The good life imm-5

by John Brady

  The crash resonated in the windows and on the counter in front of him. An empty juggernaut hopping over a bad patch of road outside, was his first thought. The barman stood up from emptying the dishwasher, the steam issuing up into his face. Kilmartin turned his head toward the open door of the pub.

  “Name a Jases,” he said. “I better cut down on the jar. That sounded too much like a bloody shotgun to me.”

  Kilmartin was about to take another swallow from his glass when the windows rattled again. This time the boom was unmistakable. Clients slid off stools and rose from chairs. The talk petered out. Minogue stepped over to the door. The air smelled odd now. He flinched when the thunder crashed again.

  “My Jases,” said a man next to him. “Will you get a load of that?”

  The traffic had slowed. The air smells of vinegar, Minogue decided.

  “My God, it’s going to just lash.” He looked back at the speaker. It was indeed an awed Kilmartin. “They told us about it but…”

  The knot of patrons by the door grew larger. Someone laughed nervously.

  “I’m for getting to hell out of here before we’re drownded,” Kilmartin declared. It was a five-minute walk to the squadroom.

  “Honest to God,” he added. “I was just terrorized by thunder and lightning when I was a young lad. I used to hide under the bed. I thought it was the end of the world.”

  He went back to the counter to finish his drink. Minogue moved out onto the footpath. He tried hard to see the sky through the yellow streetlight. The few pedestrians were beginning to scurry now. He looked back up toward Phoenix Park and the Zoo and thought of Iseult and the drive they had taken through the Park the other day. The animals would be restless in their enclosures. Kilmartin emerged from the pub, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “Come on there, Matt, or we’ll be pissed on entirely!”

  The two detectives hurried toward the bridge. The Liffey at Island-bridge was at full tide. Minogue strode on, his hand on the phone. He felt its vibration more than heard its chirp. Kilmartin stopped at the end of the bridge and looked back. His hands went up and flopped back down in exasperation. A lorry crossing the bridge stole some of the phone conversation on Minogue. He leaned away from the traffic, his finger in his ear, his eye on Kilmartin. Still he had trouble hearing. Kilmartin was coming back toward him.

  “Okay,” he said. “Yes.”

  He hung up and settled the switch on stand-by. Kilmartin was upon him.

  “Well?”

  Kilmartin saw the movement at the same time as Minogue. The two policemen ducked at the same time as the shapes rose up from the darkness below the bridge. Minogue heard the wings beat as they passed not ten feet overhead. He stood again and looked up as they disappeared over the buildings. Kilmartin’s eyes were wide.

  “As true as God,” he began. “Did you ever in all your life…? That is the last time I go out for a shagging sandwich and a pint with you! Christ, man, for a minute there I didn’t know what was going on!”

  Minogue’s heart was still thumping. He looked back at Kilmartin.

  “Taking shelter, I suppose,” he said. “They know what’s coming.”

  “Jesus,” exclaimed Kilmartin. “That gave me one hell of a fright, I don’t mind telling you. I heard they had them up here all right. Didn’t that famous fella, the doctor fella…that butty of Joyce donate some here?”

  Minogue nodded.

  “Gogarty,” he said. “To thank the river god or something for saving his neck.”

  “Was that the Civil War when he nearly got his arse shot off hereabouts?”

  “None other,” said Minogue.

  “And the size of them!” marvelled Kilmartin. “But, sure, how could they survive with the place so built-up and rundown, and full of bowsies and gougers who would do them harm just for the hell of it?”

  The thunder crashed overhead now. Minogue cowered. Kilmartin gave him a dig.

  “What are we doing standing in the middle of a bridge like iijits? Come on now, for the love of God!”

  The first flash showed as a flickering glow over the south suburbs. Kilmartin was breathing hard when they turned into the car-park. Minogue drew his keys out.

  “There!” Kilmartin called out. “That’s the start of it. We were wise to run for it when we did, boyo.” Minogue clicked the remote. “Hey, where are you off to?”

  “Come in, Jim, before you get wet and mess up my nice upholstery.”

