The good life imm-5

by John Brady

  “Yes. Just before the first bits of thunder.”

  “The Zoo, man. Sure the poor beasts must be terrified. I mean to say. Even if they were born and reared in Ireland here-and there are many of ’em what are, I believe-they’d have their instincts. Yes. Fear. Arra Christ, I’ve had a headache hanging around all day. Like it was waiting a pounce on me. I held off with the bloody aspirin and now I don’t have them with me. Typical, isn’t it? If I wanted this class of tropical-type shagging weather, I would have taken a few bob out of the Get-Away account and toddled off to somewhere you’d expect this class of typhoon. Know what I’m saying?”

  “Of course I do, Jim.”

  He sensed Kilmartin’s glare on him but he didn’t turn. The lighter popped out.

  “Just don’t be using the ashtray, if you please.”

  Kilmartin stabbed a cigarette into his mouth and grunted. The car was full of smoke with his first pull. Minogue turned on the ignition and opened the window lower.

  “I was checking the dollar the other day,” said Kilmartin. “Always had it in mind for the young lad, you know? He sends money home every now and then. To Maura. For her to buy the odd thing for herself.”

  He laughed lightly.

  “As if she actually needed it. But he’s a decent boy.”

  Minogue wondered if Kilmartin was going to remain maudlin much longer. The Kilmartin’s only child had emigrated to the States three years ago. He turned to his colleague.

  “Well I know it, Jim. Always was, as I recall.”

  “Damn right, man. Didn’t pick that up off the street either, so he didn’t. Don’t get me wrong now! Maura, I mean. I wasn’t blowing me own trumpet now. Maura was reared to be helping everyone.”

  Minogue stared into the darkness where the trees were and listened to Kilmartin drawing on the cigarette again. Another flash of lightning lit up the Park.

  “Jesus, Mary and Joseph!” said Kilmartin. He sat back slowly in the seat. “This was sport and games to us, of course. When we were kids, I mean. We’d be terrified, but we’d still want to see it all. The danger thing.”

  On to kids now, thought Minogue. Childhood. What next? Maybe the air pressure before a storm had altered the supply of blood to his friend’s head and awakened dormant memories. Maybe Kilmartin was trying to draw him out, to see what Daithi did as regards remittances home from the States.

  “They’re never reared, are they?”

  “Who?”

  “Your kids.”

  “Mine are, Jim. They’d better be, is my attitude.”

  “Ah, don’t be like that. You know what I mean.”

  Minogue turned and looked at his friend.

  “Is there something you want to tell me? Is it that you’re feeling sorry about Iseult or something?”

  “Not at all, man.”

  “You are.”

  “I’d be less than candid-”

  “Well, be less than candid, for God’s sake.”

  “Huh. I think you’re still in shock. That’s why you aren’t able to react. That’s what I think.”

  That’s what you think, thought Minogue. But he didn’t feel irritated, Kilmartin had probably thought he was doing him a favour, humouring him by going to the pub, by going along with the jaunt.

  “You never know what the boys will come up with,” said Kilmartin. I mean, you worry about girls, of course, but…”

  Hasn’t seen his own son since last year, Minogue had to remind himself. Maybe soon he could relay Kilmartin’s hedging to Iseult, turn it into a laugh.

  “What’s the word from the States then?”

  “Oh, good, good. Always good. He writes every few weeks, you now. As well as the phone calls, of course.”

  Cars continued to pass Minogue’s parked Citroen. He and Kilmartin had cruised several roads in the Park before stopping in the middle, by Aras an Uachtaran. He looked down in his lap again to be sure the low-battery light hadn’t come on. The lightning flash was longer this time.

  “By the divine hand a…! Will you look at that! Another one!”

  Kilmartin nudged his colleague.

  “Here, Matt, answer me this: who do you think organized this bloody show here tonight? Hah? All that stuff above there? We knew it was God when we were kids. What do you think it is?”

  Minogue lifted the phone from his lap in the hopes it would ring.

  “Who are you waiting for to get in touch there, Matt? The Man Himself? Ha, ha!”

