The good life imm-5

by John Brady

  “What happened. How it happened. Who it happened to. How much did you lose?”

  “The heat. Gets so it screws up your brain.”

  “I bet you’re kicking yourself, aren’t you.”

  “Haven’t the time. I’m a busy man.”

  “Not like some people,” said Malone. Minogue turned to him. Malone smiled. Kilmartin cleared his throat. He kept his eyes on Malone but his words were for Egan.

  “You don’t get to do the things you’d like to, Eddsy, do you?”

  “I get by.”

  “Pictures? Videos even? Are they enough?”

  “Tell me more. You don’t meet so many comedians these days.”

  “I hear you like to know the faces. That’s unusual, I was told. Revenge, maybe?”

  “How much do you want?”

  “How much of what?”

  Terry Malone sniggered. Egan rubbed his thumb and fingers together.

  “You want to get on the books here, don’t you? That’s what this is all about, isn’t it, getting on the take? Like the other cops. How much?”

  “That an offer now?”

  “You’re different anyway,” said Egan. “About time I had a new one.”

  “If it’s you, Eddsy, I’ll have you,” said Minogue. Egan’s face seemed to have gone slack.

  “So you came by to tell me that. A freebie.”

  Minogue nodded.

  “What if I send the tape of this performance to your big chief, what’s his name, Tynan.”

  Minogue glanced up into the corner. The video camera lens was small.

  “As long as the colour’s good and the light’s right, fire away.”

  “What’s your job when you’re working?”

  “Point two, Eddsy. Your sidekick here. Terry Malone. Give him the sack.”

  Egan’s face cracked into a smile. Malone laughed.

  “A customer? You want me to put him out of the shop?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Where’s the law? Show me the rule-book on that one.”

  “Yeah,” said Malone. He wasn’t smiling now. “Just what kind of fucking harassment are yous trying to get up to now? Huh? You and this other fucking bogman here?”

  “Long day before a gutty like you could do a day’s work in a bog, pal,” said Kilmartin.

  “Take a running fucking jump at yourself,” said Malone.

  “Wreaking havoc on families is nothing new to you and your outfit,” said Minogue. “But this one’s off-limits. You with me now?”

  Egan’s face grew suddenly flushed. His knuckles turned white on the counter.

  “Is that so? You and this overgrown fucking chimp waltz in here to lecture me about family? After yous’ve been chipping away at friends of mine, trying to get them to lie about me?”

  Minogue took a step toward Terry Malone. He studied the face, the bruises. Malone frowned back into the Inspector’s stare. His breath was coming faster. He bit his lip.

  “You’re high, aren’t you?”

  Malone was faster than Minogue had imagined he could be. He barely had his hands up when Malone’s nose was inches from his own. Sour beery breath fanned over his face. Kilmartin’s arm clamped around Malone’s neck. All this Minogue took in with little surprise. He knew that Malone could have floored him. Malone’s eyes were wide now but he was laughing. He had made no attempt to get out from Kilmartin’s choke-hold.

  “Don’t be a patsy for the Egans,” said Minogue. “They’ll throw you on the scrap-heap.” Kilmartin pushed Malone off. Egan seemed to be bored by the commotion.

  “What’s the name there, sheriff? Credits on the video, you know.”

  Minogue gestured to Kilmartin.

  “I’ll be seeing you, Eddsy.”

  “Suit yourself. I’ll know the name of your dog even in a half-hour.”

  “Christ, what a worm. A slimy, creeping Jesus of a worm.”

  “Kind of unnerving all right, Jim.”

  “Unnerving? Didn’t I tell you it’s in the genes, man? Twins. Ugghhh.”

  Minogue shrugged. Kilmartin gave him an elbow.

  “Here,” he said. “Does it occur to you there are regulations we have to adhere to?”

  Minogue looked across the street. His Citroen was intact.

  “You’re the boss, Jim. Everybody knows that.”

  “Everybody except you. I should’ve let him give you that puck in the snot.”

  “I couldn’t have stopped him, James.”

  “Well, I could have.”

  Minogue looked at Kilmartin as he stepped onto the road.