  “What the hell?”

  “It’s not often you get a night like this. Come on.”

  He looked back to where he had parked the Kawasaki. The trees merged into a continuous silhouette under the brassy glow of the city lights. In the darkness ahead lay the open fields. He listened. The Main Road was no more than a few hundred yards away, he figured, but the tunnel of light from the passing headlights seemed so far off. Over the distant hush of the traffic he heard the occasional squawk and groan. He listened harder. Night birds? He turned back to the grove surrounding the pond. Not even a breath of air to stir the leaves. Everything seemed to be just hanging there. He let his eyes move slowly across the grove. No van. He felt his back tightening up again and he shook his arms loose. He realized that he still hadn’t decided anything. Since the phone call, the evening had gone by like a dream. Maybe that’s what it was like being on drugs. Driving here, the night air hadn’t refreshed him at all. He kept thinking about her. He thought back to the look on her face when he had told her. He’d known straight away that she’d read his face but still she had tried once. He’d felt nothing when he slapped her. He wondered when it would all become real, when feeling came back.

  The ground dipped and rose again as he walked toward the trees. Maybe he should have tried driving in over the grass. The dry grasses lashed against his shoes, and he felt them rub, sometimes clutch at his feet. It was a longer walk than he had expected. The darkness had tricked him. He stared into the trees as they came closer to him. He couldn’t even see the water. He stumbled over something with give in it, stopped and felt around with his foot. The grass had been beaten down in a line. A few steps away he found the other track. A car had driven in here. A van? If he followed this track… Mad. They were all mad. Terry Malone was mad. He was mad to be here. He should turn back. Let everyone else sort out their own fucking problems. Problems they caused themselves, with their own stupidity and greed and… He should just turn back.

  The first flash had nearly caused him to drive right off the road. He’d braked hard and stopped right in the middle of the road, barely keeping the bike upright. It had taken him a few seconds to realize that it had been lightning. There had been no thunder yet, only flashes like lights being turned on and off somewhere up in the sky. He had seen the massed clouds, blue and brown, lit up by the flashes. It’s all a dream, was his first thought, the flashes and the strange smells all around him. If it turned to real lightning, he thought, he could get fried out here near the trees. He started walking again. This time the flash had him on his hunkers in a second. It had been his own voice he had heard too as he had dropped down, he realized.

  He stayed low and kept staring into the woods. They were even darker now that the lightning had robbed him of his night vision. Another flash, but shorter, and this time he was sure. It was the back of a van. He stood upright again and walked toward it. The sound of his own beating heart filled his head. He tried to get control of his breathing. It had to rain any minute, he thought. What if there was a screw-up and he had to take off in a hurry? Would he lose his way running back to the bike? He’d tried again to make plans as he had turned into the Park but his brain couldn’t seem to stay with an idea. Fragments of his plans flew through his mind: drive with the lights off, park a long way off, sneak up on the place… The trees had come nearer to him now, the grass was not as high. He stopped. Was that straight line part of the van in there? If it started to lash rain now, maybe he could just take off. Blame it on the weather: it was too dangerous to
drive, Terry, you know? Too dangerous. He held out his hand. Nothing yet.

  His feet carried him forward in under the branches. Something light draped itself across his face. He turned and snatched it away. Cobwebs-Christ! He stumbled on a protruding root. A bird chattered overhead and fell silent. He laid his hand against a trunk. Old trees, twisted and huge, surrounded him. It seemed to grow even darker. He glanced up into the foliage. He could barely hear the traffic now. Where was the van? Blue light flared all around him. He froze, facing the van, and waited for his eyes to adjust again. The van had looked like it was floating in mid-air with the pond like silver behind it. His heart kept racing. Did he plan to ditch Hickey in the pond or something? The next thunder came as a murmur. He kept staring at the line which made up the roof of the van. It had been only fifty yards away.

  “Hey!”

  He spun around, already in a crouch.

  “Terry? Terry? Is that you, man? I can’t see a thing.”

