I Have Sinned

by Caimh McDonnell

  When Gabriel opened his eyes again, he looked at David, standing on the far side of the clearing, the smoking gun still in his hand. They locked eyes for a moment and then David dropped the gun and walked away, disappearing into the night.

  Gabriel moved over to where Abraham lay, his blood turning the snow red all around him. His eyes were wild with desperation and he was unable to breathe, drowning in his own life. Gabriel held his hand with his left hand and made the cross on his forehead with his right, unintentionally marking him with his own blood. “Through this holy unction, may the Lord pardon thee whatever sins or faults thou has committed…”

  Father Gabriel looked at the controls of the rollercoaster and then, for want of any other ideas, hit the big red button. This turned out to be the emergency brake, which caused it to screech to a halt. Emilio was pleasantly surprised when they didn’t come off the tracks. The bar disengaged, and he climbed down the ten or so feet to the ground with Bianca’s help. He avoided looking at whatever was left in the car behind them. Some images you didn’t need.

  They found the father standing on the platform, leaning over Bunny’s body, the shattered baseball bat by his side. Bunny was a colour Emilio had only ever seen at funerals.

  “Is he gonna be OK?” asked Bianca.

  Gabriel held two fingers to Bunny’s throat. “He has a pulse, but it’s weak. He’s lost a lot of blood.” Gabriel pointed at a dark patch on the left side of Bunny’s abdomen. “The bullet went right through him, which is good, assuming it avoided hitting anything too important, but we have to get him medical help.” Gabriel looked around, panicked. “I don’t… they must have had a car or van. How did you get here?”

  Before Emilio or Bianca could answer, they all looked up at the sound of something crashing through a fence. Unable to find the gate, and figuring that time was of the essence, Smithy had driven a snowplough he had technically hijacked straight through the fencing. He took out a multicoloured shooting stall and kept ploughing onwards. He was struggling to steer while holding a gun in one hand and looking for someone to shoot. He drove towards the rollercoaster.

  “Is everything OK?” he hollered.

  “We need to get Bunny to a hospital,” Gabriel shouted back.

  “Shit,” hollered Smithy. “OK.”

  He looked down at the breeze block that was currently holding the gas pedal down. “Hang on, I’m gonna find something soft to crash into!”

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Trey looked down again at the gun in his hand. They said it would be easy. All you had to do was just point and shoot. The guy would be coming out of the hospital by a back entrance – they had been given a tip-off. The hospital had metal detectors, so neither Santana nor any of his crew would be armed. The man was on crutches too. It would be easy. That’s what they’d all said: easy.

  Ice had told him that he would be taking out the man who’d ordered the hit on Pocket. It would be vengeance and it would be righteous.

  Now, Trey was standing in the shadows of an alley across the street. He was trying to control his breathing. He felt like throwing up. He kept moving the gun from hand to hand as his palms were so sweaty. It had surprised him, when they’d given it to him, how light the gun had felt, but now… now it felt heavy.

  He almost jumped out of his skin when the voice came from behind him. “I was sorry to hear about Pocket.”

  He turned to see Father Gabriel standing there, a large white bandage covering half of his face.

  “How did you know I was here?”

  Gabriel held his arm out, palm down. “Doesn’t matter. I’m so sorry for your loss, Trey. I know you loved him, and I know he loved you.”

  “You shouldn’t be here.”

  “It’s a free country,” said Gabriel. He tried to smile, but the bandaging on his face meant it was impossible. “So, let me guess: they told you that you had the chance to kill the man who killed Pocket?”

  “This is none of your concern, Father.”

  “I’m afraid it is. I owe it to you to make it my concern. Not to mention your mother and Pocket.”

  Trey had tears in his eyes now. “I’m doing this for Pocket. This asshole killed my brother.”

  Gabriel sighed and leaned back against the wall. “Y’know, all the time I have been a priest, every day I wake up and think, if only I could find the words. Better words than what I had. The right words that could make people see things differently. To help take people’s pain away. To make life seem worth living. The words to bring light to the darkness. Maybe if I had your skills with the language, Trey, maybe then I could change something.”

  Gabriel glanced at an alley cat that was prowling around in the gloomy light behind them. She stared back at him, her eyes bright in the darkness, before turning away, deciding they were not a threat.

  Gabriel pushed himself off the wall and stood up again. “Do you know what I’ve only recently realised, Trey? Those words don’t exist. Words can spark ideas, but it is actions that define the world around us.”

  “I’m taking action,” said Trey quietly.

  “Yes, you are,” said Gabriel. “All I can do is ask you to consider the result of those actions. If you kill this man, you’ll just be leaving more brothers, mothers, sisters and sons angry at the world and at the man with a gun who took their loved one. Trust me, it doesn’t end, son. It doesn’t end unless you end it. Sometimes the hardest action is deciding to be the one to walk away.”

  “I gotta get justice!”

  “There is no justice. There’s just the living and the dead. Lord knows Pocket and I didn’t see eye to eye on much, but we agreed on one thing: you should have a better life than this.”

