gonna get shot because of you I want to know why.”
Knocko pointed a thick forefinger at Conn’s chest.
“Is there anything in there? Is there anything scares you, or makes you happy, or does anything?”
Conn took a deep swallow of whiskey. He felt it move inside him, spreading through him the way it did. He listened to the click of the balls on the pool table.
“No, there isn’t,” Conn said softly.
There was a sound in Conn’s voice that Knocko had never heard. Suddenly, Knocko didn’t know what to say. The two men sat silently. The vice detective finished his solitary pool game. He put his cue stick away, drank the rest of his beer, racked the balls, andleft. The bartender was at the other end of the bar reading a newspaper. Conn and Knocko were alone.
“I was in love,” Conn said. “She turned me in to the English.”
“During the troubles.”
Conn nodded. He was looking at his reflection in the mirror behind the bar.
“And that’s it? That’s why you don’t care about anything? I mean, I ain’t trying to tell you it was nothing, but, Conn, people get over things.”
“I’m over it,” Conn said. “I stopped caring about it a long time ago. But it was so hard to stop caring about her that I had to stop caring about everything. You understand that?”
Knocko shrugged. “So what’s that got to do with wanting to shoot the Chinamen?”
Conn stared into his whiskey glass, turning it slowly in his hands.
“I won’t let anybody threaten me,” he said. “One of the rules. You got no feelings, rules get to be important. You know?”
“You ever have any fun?” Knocko said.
“Sure I have fan. I fuck, I drink, I like a good meal.”
“Nothing else?”
“That’s about it.”
“How about Mellen?” Knocko said.
Conn shrugged.
“You knock her up?” Knocko said.
Conn nodded.
“Christ,” Knocko said. “I coulda sent her someplace. You didn’t have to fucking marry her.”
Conn shrugged again.
“I know,” he said.
“So why did you?”
“Why not?” Conn said.
Knocko was silent. Conn was silent, staring at his drink.
“That woman,” Knocko said finally. He didn’t look at Conn. He looked instead at the mirror. “The one in Ireland … That woman killed you, Conn.”
“I know.”
Conn raised his head slowly. Two tears ran silently down his face. They both saw the tears in the bar mirror.
“Oh, shit,” Knocko said.
1994
Voice-Over
“K nocko said Conn wasn’t really on the take,” I said. “Knocko was, and proud of it; but he says Conn didn’t really care about taking money or not taking money. When Knocko worked up some graft, Conn would take some, the way you might share some popcorn if it was offered. But he never seemed interested.
“Marrying Mellen didn’t change him any.”
“No,” Grace said. “I imagine not.”
“Mellen became somebody he serviced as necessary, and other women was where he put his money. I guess he didn’t solicit graft, that was Knocko’s deal, but stylish womanizing was expensive. This was during the Depression, remember, and a guy with a little money could buy a lot of things. He could take them to the air-conditioned movie theater. He could take them to eat at Locke-Ober’s. He could give some stumblebum a dollar for an apple. He could afford a room in a good hotel for seductions. There were about five million people unemployed the year my father was conceived, but Conn Sheridan was not one of them. He had steady work.
“My father was born, a little, ah, premature on the seventeenth of September, 1932. Conn took Mellen to the hospital about four o’clock in the morning and then sat and read stories in
Black Mask
magazine, which he probably found pretty funny, being an actual cop. Nothing happened, so he left and went down onCanal Street to an all-night movie and watched Paul Muni in
Scarface
which he probably found pretty funny too and came out and had
Similar Books