  “Who’re you expecting, Jammy?”

  The voice was so close. He must be behind a tree or something. It felt like his eyes were sticking out of their sockets.

  “Where are you, Terry?”

  A black form passed in front of a tree trunk not fifty feet from him.

  “Terry?”

  “You don’t sound too good there, Jammy. Lost in the woods, are you?”

  “Terry? I thought you meant out there, out near the road.”

  He watched Malone’s silhouette approach. Malone laughed.

  “You’re shivering, Jammy. What’s the matter? It’s boiling in here.”

  He saw the liquid glint of lights from the traffic in Malone’s eyes. Definitely out of it.

  “Well, it wouldn’t have been the place I’d have picked, Terry, you know?”

  “Oh. Well, who fucking asked you? Here-where’s that fancy bike of yours?”

  “Back out there.”

  “Why didn’t you drive in like I done?”

  “Well, I didn’t know how the ground was and stuff, and-”

  “Are you going to moan about the weather now or something? Here: if you’re that worried about a bit of fucking rain, drive home in the van. Yeah. Try it, why don’t you?”

  He heard the liquid swill before he could make out the bottle which Malone put to his lips. Even Terry the Bull needed the booze to get by tonight.

  “You want a little swig there, Jammy? Seeing as we’re partners and all?”

  “No. No, thanks, Terry.”

  Malone sniggered.

  “You’re not in the mood to celebrate? Christ, Jammy, you’re no fun. Hey!”

  He waited for Malone to down another gulp.

  “You’ve had time to do a little thinking, haven’t you, Jammy?”

  “How do you mean?”

  The hand was so quick that he felt the slap before he could move his head. Christ, how did he keep those reflexes while he was pissed?

  “Speak fucking English, Jammy? Don’t ask me what I mean! You saying I can’t talk or something? I’m talking about you and your plans!”

  He smelled the whiskey now, heard Malone’s breath.

  “You think I’m a gobshite too, Jammy? Don’t tell me the thought didn’t cross your mind that you might want to feed me to the Egans too. Like you could play it back on me the same as I could on you? Huh?”

  “No, Terry! No way, man. I would never do a thing like that.”

  “That’s right, you wouldn’t! And you know why, don’t you? ’Cause I’d fucking do for you, so I would!”

  Malone took another swig from the bottle.

  “So let’s go. Partner.”

  Malone stumbled twice on the way to the van. Following, Tierney caught odd words from him as he walked.

  “So don’t even think about it, Jammy, you hear?”

  The engine’s oily smell mixed with the faint scent of heated rubber hung in the air around the van. Terry Malone turned.

  “So gimme what you got, Jammy. Then it’s a last look and bye-bye.”

  “Are you going to, you know, leave everything here, Terry?”

  “You got a better idea? I spent ten minutes wiping the fucking seats and the wheel and God knows what’s in there. I’m gone, man. You want to hang around, go ahead-but I was never here.”

  “Okay. I was just wondering and all-”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Gimme.”

  He took the envelope from the inside pocket of his denim jacket.

  “What is it, Jammy? Powder, pills? Cash? What did he do her for?”

  “Who-oh, Leonardo?”

  “Who do you fucking think I’m talking about?”

  “Cash.”

  Malone yanked at the side of the envelope.

  “How much?”

  “A thousand, Terry. Just short of a thousand.”

  “What if I find it was more and you kept stuff back?”

  “That’s all of it, Terry. I swear to God.”

  “Less the money Leonardo was talking about, huh? Some pal, man. Some pal. You wouldn’t believe it, man. Some fucking pal.”

  “I don’t get it, Terry. I know he wasn’t straight-up about it all.”

  Malone stuffed the money into his pocket.

  “Straight-up? Oh, Christ, what a gobshite you are! Right up to the end, man. There he was trying to sell you down the river, spinning some cock-and-bull about you-and you’re the guy he stashes his take with! The only guy he could trust! Human nature, I’m telling you!”

  Malone was shaking his head. The end, right up to the end. Was Leonardo dead?

