full, and Pat had to find us a poky table in the corner. It was Mikey’s shout, but I went since Fergal was well into the story of the first part of last night’s adventures. When I got back carrying—rather precariously—four pints, Fergal was finishing up the story at McDonald’s, except in this version we all got Big Mac meals to show what hard bastards we were.
Mikey was lapping it up, but Sean McKenna had been to federal prison in Texas and had done four years upstate at Ossining or Attica or one of those places and therefore wasn’t that impressed by our littletale. You could tell he had something better on the back burner. In his narrative someone was going to be beheaded by a jigsaw or disemboweled with pliers or crucified to a ceiling or tortured with arc-welding gear. I went to the bathroom before it got started.
I chatted to Pat and Mrs. Callaghan and asked around for Bridget, but apparently she was out with some girlfriends.
When Scotchy came down, he said that Darkey and Sunshine wanted to see me.
This is the moment when I really should run for the bloody door, I told myself, but I didn’t have the bottle for it and went upstairs.
Darkey, Sunshine, and Big Bob looking at some papers.
Uh, wanted to see me? I said.
Darkey, not looking up, Sunshine smiling.
Yes, Michael, come over here, Darkey said.
I sat. Darkey turned and looked at me. Bob stood up. To free his weapon hand?
Michael, we talked last night and Sunshine and I were discussing you earlier. I just want you to know that if you continue to be loyal and work hard you will go far with us, Darkey said and handed me an envelope containing five twenty-dollar bills.
Thank you, Darkey, I said.
Sunshine grinned. Now be off with you, he said.
I tried not to appear like I was running out of there.
Try to see Andrew, Darkey said as I was just at the door.
I’d had my regulation four rounds anyway and so I said goodbye to the lads. It was a long ride back and, following Darkey’s hint (despite my exhaustion), I wanted to stop at 168th to drop in and see how Andy was doing. Not to visit—visiting hours were probably only daytime anyway—just to look in and see how the big wean was.
Try to see Andy, he’d said. As an example of what might happen to those intimate with Bridget? Hmmm.
The hospital was spread out all over the shop, and I had to ask four different security guards before finding the right place, and even then I walked into a huge homeless shelter by mistake.
’Course, no visiting in the ER, and once the nurse found out that I wasn’t family, she sent me on my way with instructions to come back at a presumably more Presbyterian hour.
I tried to exit after that but instead found myself in a different part of the hospital entirely. I discovered a bog and went and relieved myself and was just trying to figure out how in the hell I was supposed to get out of there when who should I see but Mrs. fucking Shovel. She was standing there, staring right at me with murder in her eyes and a shaking cup of coffee in her hands. I’m sure Scotchy would have turned and legged it. I should have bolted too. It would have been the sensible thing, but instead I went over to her and said:
Look, I’m not here because of Shovel. I was seeing someone else and I got lost and I’m just heading out. I didn’t mean to upset you. Sorry.
She stared at me for a long time, and I thought she was going to lash out or throw the coffee at me, but instead she started to cry. She was sobbing and the coffee was spilling out over the sides of the cup, burning her fingers. I took it out of her hands and led her over to the plastic seats. She cried and pulled out a hanky and blew her nose and cried some more. After a while, she stopped and looked at me again. It was unsettling, and I felt I had to say something.
How is he?
He’s awake. Four hours of surgery. Four hours under the knife, pumped full of anesthetic and painkillers and he’s fucking awake. Typical
Mikey was lapping it up, but Sean McKenna had been to federal prison in Texas and had done four years upstate at Ossining or Attica or one of those places and therefore wasn’t that impressed by our littletale. You could tell he had something better on the back burner. In his narrative someone was going to be beheaded by a jigsaw or disemboweled with pliers or crucified to a ceiling or tortured with arc-welding gear. I went to the bathroom before it got started.
I chatted to Pat and Mrs. Callaghan and asked around for Bridget, but apparently she was out with some girlfriends.
When Scotchy came down, he said that Darkey and Sunshine wanted to see me.
This is the moment when I really should run for the bloody door, I told myself, but I didn’t have the bottle for it and went upstairs.
Darkey, Sunshine, and Big Bob looking at some papers.
Uh, wanted to see me? I said.
Darkey, not looking up, Sunshine smiling.
Yes, Michael, come over here, Darkey said.
I sat. Darkey turned and looked at me. Bob stood up. To free his weapon hand?
Michael, we talked last night and Sunshine and I were discussing you earlier. I just want you to know that if you continue to be loyal and work hard you will go far with us, Darkey said and handed me an envelope containing five twenty-dollar bills.
Thank you, Darkey, I said.
Sunshine grinned. Now be off with you, he said.
I tried not to appear like I was running out of there.
Try to see Andrew, Darkey said as I was just at the door.
I’d had my regulation four rounds anyway and so I said goodbye to the lads. It was a long ride back and, following Darkey’s hint (despite my exhaustion), I wanted to stop at 168th to drop in and see how Andy was doing. Not to visit—visiting hours were probably only daytime anyway—just to look in and see how the big wean was.
Try to see Andy, he’d said. As an example of what might happen to those intimate with Bridget? Hmmm.
The hospital was spread out all over the shop, and I had to ask four different security guards before finding the right place, and even then I walked into a huge homeless shelter by mistake.
’Course, no visiting in the ER, and once the nurse found out that I wasn’t family, she sent me on my way with instructions to come back at a presumably more Presbyterian hour.
I tried to exit after that but instead found myself in a different part of the hospital entirely. I discovered a bog and went and relieved myself and was just trying to figure out how in the hell I was supposed to get out of there when who should I see but Mrs. fucking Shovel. She was standing there, staring right at me with murder in her eyes and a shaking cup of coffee in her hands. I’m sure Scotchy would have turned and legged it. I should have bolted too. It would have been the sensible thing, but instead I went over to her and said:
Look, I’m not here because of Shovel. I was seeing someone else and I got lost and I’m just heading out. I didn’t mean to upset you. Sorry.
She stared at me for a long time, and I thought she was going to lash out or throw the coffee at me, but instead she started to cry. She was sobbing and the coffee was spilling out over the sides of the cup, burning her fingers. I took it out of her hands and led her over to the plastic seats. She cried and pulled out a hanky and blew her nose and cried some more. After a while, she stopped and looked at me again. It was unsettling, and I felt I had to say something.
How is he?
He’s awake. Four hours of surgery. Four hours under the knife, pumped full of anesthetic and painkillers and he’s fucking awake. Typical
Similar Books