  “I’ll tell you how,” Kilmartin went on. “I could have hit you myself before we ever came out to this kip! Saved him the bother. Jesus Christ, man, why didn’t you tell me you were going to take that line?”

  Minogue helloed at the detectives.

  “Well?” said Heffernan.

  “Nobody broke down and confessed,” said Minogue. He leaned on the roof and looked back at the shop. “No. No glory here. It’s back to just working for a living.”

  “Did you get what you came for, you know?”

  Heffernan looked across the street at the shop and sighed.

  “He thinks he’s safe, you know. Eddsy. Bobby too. That we’ll never nail them.”

  “Let him think what he wants. You file to who?”

  “Serious Crimes.”

  “You wouldn’t be sort of, well, be saving anything now? In a different file?”

  Heffernan gave him a glazed look. A smile began to creep across his face.

  “Oh, sure, we want him first. But no. There’s too much depending on co-ordinating everything. Sure it’s damn near political at this stage.”

  Minogue continued to give him the eye.

  “No one slipped into the shop there this last while, while the lads in the van were changing tapes or the like?”

  Heffernan spoke with a haughtiness that brought a smile to Minogue’s face.

  “God, no,” he said. “Ah, no. Really. It’s as boring now… This is symbolic half the time. Who’d go to Eddsy’s shop for dirty work knowing we sit out here day in, day out?”

  Minogue looked over at Kilmartin. The Chief Inspector was pacing up and down the footpath, smoking. J. Kilmartin would give him a right bollocking all the way back to the office, no doubt.

  “Only me, apparently,” he muttered under his breath.

  The ache he had in his right arm flared every now and then. He’d had to stop several times when it had turned to pain. A hell of a lot of good it did for that bleeding doctor to be telling him that there was nothing broken. Shaking his head and looking down at him, with those X-rays in his hand. Like he was looking down at a lower form of life.

  The coin slipped in his fingers as he pressed it toward the slot on the phone. He heard it bounce off the ground but he couldn’t turn fast enough. The pain in his side was too much now and he straightened up. Bruising-what had the doctor called it? Confusion? The doctor didn’t look any older than himself; probably drove a BM-where the hell was the twenty pence?

  He suddenly felt as if everything was draining down to his toes. He straightened up, steadied himself against the wall and waited for the little starbursts to stop exploding around him. Rush hour, nearly. Maybe he shouldn’t have had those few pints. To kill the pain, he had thought, to keep off the streets. They hadn’t helped him think any clearer about the plan. He squinted and glanced up at the tops of the buildings. Christ, clouds for the first time in days. Weeks? A woman walking down the path eyed him and crossed the street. He watched her hurry along. He wanted to call out after her that even if he wanted to try and rob her bloody handbag he didn’t have the energy. His mouth was still full of sticky spit.

  He still had no appetite. He thought back to the hospital. Christ, he could get a job as an actor any day. And they thought they had him! That cop last night, the one he’d been on the phone to. Minogue. Playing good cop: let’s have a chat there, Liam. Oh, yeah, your life story. T
rying to come the heavy then with that crap about running out of friends or running out of places to hide. Daring him to prove he still had mates. But all the time he’d been planning. The questions he’d been asking, even. Christ, he’d learned a hell of a lot more from that cop talking than what the cop had learned from him! He hadn’t been asking him about Jammy Tierney just to pass the time.

  Lying there in the bed he hadn’t been sure, but as soon as he’d made up his mind he knew he could do it. His clothes were a total mess. He looked like a knacker, probably smelled like one too. At least he didn’t have to run down the street in a bloody hospital gown! That dopey cop that was supposed to be guarding him, sneaking out to the jacks… He’d be up the creek for that too. Great! The stars had gone but his head still felt light. When he moved his neck it felt like it creaked. He watched the traffic for several moments. Maybe it was a stupid place to be, a place where he could be spotted too handy. A car braked next to him. He was suddenly alert, ready to run, ready to try anyway. A man in sunglasses climbed out of the passenger seat and ran into a shop. The panic began to drain out of him. He stepped into a pub. There was a phone inside the front door. He dialled and waited. The oul lad who ran the place answered.

  “Tell him Bobby. Bobby wants to talk to him.”