  “I tell you, if he hadn’t tried to run for it-if I didn’t have to throw a frigging van at him to stop him, he might have been singing a different story-Holy Jesus! Did you see that one?”

  The colour of the flashes seemed to have turned to green now. His mind was ready to burst. What the hell had happened between Leonardo and Malone? He looked back at the van.

  “Let’s go, man! It’s been doing this for the last half-hour. It’s bound to start lashing sometime. Come on!”

  He caught up with Malone who tripped again, spilling a little from he bottle. He had to ask him.

  “…lift on the bike,” he heard coming over Malone’s shoulder. “Yeah! should have come straight out and admitted it. Show a bit of self-respect, you know? Hey, where is this fucking bike of yours anyway?”

  “Over that way. Terry-”

  “He would have sold you down the fucking river for a tenner, man. Oh, stupid he wasn’t-I mean, he knew that he better not have a heap of money on him, so he’s smart enough to stash it. But, Jesus, Jammy, you were the right iijit to let him do that to you. Man! If Eddsy ever found out… Hey, what story did he tell you about where he got the money anyway? I never got that far with him. How did he get by you?”

  “Well, it was like…well…”

  Malone stopped. The grove was fifty yards behind them. The smell n the air had a sting to it now.

  “Oh, I get it! You’re too fucking embarrassed, aren’t you?”

  He watched Malone drain the bottle and reach back to fling it away. He stopped and turned around.

  “Jases, that wouldn’t be very smart, would it? Come on.”

  “Terry, what about him. You know. What’s going to happen?”

  “I’m going to get a lift down the quays off you. You’re going to get five hundred quid-if there’s really four and a half grand here. We’re going to go on our merry fucking way.”

  “No. I mean the van and-”

  “Shut up, would you? He’s a goner, man: brown bread! Don’t keep asking about him! Hey, I’ve got feelings too, you know. But fellas like him, they’d rob you blind. It’ll square off okay with Eddsy. It’s a message, right? I’m going to give Eddsy a thou and tell him that Hickey must’ve put the rest in his fucking arm. Hickey was a junkie, right? So a junkie’ll go through big money in a few days. They get into a party, they lose the head-everyone bangs up-fuck, Eddsy’ll be surprised there’s anything left. Is that the road
there? Come on!”

  “But, Terry, what about the law? What did he tell you about the law? You said they were asking him stuff about me and everything-”

  “Ah, give over, for Jases’s sake! What have they on you, man? Have you got a record? Have you gotten picked up and given the treatment all day and all night? Don’t be so fucking stupid! I can’t believe it! You’re a little bleeding angel, Jammy!”

  “What?”

  “Christ! Don’t you get it yet? They never asked him anything about you! He was trying to buy time! He was lying through his teeth!”

  Malone grabbed his forearm.

  “Shit! Fuck it! Oh, man, here it comes. Did you feel that?”

  He had felt it, he knew, but he had somehow ignored it. Another big drop landed on his head. Malone had let go his arm. He was swearing still, calling out to him as he hurried out toward the road. This time the thunder began with a snap. The noise seemed to roll across the sky.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  The safest place to be, that’s right,”said Kilmartin. He leaned forward and pushed in the lighter. “Do you mind?”

  “Long as you don’t fart, I don’t.”

  “Huh. Like I was saying. Safest of all. It’s the rubber, you know.”

  Minogue turned the ignition key and pushed the window button.

  Lightning flared again.

  “Listen, you’ve had your jaunt now. That’s twice today I gave in to your, what’ll I call it, your obsession, with this new motor of yours. Any excuse to go out for a drive, huh?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Come on so. We’ve seen enough of nature at her finest. Let’s get out of here. Never liked this kind of fireworks. Sort of puts me in mind of a redemptorist sermon during Lent.”

  Minogue listened for the roll of thunder. It came from far off again, like cardboard box falling down the stairs. Eleven seconds: eleven miles.

  “Did you hear the screeching earlier on?” he asked Kilmartin.

  “What? Where? Back up the other end of the Park?”