Dead Man's Sins

by Caimh McDonnell

  “Larry Dodds, stealing an ice-cream van with your cousin and taking it for a joyride is not relevant experience. Do I need to remind you of the promises you made me when I spoke to the judge on your behalf?”

  Larry Dodds lowered his eyes to the ground, suddenly sheepish. “No, Bunny. Sorry, Bunny.”

  “So, it’s settled. If anything happens to me, Deccie shall remain in his vital post as assistant manager …”

  Deccie stepped forward. “With increased responsibilities in the areas of team selection, fitness and tactical planning.”

  “What? Ah, feck it, fine,” said Bunny.

  “What?” said Richard.

  Bunny turned to him. “We’ll discuss it later.” He focused his attention back on the main group. “But Richard here shall be the manager.”

  “Slash bus driver,” added Deccie.

  “OK,” said Bunny, wiping the sweat from his brow, “so that’s all sorted, then.”

  “Alright,” said Ruairi, before stepping towards Richard and looking up at him defiantly. He pointed at Bunny. “But if he gets run over by a bus, we’re all coming looking for you.”

  With that, the team took to the field to practise their passing while Bunny escorted the shellshocked Richard to one side and tried to reassure him. That hadn’t gone well, but needs must when the devil drives. What was he supposed to say? “Lads, it looks like I’m being framed for murder, so if the next couple of days go badly, I might be missing training for the next twenty to thirty years.” They would have had an awful lot of questions about that too.

  Once Richard had left, Bunny found himself alone with Deccie.

  “I’m sorry about that, Deccie. I should have discussed it with you first.”

  “What’s going on, boss? I wasn’t gonna say anything in front of the lads, but you’re getting into fights out in Clontarf. You’ve got me distracting coppers so you can get into hospital rooms, and now you’ve got bus drivers with no appreciation for the fundamentals of the game coming in to take over. Seriously, is everything alright?”

  Bunny looked down at his assistant manager. “I’ll be honest, Deccie, I’ve had better weeks. Speaking of which, I can’t help but notice that Alan with one L isn’t here.”

  Deccie nodded. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. He wasn’t in school yesterday, or today. I was asking around, and none of the lads have seen him either.”

  Bunny sighed. The trouble was, given the circumstances, he couldn’t ring Butch. That meant it was time to call up the big guns. “Alright, Deccie, split the boys into two teams and get them practising shooting.”

  “And what are you going to be doing?”

  “I need to go ring a nun about a favour.”

  “Is that another one of those expressions?”

  “I wish it was. I really wish it was.”

  Get Out

  Bunny parked the car and looked around warily. This wasn’t a great area to leave a vehicle unattended at night. Normally, he didn’t worry about such things. Nobody wanted the kind of hassle in their life that would come with stealing Bunny McGarry’s car, but this car was a rental and there was no way for interested parties to know it was his. He briefly considered leaving a note in the window, but decided against it. Sometimes, it doesn’t pay to advertise, and he was here on business. Besides, it was a rental.

  He looked up at the flats. At the far end of the fourth floor was the one belonging to Janice and Alan Craven, and, recently, Gary Kearney, who was the reason for Bunny’s visit. Alan had been absent from school for two days and had now missed training. He had never missed a session before. He wasn’t the biggest, most skilled or fastest of players, but you couldn’t fault him for his reliability or determination. Something was wrong and the thought of it turned Bunny stomach.

  “He’s been—”

  Bunny jumped and turned to see Sister Bernadette standing behind him. “Where the fecking hell did you come from?”

  She rolled her eyes. “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m here doing covert surveillance. The covert part is not only half of the job, but they also put it before the surveillance to show how important it is.”

  “I know, I just … Thanks for doing this, by the way.”

  She dismissed his gratitude with an upwards jerk of her head. “Unfortunately, this looks like it’s exactly the kind of thing we do, and sadly, business is booming. As I was saying, Kearney’s been in the pub just up the road there for …” She checked her watch. “… ninety-four minutes.”

