relief?
No.
Headed out, taking my by now usual walk up to the top of the Square, to have a look at how the renovations were progressing.
They weren't.
And turning towards the city centre, walked past Faller's shop, stared with a pang of regret at the rows of gold Claddagh rings, then crossed the road and entered the Eyre Square Centre. They have a restaurant that still serves heart-attack food – fry ups, tons of cholesterol and no lecture. I ordered the special, the works, the whole clog-your-arteries mess:
rashers, two fat sausages, black pudding, fried egg, round of toast, pot of tea. Got a table near the rear and was halfway through when my nemesis appeared.
Father Malachy.
He didn't ask to join me, just sat down, accused, 'Where have you been?'
I was mid bite of the second sausage so needed a second to answer. Malachy was, to pun heavily, fuming, as he couldn't smoke here. This was a lunatic who set the alarm to smoke in the small hours of the morning. Life for him was simply an irritation that occurred
between cigarettes. He had the smoker's pallor, the heavy lined face and that slight wheezing that sounds almost like humming.
I decided to tell the truth, not something the Church was much accustomed to.
'I was sleeping.'
He was furious, spat, 'Sleeping it off, more like.'
I wasn't going to let the gobshite get to me.
'I'm not drinking.'
He snorted. It came out through his nostrils and was not a pretty sound, especially when you're halfway through breakfast.
He said, 'You missed the funeral. That friend of yours was buried and you weren't bothered to even get your arse out of bed?'
I kept my voice level as I poured a cup of tea.
'I was asked not to attend.'
He let out a snigger of – delight?
'Well, by the holy – barred from a funeral, you're some beaut.'
I felt my tolerance slide, but no, he wouldn't get to me.
I asked, 'How did it go?'
He mimicked, ' Go? The parents were crushed and his sister, the poor creature, was in bits.'
I was surprised, asked, 'He had a sister?'
He loved that.
'Jaysus, the poor lad worked with you and you didn't even know he had a sister. Isn't that just typical of Taylor, Mr Selfish, Mr couldn't care less.'
The temptation to bang him on the upside of his dandruffed head was building.
He noticed my bandaged hands.
'In the wars again?'
Took the cheap route, said, 'Yeah, a priest annoyed the shite out of me.'
He stood up, asked, 'Did you know that ex-Guard they pulled out of the canal?'
'What?'
'Fellah named Heaton. Drunkard like yourself.
Did the world a favour and drowned himself.'
I was trying to take this in when he added, 'He didn't have to take the dog with him – that was really sick.'
'Dog?'
'The dirty yoke, he'd tied a dog to his stomach. What kind of perverted mind does that to one of God's gentle creations?'
So much for resolutions, Malachy had got to me in just about every way there is. I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt this was my fault.
The dog-napping case had seemed so trivial.
Now it was something completely different and I hadn't one clue what the hell was going on.
I spent the next few hours trailing round the pubs, the betting shops, the usual places Eoin Heaton would have frequented, and managed to discover that he'd been heading for a warehouse on Father Griffin Road the evening he'd died. He'd told one of his mates he was on the verge of solving a major scam.
Took me another few hours to find out the address of the place, and by then, when I got to it, it was closed. I had the name of the owner, though. A man called King.
Next, I rang Ridge from my mobile and she said she'd some information on Rory, the brother of the burned-car girl.
My mind was speeding. I had so much happening, and all at once, that I decided another good night's sleep was vital before I took action on all those cases.
Ridge came by early the next morning.
Dressed in jeans and sweatshirt, she seemed almost relaxed. I noticed her eyes, they seemed a radiant
No.
Headed out, taking my by now usual walk up to the top of the Square, to have a look at how the renovations were progressing.
They weren't.
And turning towards the city centre, walked past Faller's shop, stared with a pang of regret at the rows of gold Claddagh rings, then crossed the road and entered the Eyre Square Centre. They have a restaurant that still serves heart-attack food – fry ups, tons of cholesterol and no lecture. I ordered the special, the works, the whole clog-your-arteries mess:
rashers, two fat sausages, black pudding, fried egg, round of toast, pot of tea. Got a table near the rear and was halfway through when my nemesis appeared.
Father Malachy.
He didn't ask to join me, just sat down, accused, 'Where have you been?'
I was mid bite of the second sausage so needed a second to answer. Malachy was, to pun heavily, fuming, as he couldn't smoke here. This was a lunatic who set the alarm to smoke in the small hours of the morning. Life for him was simply an irritation that occurred
between cigarettes. He had the smoker's pallor, the heavy lined face and that slight wheezing that sounds almost like humming.
I decided to tell the truth, not something the Church was much accustomed to.
'I was sleeping.'
He was furious, spat, 'Sleeping it off, more like.'
I wasn't going to let the gobshite get to me.
'I'm not drinking.'
He snorted. It came out through his nostrils and was not a pretty sound, especially when you're halfway through breakfast.
He said, 'You missed the funeral. That friend of yours was buried and you weren't bothered to even get your arse out of bed?'
I kept my voice level as I poured a cup of tea.
'I was asked not to attend.'
He let out a snigger of – delight?
'Well, by the holy – barred from a funeral, you're some beaut.'
I felt my tolerance slide, but no, he wouldn't get to me.
I asked, 'How did it go?'
He mimicked, ' Go? The parents were crushed and his sister, the poor creature, was in bits.'
I was surprised, asked, 'He had a sister?'
He loved that.
'Jaysus, the poor lad worked with you and you didn't even know he had a sister. Isn't that just typical of Taylor, Mr Selfish, Mr couldn't care less.'
The temptation to bang him on the upside of his dandruffed head was building.
He noticed my bandaged hands.
'In the wars again?'
Took the cheap route, said, 'Yeah, a priest annoyed the shite out of me.'
He stood up, asked, 'Did you know that ex-Guard they pulled out of the canal?'
'What?'
'Fellah named Heaton. Drunkard like yourself.
Did the world a favour and drowned himself.'
I was trying to take this in when he added, 'He didn't have to take the dog with him – that was really sick.'
'Dog?'
'The dirty yoke, he'd tied a dog to his stomach. What kind of perverted mind does that to one of God's gentle creations?'
So much for resolutions, Malachy had got to me in just about every way there is. I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt this was my fault.
The dog-napping case had seemed so trivial.
Now it was something completely different and I hadn't one clue what the hell was going on.
I spent the next few hours trailing round the pubs, the betting shops, the usual places Eoin Heaton would have frequented, and managed to discover that he'd been heading for a warehouse on Father Griffin Road the evening he'd died. He'd told one of his mates he was on the verge of solving a major scam.
Took me another few hours to find out the address of the place, and by then, when I got to it, it was closed. I had the name of the owner, though. A man called King.
Next, I rang Ridge from my mobile and she said she'd some information on Rory, the brother of the burned-car girl.
My mind was speeding. I had so much happening, and all at once, that I decided another good night's sleep was vital before I took action on all those cases.
Ridge came by early the next morning.
Dressed in jeans and sweatshirt, she seemed almost relaxed. I noticed her eyes, they seemed a radiant
Similar Books