  He listened to the clack of balls as he waited. Someone called out, “Who?” The phone was grabbed.

  “Yeah? Who’s this?” It was Jammy.

  “Guess who.”

  “Is that you, Joe? Trigger? Don’t mess, I’m in a game here!”

  “How quickly we forget, Jammy. What’s the story, man?”

  A pause. Jammy’s voice was different now.

  “Is that you, Leonardo?”

  He sniggered. His ribs hurt. He wasn’t even angry now, that was the weird thing.

  “No, it’s Bobby Egan.”

  “It’s you, isn’t it, Leonardo? Where are you, man?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know. What’s the story here? Did you think I was just going to disappear? Outa sight, outa mind, huh?”

  “Leonardo?”

  It was the way he said it: that was worth everything. A way better buzz than if he’d just started off sticking it to him. Tierney’s voice was different now.

  “I thought you were gone, you know? England maybe?”

  “Gone, huh.”

  “Come on, man. You know what I mean.”

  “You’re a lying bastard, Jammy!”

  Now he felt angry. His face was hot again. He rubbed his hand over the unfamiliar bumps, the soft, sticky scab already beginning to form over his eyebrows.

  “So you’re in a game, are you now?”

  “Well, yeah, I am.”

  “How much?”

  “Twenty.”

  “Tell the guy you’re out, Jammy.”

  “Are you serious, Leo-”

  “Fucking tell him! And hey! Hold the phone up. I want to hear it.”

  “Jesus, Leonardo, I can’t, man.” The whisper excited him.

  “Yes, you can. You tell him to fuck off too. I want to hear you say that.”

  “Leonardo, man… What’s going on?”

  He jumped with the fury now. The screech hurt his throat.

  “Fucking do it! Or else!”

  “Come on, Leonardo. What did you want? Where are you? I can help you out, you know. You sound like you’re in a jam or something.”

  “‘A jam’? You know why I’m phoning you! Don’t fuck with me now, man!”

  “I don’t know what you mean! I thought you were long gone. The money and all…?”

  “Oh, yeah, Jammy. Long gone, huh? What does that mean? This cop was talking to me last night, man. Yeah, I was in a bit of a jam last night. Like you’d never believe, man! This cop, he’s asking all kinds of questions, isn’t he? About you. He didn’t give too much of a shit about me, did he. It’s you he wanted to talk about.”

  Tierney said nothing.

  “Hey, are you listening?”

  “I don’t get it. What’s he want to talk to you about me for?”

  “‘I don’t get it’! Like fuck, you don’t! Now! Tell the guy! I want to hear it.”

  He listened to the click of more balls. He thought he could hear Tierney breathing but maybe it was his own breath or the sound of his own blood rushing around in his ears.

  “Hey! I’m not going to stand here all day, man! I’m going to count to three and if I don’t hear you say it, I’m dropping the phone! Then I’m going to make one more call, Jammy! That’s all I need, man!”

  “Are you here in town?”

  Tierney sounded like he was trying not to show that he was in pain.

  “None of your business. One… Two…”

  “Hey, Anto…”

  He stood still in the booth and pushed the receiver harder against his ear.

  “Fuck off… Yeah… No…”

  He kicked the wall under the phone. All his aches fled: he’d guessed right. That cop-

  “There,” said Tierney. “You heard that. That’s twenty quid burned. Look, man, if I knew what you wanted-”

  “Tell you what. Listen, just shut up and listen, okay? Now. Why don’t you phone Bobby Egan and ask him. Say: ‘Bobby, my good friend Leonardo-no, Liam-Liam said to phone you. He says you’d know what he wants.’ Try that one. See what Bobby says.”

  “Jesus! I don’t know what you want, Leonardo.”

  “How does it feel, Jammy? Do you like it?”

  “Like it? Like what? Leonardo, I gave you the money, man. I got the word to you so’s you could lie low and every-”

  “Oh, yeah? What I want to know is this: how low?”

  “I don’t get it.”

  He kicked at the wall again.

  “Better again,” he hissed. “Just hang up the phone and forget I called. Save yourself the price of the phone. You can talk to Bobby when he comes looking for you.”

  He heard Tierney’s swallow before the words came this time.