  “Are you sure?”

  This earned him a stare from Sister Bernadette’s extensive collection. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t ask me that, Bernard, as I know you’re not that stupid. This isn’t my first rodeo.”

  Sister Bernadette was five foot nothing of bespectacled nun from Tipperary. In his life, Bunny had met ham-fisted brutal savages, cold-blooded professional killers and straight-up insane psychopaths, but none of them had the ability to be as intimidating as Sister Bernadette. He estimated that she was maybe sixty, but he wouldn’t be surprised if that estimate was off by two decades in either direction. Nuns didn’t age in human years ,and in Bernadette’s case that was doubly true. Bunny guessed she’d been forged from the melted-down remains of old nuns mixed with equal parts shoe leather, iron and venom.

  Part of the reason Bernadette’s age was so impossible to determine was that evidently she had managed to combine clean living with a hard, eventful life. The Sisters of the Saint was an order shrouded in mystery, but what Bunny knew from his limited exposure to them, they were diametrically different from your regular nuns. Excommunicated back in the mists of time, they were technically a rogue order, under nobody’s control but their own. They were also uninterested in the thoughts-and-prayers approach to solving problems. They saw a world full of wrongs that needed righting and were prepared to get their hands dirty in order to get the job done. He had known of their existence for only a few months, but Bernadette in particular left an impression – often a permanent one, if you weren’t careful.

  “Are we ready to make a move?” she asked.

  Bunny held up his hands. “No time like the present.”

  He was taken aback when she touched her ear under her wimple and said, “This is Eagle, we are go. Can I get confirmation on Kearney?” She listened for a second, then nodded before noticing Bunny’s shocked expression. “What? Did you think I was just going to stand out here and watch? What kind of amateur organisation do you think we’re running here?”

  Bunny looked around. “How many of you are there exactly?”

  “Exactly as many as we need. Come on.”

  Bunny glanced at the front door of the flat then back at Bernadette. “If he decides to leave the pub, how long do we have?”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “I am worried about it.”

  Bernadette looked up at him. “Technically? Eight minutes.”

  “But —”

  “With the emphasis on the word ‘technically’. If it looks like he’s coming back, it will be dealt with.”

  “What does that mean?”

  She sighed pointedly. “It means – don’t worry about it. You asked for our help, now let us do what we do.”

  Bunny turned back to the door and gave a little shake of his head. It didn’t feel as if his life was going to get any less weird any time soon.

  He knocked on the door and, after about thirty seconds, he heard some movement behind it. Then came a nervous-sounding voice. “Who is it?”

  “Howerya, Janice. It’s Bunny.”

  “Oh, hello. Now isn’t a great time.”

  Bunny glanced at Bernadette. “Just give me a couple of minutes, Janice. I promise I only want to help.”

  “Honestly, everything is fine.”

  He moved closer to the door and spoke more softly. “I think we both know that isn’t true, Janice.”

  “Please. This will just make everything worse.”

  “I promise it
won’t. You know I only want the best for you and Alan. Just give me a couple of minutes and then I won’t bother you again. I swear.”

  Bunny held his breath for a few seconds and then heard the latch being taken off the door.

  Janice had tried to hide the bruising with make-up, but it was still easy enough to see if you knew what to look for. She attempted to explain, excuse and prevaricate, then she leaned against the wall and started to cry softly, big fat tears rolling down her face. “I’m such a fool. You tried to warn me. He swore – he swore it would never ever happen again.”

  Bernadette moved forward and took Janice’s face between her hands. “Now, you listen to me. This is very important. This is not your fault. None of it. All abusers are masterful manipulators, that’s how they get away with it. They lie, and we believe them, because we are decent people who think like decent people. It’s only natural to believe it will never happen again, because decent people can’t believe it happened the first time. But you know now, don’t you? You have to do something or it will happen again.”

  Janice wiped a hand across her face awkwardly and then looked at Bunny. “Who is this?”

  “She’s a friend.”