  Kilmartin threw his butt out onto the road. A tick on the window was followed by more.

  “Okay,” he said. “That’s it. We’re away. Now, about starting fresh tomorrow. Round two, like. Instead of Molly, I really want Fergal-”

  The phone trilled in Minogue’s hand. He jammed it against his ear.

  “Now?” he asked. “Yes.”

  He started the car.

  “What,” said Kilmartin.

  Minogue spun the tires as he accelerated away from the side of the road. Rain hit the glass like pebbles now. He brought the Citroen up to seventy before Kilmartin could finally take no more.

  “Jases! Where are you taking us-to the shagging mortuary? Slow down, man!”

  He put his head down as the drops hit harder and broke into a jog. Terry Malone could do what he bloody well wanted. He was pissed anyway. High too, probably. Thunderstorm or not, he was going to tear out of here on his bike. The rain began to beat the grass down and it snagged his feet as the drops landed. They drummed on his head and his sleeves. He pulled the collar of his jacket tighter under his neck and glanced back to see where Terry Malone was. He couldn’t see him. He stopped and held his hand over his eyebrows. The raindrops stung the back of his hand now. Already he felt rain-water running down the back of his ears.

  “Terry!”

  Sheets of rain drifted like smoke across the city’s yellow glow. To hell with him, he whispered. Maybe he’d gone back to get something from the van. He turned back toward the road and began walking. The water soaked in over his toes. He wiped the rain from his face but it kept flowing down his forehead. Was he headed the right way? The flash started as white but exploded into yellow. He dropped to his knees. He flinched and sank lower but kept his eyes open as another flash broke over him. His heart froze. For several seconds all he knew was the rainwater creeping along his spine, the drumming on his head, the tufts of wet grass between his fingers. Whoever they were, they had come out from behind the trees. The two cars beyond them couldn’t have been there before.

  “My Jesus,” said Kilmartin. He sat forward in the seat and rubbed the glass with the heel of his hand. “What are you trying to prove? That this bloody car can float or something?”

  Minogue had slowed to second gear. He sat over the wheel and changed the speed of the wipers every now and then. The rain drummed harder on the roof. Minogue checked the sun-roof for the fifth time and squinted out through the flow on the windscreen.

  “Now that’s a cloudburst,” said Kilmartin. “And any man with any titter of wit would pull over to the side of the bloody road-”

  “Be quiet, Jim. It’s hard enough trying to see anything without you ologoning. We’re nearly there.”

  “Nearly where? Christ, man, you’re after driving us in the wrong direction!”

  Kilmartin sat back and waved his hand toward the dash.

  “What the hell use are all your feck-me-do buttons and switches now. Pull in off the road, man, or we’ll be under the wheels of some big lorry here.”

  A flash showed the rain as needles but it was enough for Minogue to spot the cars.

  “Now we’re in business,” he murmured.

  “What business? What’re all those cars there? They looked like unmarkeds… What are they doing in there off the road?”

  Minogue pulled the lever next to the hand-brake and turned in over the grass. He heard Kilmartin’s failing efforts to find words. He aimed the nose of the car toward the pair of dark-coloured Corollas by the edge of the grove.

&n
bsp; “The bloody car is after rising up!”

  “It’s supposed to, Jim. The suspension-”

  “Shag this, man! You’re up to serious messing now, I’m telling you. Stop this circus-”

  “There it is.”

  “There’s what?”

  “His motorbike. It’s parked just off the road.”

  The Citroen wallowed but came out of the depression without bottoming out.

  “You knew there was something on here. You-”

  Kilmartin stopped talking when the beams went on. Two sets at the same time, then more, some moving until he gave up trying to decide how many cars there were. Minogue stopped the Citroen.

  “Come on out,” said Minogue. “We can fill a space somewhere.” Kilmartin was staring at the headlights.

  “Those are Guards out there,” he said. “Am I right?”

  Minogue nodded.

  “That’s him,” he added. “And there are patrol bikes in or around here if he tries to leg it over the fields.”

  “Who? Who, for the love of God?”