  “But I…”

  “Look at my face, son.”

  Trey stared at the ground.

  “Trey.”

  He looked up reluctantly.

  “I know more about death than any man should, and believe me, Trey, none of this is going to make it feel any better. It won’t stop the pain. It won’t bring Pocket back. All it means is that any time a memory of the good times you shared pops into your head, it will be soiled, because your mind will come back to the moment you took a life and ruined your own. A life Pocket fought so hard for you to have. One man didn’t kill him, son; Coopersville did – or at least what the gangs and the violence and the drugs have turned it into. If the violence is the problem, how can violence be the answer? This will make no difference. You will just be feeding the machine. You know I’m telling you the truth.”

  “I gotta…”

  Gabriel held his hand out. “Give me the gun, Trey.”

  “But I…”

  “Give me the gun. Emilio and Bianca are waiting to see you. There’s an entire world out there for the three of you. Don’t ruin it now. You’ve all worked so hard. Be more than this. The world doesn’t need another broken man with a gun, believe me. Give it to me, son.”

  Trey stood there for the longest moment, his fingers flexing around the gun’s grip, his eyes fixed on the ground.

  His body sagged forward, and he held the gun out to Gabriel, who gently took it from him. Trey leaned his head on Gabriel’s shoulder and tears poured out of him as his body shook. Gabriel held him there. “That’s it. Let it out. Let it out.”

  Epilogue

  Bunny opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling. He didn’t recognise it. He also had no idea how he’d come to be in a position to be looking up at it. He wasn’t dead – at least, no more than he had been before all of this started – though he was admittedly basing that on the idea that death wouldn’t be this bloody uncomfortable. His mind was groggy, he felt like his tongue had been replaced with a sponge and almost every area of his body was sending signals that, when the drugs wore off, this was going to hurt like hell.

  An angelic face swam into view above him.

  His voice came out as a parched croak. “Is this… heaven?”

  Sister Dionne smiled down at him. “No, Mr McGarry, this is
Brooklyn.”

  With a whirr, he felt his bed slowly rise up to place him in a more or less seated position. Sun was streaming through the windows. There was nothing that qualified as an actual view, because the bottom half of the window was that kind of translucent glass that educational institutions of a certain era specialised in, designed to let light in but not allow any young imaginations out.

  Dionne held a glass with a straw out in front of him. “Here, drink this.”

  He did. He’d never have believed that water, just water, could taste so good. “How did I get here?”

  “Well now,” said Dionne, putting the glass down, “that’s quite a long story. I believe you passed out at a fairground after doing something rather gruesome that involved a baseball bat and a man losing his head.”

  “Prick had it coming.”

  “I’m glad to hear it, as if that was your idea of a warning…”

  “How are—?”

  Dionne held her hand up. “Everyone is fine. Father Gabriel and the children are all OK. They and your friend Mr Smith managed to get you to a hospital.”

  “Mr Smith?” said Bunny, honestly confused. “Oh, you mean Smithy?”

  Dionne nodded. “Yes. Technically, Connecticut police are looking for a man of… reduced stature who hijacked a snowplough at gunpoint but, as it happens, we know somebody in their highway patrol. Let’s just say that the investigation is going poorly, and authorities are not optimistic.”

  “Right,” said Bunny. “Hang on, I ended up at a hospital? But…”

  “Yes,” said Dionne. “The cops were very interested in you, and were keen to speak with you when you came around. Your injuries were both extensive and inexplicable. I have been told that if it hadn’t been for some very good work by some very gifted surgeons, you really would be dead now.”

  “But…” said Bunny. “I know I’m just coming out of a coma… How long was I out?”

  “Six days.”

  “Jesus. Six days. But I’m not in a hospital now.”

  Dionne shook her head. “No. You are back in the headquarters of the Sisters of the Saint.”

  “And how did I get here?”

  “We busted you out. The police are even more interested in you now, but, sadly, all they have to go on from the guard on duty, who got knocked out, is that the nurse’s shift changed and when he came to, you were gone – bed and all.” Dionne patted it. “When you’re better, we will of course drop it back with a note of apology.”

  “But…”

  “Apparently when they checked the CCTV recordings at the hospital, all they found were pirated copies of the film Sister Act 2 on each one. Sister Zoya does have a rather quirky sense of humour.”

  “Right,” said Bunny. “I see.” He didn’t. “I think I’m missing something here. Last time we spoke, the Sisters of the Saint wanted nothing to do with me. Now you’re going to great lengths to help me and you’re nursing me back to health?”

  Dionne was about to say something, but she was interrupted by the door of the room banging open. Sister Dorothy whirred in on her electric wheelchair.

  “He is awake?” she said.

  “Yes,” confirmed Dionne.

  “Is he making much sense?”

  Dionne oscillated her hand in the air. “About the usual.”

  “Have you told him yet?”

  “I was coming around to it.”

  “Time is of the essence,” said Dorothy.