  “Forget that,” said Bernadette. “What I am is a one hundred percent guarantee of safety, and a fresh start for you and your son.”

  “Oh no,” said Janice with a pleading look in her eyes as her gaze flitted between the two of them. “We can’t go anywhere. He’ll find us, and when he does …”

  “Listen to me. He will not find you – not if you come with us. We’ve been doing this for a long time.”

  “I’m sure you mean well, Sister, but he’s a violent man.”

  “They’re our speciality.”

  Bunny saw what happened next, but he still wouldn’t have been able to describe precisely what happened. Sister Bernadette casually flicked her wrist, and then somehow, it contained a small handgun.

  Janice shared Bunny’s disbelieving look then turned back to Bernadette. “What kind of nuns are you?”

  “Have you seen the Sound of Music?”

  “Yes.”

  “Not those kind of nuns,” Bernadette said with a tight smile. “Now, we need to get moving. Pack a bag with everything you’ll need: clothes, medicines, family heirlooms, valuables. No domestic appliances, please. Where’s your son?”

  Janice nodded towards one of the doors leading off the hallway. “He’s in his room. He won’t come out.”

  Bunny knocked quietly on Alan’s door, fully aware that the young lad must already be aware of their presence. It wasn’t as if it was a very big flat.

  “Alan?” No response. “Alan?” Bunny repeated. “Is it OK if I come in?”

  In the absence of any response, Bunny slowly opened the door. Alan was sitting on the single bed in the corner, hugging his knees up under his chin. He tried not to look at Bunny as he entered.

  Bunny closed the door quietly behind him. He looked around, taking in the posters on the wall. The Dublin football team. A soccer player Bunny didn’t recognise.

  “Howerya, fella. How’s it going?”

  He could see Alan’s thin arms shaking, the white tightness in his lips. Bunny recognised the look – trying to cover everything in anger, because the rage was the easiest thing to hold on to. He moved across the room slowly and sat at the end of the bed, careful to give Alan space, but close enough to put himself in the boy’s eyeline.

  “Everything’s going to be OK,” said Bunny softly. “I’m here, and I brought a friend with me. We’re going to help you and your ma.”

  Alan stared steadfastly at the wall above Bunny’s head. “I don’t need help.”

  “Right. Well, I still reckon it’d be best for everybody if you both came with us.”

  He gave his head the merest of shakes. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Look, I know how hard this must have been for you.”

  Bunny drew back in surprise as Alan’s voice came out at a near shout. “You don’t know anything. Mind your own business.”

  He put his hands out in a placating gesture. “Alright. Calm down, son. No need to go upsetting yourself.” As he spoke, Bunny noticed that Alan was clutching something in his hand, but he couldn’t see what it was. “What have you got there, fella?”

  “Nothing. Never mind.”

  Bunny sighed. “Here’s the thing, though, Alan. You know me, I’m a nosy bastard, always have been. I know you think I don’t understand what you’re going through, but believe me, I do.”

  “It’s my job,” said Alan.

  “What is?”

  “I’m the man of the house. It’s my job to protect my ma.” As he moved his arm Bunny saw the scissors. “He’s gone to the pub. Sometimes, when he comes home, he falls asleep in front of the TV. I’m going to kill him.”

  “Right. OK,” said Bunny, trying to think carefully about what to say next. “Here’s the thing, though. If you were to do that, I’d have to arrest you.”

  Alan attempted a shrug.

  “And,” continued Bunny, “what do you reckon that will be like for your ma? She wants a fresh start. She’s a good woman and I think she deserves that, don’t you?”

  “It’ll be better when he’s dead.”

  “Maybe,” said Bunny. “Maybe it will. But do you know what I don’t like about that option? It means he wins.”

  Alan didn’t say anything, but he looked directly at Bunny for the first time since he’d entered the room.

  “He’ll have done the thing that he’s trying to do. He’ll have ruined your mother’s life.”

  When Alan spoke again, it was in a voice so quiet that Bunny struggled to hear him. “It’s my job.”