  He rose up slowly. He wasn’t sure if his knees would hold him. The words and hoarse pants he had been hearing were his own. The trees, he thought. They’ve staked the motorbike, so head into the trees. Headlights came on as he began his run. Two sets ahead caught him immediately. He stopped and turned. Others came on. The lights which aimed away began to turn toward him. They were all around. Something began to give way in his stomach. Would Bobby Egan have all this stuff? Where was Terry Malone? The bastard. A single light detached itself from the others and began weaving its way toward him. Still he stood, frozen, his lips moving, his breath coming in huge gulps. It was a motorbike. Mesmerized, he followed its passage over rises and bumps. It stopped fifty yards from him. Over the rain he heard engines now. He turned and tried to see where the gaps were. He could take a run toward-

  The tinny screech stopped his thoughts. A loudspeaker? It had said his name. The rain was streaming over his eyes now. What, he called out. He heard “Gardai” before the flash. Ducking, he saw the white helmet of the cop on the bike as he too flinched. He sank to his knees in the grass. The rain hit his neck harder. He didn’t lift his head even when he heard them telling him to lie down. They told him again. He sat back on his heels. The motorbike put on blue flashing lights as it approached. Two cars came in. He heard doors being slammed shut and he looked out into the glare. The lights were on the move again, coming closer. The cops walked in front of the beams. Voices shouting at him now, using his name. Lie down. He wasn’t going to lie down. They had been tailing Terry Malone since he got out, that’s what did it. The rain was made up of solid lines all the way back to the clouds, he thought. Like waves across the headlights. He was staring at the rain by his knees when he felt them push him over. The bands on his wrists were pulled tight. They pulled him up. He looked into their faces and saw that they looked kind of scared. More cops walked in out of the glare. A tall one with his hair plastered down over his eyebrows came up. He waved something at him. It caught the lights once before he put it away. Another big cop came up behind him.

  “James Tierney,” said the dark-haired one. “I’m Inspector Minogue. I’m arresting you for the murder of Mary Mullen…”

  He looked beyond the tall cop to the others. Two of them were already going through the grass with flashlights looking for anything he had dropped. It’s all true, he thought.

  “…to remain silent…”

  His gaze stayed on the silhouette of one of the cops standing to the side.

  “You have the right to consult counsel…”

  Why was he on his own?

  “Terry?”

  “…you will be brought before…”

  “Terry!”

  “Shut up there,” said the cop next to the one reading him his rights.

  “Terry! Over here, man!”

  The man turned away. So did the cop who had told him to shut up.

  “Do you understand what I have told you?”

  “What?”

  “Do you understand your rights as I have told them to you?”

  The grip tightened on his arms when he tried to see around this tall cop with the eyes boring into him.

  “Terry! You bastard! You stoolie bastard!”

  “Okay, Fergal,” the cop said. Still he tried to stop them pulling him away.

  “Don’t pay that bastard! Yous’re all wrong! He lied! It’s a fix!”

  “Out of here, Fergal,” the tall cop was saying. “Before we’re toasted by lightning.”

  Kilmartin’s hair reminded Minogue of a villainous professor from a silent film. As though privy to his colleague’s thoughts, the Chief Inspector ran his hands over the wet strands, patting them back over his head.

  “You,” he said in a pensive tone, “are getting worse.”

  Minogue glanced up at the deserted offices of the Financial Centre as the Citroen glided through the orange light and onto the North Wall. He checked the mirror to make sure the other car had made it through. The Citroen crashed over a puddle.

  “You told me that quite a number of years ago.”

  “I know I did. I meant it then and I mean it now. Me head’s still spinning with all this. Why didn’t you tell me you had moved on this?”

  Minogue looked down at the clock. Half past nine. He felt keen, alert.

  “I wanted it to be a surprise. You trust me, don’t you?”

  Kilmartin stopped patting his crown.

  “I trust you for the next ten minutes. Then your time is up. I want to know everything. That’s the deal.”

  “Yes, James.”

  “How Tierney got to be there. Where you got the give-away. When. With who-”

  “Whom.”

