Green Hell by Ken Bruen Page B

asked,
    â€œBeen traveling?”
    â€œI was in Korea but that was some time ago, the bag is dirty laundry. Feel free to root about in it. I sense that’s your forte.”
    Ridge, red color climbing up her cheeks, reined in, gave the time and day.
    The recruit, whose name I learned was Costello, glared at me. I said,
    â€œNot sure if . . .”
    I glanced at the pup,
    â€œYou have a dog in this fight, son?”
    The “son,” rattled, looked to Ridge, who ignored him. Em said,
    â€œJack and I were . . . what’s the buzz term? . . . en flagrant the evening in question.”
    Ridge went for her king, already faltering, tried,
    â€œThe witness mentioned somethingabout . . .”
    Paused,
    â€œA pup being part of the struggle. What is this pup’s name?”
    Em, highly amused, dropped the remainder of the cig in the empty toddy glass, handed the glass to Costello, said,
    â€œBe a dear, sweetie . . .”
    Then, back to Ridge.
    â€œNot sure you were entirely paying attention earlier, sergeant, but I did mention my recent sojourn in Korea.”
    Ridge looked fit to explode, snapped,
    â€œIs there a point to this little . . . detour?”
    Em gave her most beatific smile, said,
    â€œAlas, I did, to my shame, pick up on one of their culinary customs . . .”
    She stroked the pup’s ears.
    â€œI never name something I may later eat.”
    Quote from the Sunday Times :
    Samantha Ellis believes that heroines such as
    Scarlett O’Hara and Sylvia Plath’s
    Esther Greenwood are appealing precisely
    because they behave so badly.
    â€œI’d had so many good girl heroines,” writes Ellis.
    â€œPlath gave me a heroine who was anything but. . . .
    As Esther gets suicidal, she also gets mean .
    She releases her inner bad girl, she picks up sailors, reads scandal sheets, howls at her father’s grave.”
    After Ridge left, I let out a long breath, said,
    â€œEm, you know she will check the airlines.”
    Em pulled out her iPhone, five minutes of elegant, furious texting, and she smiled, said,
    â€œâ€™Tis done and best if t’were done well.”
    I asked,
    â€œSeriously, who the fuck are you?”
    She was nuzzling her face against the pup’s ears, said,
    â€œThe girl who just saved your ass from arrest. A thank-you about now might be good so feel free to jump in . . .”
    Instead, I made her a kick-heart coffee, even lit her cig, asked,
    â€œWere you in Arizona?”
    She savored the coffee, said,
    â€œI’d like it a bit more Sara Gran, you know, New Orleans, hint of chicory . . . yes, I went to rehab there.”
    Jesus wept!
    â€œFor which of your many personalities?”
    â€œJack, I have a near genius for math, tech stuff, but they say I’m a high-functioning sociopath.”
    She laughed, no humor touching her eyes, added,
    â€œAs in Cowboy Junkies , I am your skewed Misguided Angel and I need you to help to off the monster that is de Burgo.”
    â€œYou have always managed to evade, like so much else, your motive, your hard-on for him.”
    Her phone buzzed . . . she read a text, put the pup gently aside, gathered her things, said,
    â€œI’m Gone Girl.”
    Pecked me on the cheek, said,
    â€œCatch you up for dinner, my treat tomorrow evening, and, oh . . . de Burgo . . .
    he’s my dad.”
    Using Google Search
    Friends Reunite Ireland
    I found Em’s mother. She was living in a cottage in Kinvara. She was a “home-keeper,” whatever the fuck that is. She was now using her maiden name, Marion McKee. Google Maps even showed me the cottage. The old adage:
    â€œYou want to know what the daughter will
    become, meet the mother.”
    Worth a shot.
    I went to Charley Byrne’s Bookshop and wished Vinny a happy new year. He smiled ruefully at that. Then,
    â€œSo, what do you want, Jack?”
    I did mock-offended.
    â€œYou think that’s the only reason I’m