  “It isn’t, though. I promise you it isn’t. You might well be the bravest and toughest twelve-year-old I’ve ever met, but you’re still only twelve. He’s a full-grown man. No, I take that back – he’s not a man. Not a real man. Real men don’t behave like he does. You’re better than him. You’re worth a hundred of him, and you’ve got your whole life ahead of you, I swear. But not if you do this.” Bunny held out his hand. “I’m asking you to please trust me. The both of you can leave here right now and you’ll never have to see him again.”

  Alan fixed his eyes on Bunny as the tears began to swell in them.

  “You have my word.”

  Twelve minutes later, the Craven family had all of their worldly possessions worth taking packed into a large, battered old suitcase and three bin bags. As Janice closed the door of the flat, Sister Bernadette held out her hand.

  “OK. Everybody just wait here for a second.”

  “Is everything alright?” asked Bunny.

  “Yes,” said Bernadette with a curt nod. “It’s just, he’s on the move.”

  Bunny saw the panic in Janice’s face, but Bernadette laid a hand firmly on the woman’s arm. “Trust me. This is what we do. Just give me a minute.”

  In the end it was only thirty seconds – albeit a tense thirty seconds – before Bernadette nodded once more and said, “He’s down. Let’s go.” Then, without another word she turned and headed for the stairs.

  While trying not to be obvious, Bunny hurried to catch up with her. “What do you mean by ‘he’s down’?”

  What You Mean by Down

  Jason Potts knew his place. He was not “the man”. No, Jason was, at best, the man who stood beside and slightly behind “the man”. Through a cruel twist of fate, he was born short and not very likeable. He didn’t know why this was – he came from a family of largely tall and largely likeable people. However, life had provided Jason with ample evidence that he was neither.

  People who made sweeping statements about life usually said stuff like, there are only two types of people in this world – those who take and those who get taken from. Kill or be killed. The hunter and the hunted. All that kind of crap. Sure, those two categories were the most popular ones to fit into, but if you didn’t have the chops to be in group A and you had the c
ommon sense not to want to be in group B, there was a third option: you could be the hanger-on, the hype man, the water carrier. You could ingratiate yourself with the predator to avoid becoming the prey. It wasn’t a particularly fun life, but it was a life. Even hippos have those little birds that clean their teeth for them.

  Gary Kearney was the hippo and Jason was his little bird – in the teeth-cleaning sense. Not that he actually cleaned Gary’s teeth, but he went to the bar, got the drinks in, picked up Gary’s dry cleaning, listened to his problems, had the common sense not to bring up any of his own – that kind of thing. Gary’s problems fit into two distinct categories: his girlfriend and her son, who were annoying him; and his boxing career, which had taken a big hit owing to his inability to do the same. Having watched Gary’s last fight, Jason was aware he had not attached himself to the apex predator, but there wasn’t much he could do about that now. In this pub at least, in the street, maybe even in the postcode, Gary was still “the man”, and Jason was the little bird who cleaned his teeth.

  As they got ready to leave the pub, Jason was nervous. He’d actually been nervous all night because he needed to do the one thing you never did. Last week, Gary had asked for a loan of fifty quid, which Jason really didn’t have but had given him anyway, on the understanding it was definitely coming back. There had been no mention of it since, except at home, where Jason’s ma mentioned little else. They needed that money for the gas bill. Despite being thirty years old, Jason was also frightened of his mother. True, she wouldn’t physically kick the crap out of him, but then she wouldn’t need to. The woman could inflict the kind of psychological damage that would make you yearn for a good old kicking. And so it was that Jason was desperately trying to find the right moment to ask Gary for his money back.

  And now they were leaving the pub. The walk back to the flats wouldn’t take long and Gary was in a foul mood. He always got like that when he drank.

  As they stepped outside into the cold March air, Jason could feel himself sobering up fast. The anticipation of what was about to come next was making his guts boil. He wondered if he was going to be sick.