  “What?”

  “No. With whom.”

  “Bugger off trying to show me up! Ten minutes, and counting!”

  “Yes, James.”

  “This stinks. Worse and worse as the minutes go by.”

  “I understand how you feel.”

  “The hell you do! Don’t play social worker on me, pal. Who was it decided that I was to have spectator status on this caper?”

  “Me. You have Keane and Co. to answer to. All the courtiers. I have to do what I can to make a living.”

  “Sweet suffering hand of the divine crucified Je-”

  “We’re almost finished, Jim. The world will unfold as it should.”

  Kilmartin let out a breath and looked out the side window.

  “You bloody well better not be teaching this type of procedure, you know,” he said.

  “You’re right. Absolutely.”

  “Couldn’t stand up at all if the case gets thrown upstairs at HQ.”

  “Well, there’s not much you can do with one arm tied behind your back, is there?”

  “Tell that to Serious Crimes and their European pals! Listen. One word I never want to hear about this-are you listening? Not a whisper do I want to hear of it: entrapment. Now or ever. Are you with me?”

  Minogue looked across the Liffey as they coasted along, the broken surface of the roadway registering only as a flapping sound over the hiss from the rain.

  “All water under the bridge, James.”

  “What is? Your trick-acting?”

  Minogue turned the wheel sharply just to see how the car would take abrupt driving. Smooth as silk.

  “Nice car all the same, don’t you think?”

  Kilmartin grunted and looked down at the lights on the dashboard.

  “Wake me up when we hit Mars. Where’s the button for making the breakfast?”

  Minogue saw the Toyota behind lean hard as it turned in behind. It threw up a wave to the side as it crossed the gutter.

  “They have no complaint,” he said. “Have we jeopardized any of their operations?”

  “How the hell would I know? They never gave details! Then you decide to keep me in the dark too!”

  Minogue looked over and gave a wan smile.

  �
��For your own good, Jim.”

  “Oh, my God! Anyway. The father will be trouble.”

  “All right. You take her then. There’s me and John Murtagh if Plate-Glass doesn’t feel up to it. Aw’royh’ loike, Jimmo?”

  “Jesus, the gurrier lingo out of you. You’re hanging around Molly too much. I have a few choice things to tell that fella whenever he sorts out his personal life.”

  “His brother’s personal life, loike.”

  “ ‘Loike’ yourself! Will you never learn? Genes! Science! Hard facts! Didn’t you get just one little twinge when we ran into the brother over at Egans’ shop the other day?”

  “I don’t get little twinges, Jim. Probably an age thing.”

  “Come on! When you saw the brother, didn’t you really think-even for a minute? They look identical, they act identical-”

  “Can’t prove it.”

  “ Science proves it, man! That’s why we have bloody science! Walks like a duck, talks like a duck-”

  “Ever heard of free will?”

  “Oh, Christ! And you’re the one always pulling on me about the layabouts in fecking Finglas and the flats and wherever: ‘Ah, Jim, they can’t help it, it’s the environment-’ ”

  “You’re way to hell and back offside with that. Context, Jim, context.”

  “Spell it out for me then. Context, my arse! Human nature, bucko- since Adam was a boy! Open your eyes, man. We’ll be well rid of feck-ing Molly.”

  “He’d be well rid of us, the way you’re talking.”

  “Read a thing in the Reader’s Digest about long-lost twins, so I did. Grew up on either side of the bloody States, farmed out to different families-and what happens?”

  “You fell asleep.”

  “Hah. They turn out to be the same.”

  “A miracle.”

  “The same clothes. Favourite drinks. Cars. Each had three kids. Petite wives-”

  “What’s petite?”

  Kilmartin folded his arms and looked away.

  “You just don’t want to find out I’m right, that’s your problem.”

  Minogue yanked the wheel to take the turn. He released it quickly. The Citroen righted itself immediately. Great stuff. He slowed for the Toyota to close the gap. Ahead of him he saw the Garda van parked. There was no traffic. He pulled into the curb and switched off the engine.