  “Well, yes, but respectfully, Sister, it’s not like he’s in any fit state to get started now.”

  “We can’t wait too long or—”

  Bunny cleared his throat loudly. “Excuse me. Sorry to interrupt, but is there any chance somebody would like to tell me what in the fecking hell is going on?”

  Dorothy looked directly at him for the first time. “You want to help your lady friend?”

  “Simone,” said Bunny. “Yes, of course I do. That’s why I’m here.”

  “Good,” said Dorothy. “Well, the only person who would know where she is, or at least might have a way of contacting her, is Sister Bernadette. As you know, she was missing.”

  “Wait,” said Bunny, wincing as he attempted to sit further up. “Was – you said was. She’s back?”

  Sister Dorothy shook her head. “No. But we now at least know where she is. That is the one and only piece of good news in that regard. The situation is… complicated.” Dorothy shifted uncomfortably. “We need your help.”

  Bunny smiled. “I’m sorry, what was that, Sister? I think I heard you wrong there. Could you repeat what you just said?”

  Dorothy’s face became even sterner, something Bunny wouldn’t have thought possible. “You heard me.”

  “No, I don’t think I did. I’ve been stabbed and shot and God knows what else; I think my hearing must be buggered to Belgium too. Could you repeat it for me again, please?”

  Dorothy parsed the words out, as though speaking each one aloud was causing her pain. “I said, we need your help.”

  “That’s what I thought you said.” Bunny looked up towards Dionne, who was standing there with her arms folded. “That’s what I thought she said. But that can’t be right, because I offered that before and you said no. You were very definite about it.”

  “Yes, yes,” said Dorothy.

  “You did a whole bit. You asked if I speak Spanish. I said no. Did I know anyone in South America? I said I’d once won sixty quid betting on Peru in the World Cup.”

  “If you are quite finished,” said Dorothy.

  “You asked if I could dance the flamenco,” continued Bunny, who was nowhere near quite finished. “I said no, but I could do you a pretty good foxtrot and my waltz was to die for.”

  “Bunny,” said Dionne, her raised eyebrow possibly warning that he might push this too far.

  Bunny looked back at Dorothy. “What was that Latin motto ye had again?”

  She paused, looked up at Dionne and then back at Bunny, with the kind of look an Easter Island statue would consider unyielding. “If you’re quite finished, Mr McGarry. To your advantage, we find ourselves in need of an alliance of sorts. It just so happens that we seem to have discovered the one and only situation where the Sisters of the Saint need the assistance of a man.”

  Bunny nodded and then yawned expansively. “Alright, I’m in.”

  “But you don’t know what it is yet,” said Dorothy.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he replied, closing his eyes. “When I said I’d do anything, I meant it. I’m in. But I’m also shattered. Ye can explain it to me in the morning.”

  “But…”

  Bunny fell back into what appeared to be a deep sleep.

  Dionne and Dorothy stayed there, looking at him for a good minute. It didn’t appear he was waking up any time soon.

  “He really is quite something,” said Dionne.

  “That is one way of putting it.”

  “I mean, you can’t doubt his resourcefulness or his determination. You heard Father Gabriel’s description of—”

  “Yes,” said Dorothy. “Still, with this situation, I can’t help feeling something terrible is coming our way.”

  Just then, something did – as Bunny farted loudly.

  Dorothy turned her chair in disgust and proceeded out of the room without looking back. “Good God, open a window.”

  Dionne smiled. “Aren’t you worried he’ll escape?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m counting on.”

  Free Book

  Hi there reader-person,

  I hope you enjoyed the book, thanks for taking the time to read it. If you’ve not already had the pleasure, then the Dublin Trilogy books are packed full of Bunny McGarry mayhem as is Disaster Inc, the first book in this spin-off series. The details of all of them are on the next page. If you have then rest assured that Bunny will be back in 2020. In the meantime, if you’d like to get my short fiction collection How To Send A Message, which features several Bunny stories just click here or go
to WhiteHairedIrishman.com.

  The paperback costs $10.99/£7.99 in the shops but you can get the e-book for free just by signing up to my monthly newsletter.

  Cheers muchly,

  Caimh

  Also By Caimh McDonnell

  The Dublin Trilogy (featuring Bunny McGarry)

  A Man With One of Those Faces (Book 1)

  The Day That Never Comes (Book 2)

  Angels in the Moonlight (A prequel that we’re calling Book 3 as it needs to be read before…)

  Last Orders (Book 4)

  McGarry Stateside

  Disaster Inc (Book 1)

  I Have Sinned (Book 2)

  Eagle-Eyed Legends

  Christine Kelly

  Daniel Roth

  Espen Arntzen

  Frank Carr

  Illa Patlogan

  Jakky Foster

  Lynn Birmingham

  Melanie Owensby

  Nick Kaayk

  Rhonda Segars

  Trish Arnott

  Will Smeaton

  Geraldine Hickey

  Leonia Carroll

  Brenda Best

  Thank you!