  “Just tell me what you want, man. Are you stuck? Where are you?”

  “Where am I. Listen to this and then give me a straight answer. What would the cops want with you? Why would that guy be asking me about you, about you and me and Mary from years ago? Huh?”

  “I don’t get it, honest, Leonardo-”

  “It’s Liam to you. Fucking Liam! Say it!”

  “Liam.”

  “You don’t know? Is that all you can come up with?”

  “You know I was only trying to help you, Leonardo. The money-”

  “It’s Liam, you fucking bastard!”

  “Liam…”

  The warning pips sounded. He was ready with the coins waiting on top of the box.

  “No, don’t worry now, Jammy. I’m still here. And yeah, you can tell now, can’t you. I’m in Dublin. Something went wrong for Mary, didn’t it? And who would she phone, huh? She couldn’t phone the Egans ’cause she was doing her own thing. Who would she phone then, Jammy? Who?”

  “I don’t know, man.”

  “Like hell you don’t! Tell me I’m wrong, man! I fucking dare you!”

  He wondered what Jammy Tierney looked like now. The sweat pouring out of him, standing there by the counter in the pool-room.

  “Here, Jammy, what’s that guy doing, the guy you were playing? Is he still there?”

  “Yeah, he is.”

  “Are you going to have a row on your hands? Are you?”

  “Don’t know. Don’t think so.”

  “Are you going to just give him the money?”

  “I suppose.”

  “What are you going to do then, Jammy?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You want to talk about money some more?”

  “What are you talking about? Is this the thanks I get for giving you a few bob?”

  He laughed.

  “I knew you’d say that! I did! The exact fucking words, man! Hey, I have to go. So. You know I’m in town, right?”

  “Okay, yeah.”
/>
  “You listen now, Jammy. Something’s going on. I got my eyes open, man. That cop wasn’t just talking about the weather, was he? All those questions about you.”

  “Like what?”

  “Yeah, well, that’s for me to know and for you to find out, isn’t it? Or maybe for Bobby to find out! Listen, we’re going to meet this evening. And you better change your tune.”

  “Jesus, man! How can you talk like this?”

  “Just shut up a minute! You bring me in on this!”

  “On what? I don’t know-”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah! I been thinking about you, you know? You’re just a bit too good to be true, aren’t you? The perfect guy stuff. Yeah.”

  “You’ve got to be joking, man!”

  “Oh, joking, am I? We’ll soon see who’s fucking joking! And don’t get any ideas. I got this down in writing and I put it in a safe place, so I did.”

  He felt like he had run a mile flat-out. Had he gone too far? Jammy was talking.

  “Look, Liam. I know you’re under pressure. And when you’re under pressure, the head can go on you, right? I mean, I felt bad me losing me rag at you the other day after finding out about Mary and all… Are you still there?”

  “Ah, get off the fucking stage, will you? I could walk into Bobby Egan’s and you’d be fucking history, man!”

  “Liam, Liam-listen. Just let me ask you one thing. Do you really think I had something to do with Mary getting, you know?”

  He studied the graffiti in the booth. What if he’d got it all wrong?

  “Do you?” Tierney repeated.

  “Meet me down next to the canal there by Portobello. The bridge? Seven o’clock.”

  “I can’t make it, I’ve got to meet a guy-”

  “Don’t give me that crap, man! Eight, then.”

  Warning pips sounded again. He wasn’t going to put in another coin.

  “I can’t! Later, maybe-”

  “Nine, then! That’s it! No more-”

  The line was dead. He started at the little window on the phone. It’d be dark by nine. He should have made him stick to eight o’clock at the latest, the bastard. He placed the receiver back on the box. The pain in his side was coming back. He collected his coins off the top of the box. His arm hurt from just lifting it. He still didn’t feel hungry. When had he eaten last anyway? He counted back. It had been around nine o’clock when he’d tried to score last night. The middle of the day when that other cop finally gets up, gives him the look-over close up, tiptoes out-boom, he’s up and grabbing his clothes from the cupboard. No cop in the hall, hah! In the jacks, probably, having a smoke. Next thing he’s down the stairs and out the back door. Right into the street.