Dead Man's Sins

by Caimh McDonnell

  O’Rourke was back in charge of the investigation. For the look of the thing, he’d asked Bunny why he’d gone to see Coop Hannity. Bunny had explained that it was in relation to a third party’s private matter and he was not at liberty to discuss it. That wouldn’t fly in most circumstances, but in this case, nobody was questioning the nature of Bunny’s involvement any longer. To use a policing euphemism, the investigation had gone in another direction entirely.

  Not that there was a great deal of investigating left to do. O’Rourke’s officers had found the tape of the murder of Coop Hannity in Samoan Joe’s flat. It answered a great deal of questions. Bunny had been very clear with O’Rourke that he didn’t want to see it – he didn’t even want to know what was on it. He didn’t care if it was Joe or Angelina who had held the knife in their hands. He had a strong suspicion and, given the media coverage the trial would receive, he had no doubt that he’d find out every gruesome detail in due course, whether he wanted to or not, but at that moment, he didn’t want to spend one more second thinking about it.

  O’Rourke was going over everything in great detail as Angelina had already hired some of the most impressive legal firepower in Ireland, and Bunny sensed they were expecting her to adopt a self-defence strategy on all counts. He didn’t even know whether he agreed with that, he just knew he didn’t want to think about it any more. All he wanted now was a quiet pint, and for the whole damn world to leave him alone for a while.

  The first thing Bunny had done upon leaving the station was ring Diana Spain and inform her that the situation with the house had been resolved. She’d offered him a curt acknowledgement and hung up the phone. Bunny didn’t know what he’d been expecting but a thank-you would have been nice. The deeds to Gringo’s house were probably in a file somewhere in Hannity’s house, but Bunny strongly suspected that by the time the mess of Coop’s finances was sorted out, if indeed it ever was, those deeds would be lost. Legally, Angelina couldn’t benefit from the murder of which she was being accused. The whole thing was going to prove a boon for the Dublin legal community. Good luck to ’em.

  As soon as Bunny entered O’Hagan’s a clamour of voices rushed to greet him, closely followed by Tara Flynn.

  “Oh, thank Christ, Bunny. Where have you been? I’ve been ringing ye.”

  “Yeah,” said Bunny, “you and the rest of Dublin.” He sighed. “I’m a very popular man.”

  “Hamster!” shouted Tara, before realising the individual she was looking for was actually standing nervously behind her. “Oh, there you are.” She pushed him forward as if presenting him to Bunny. “This is Hamster. He’s studying geography up in Trinity. I hired him to set the questions and he’s done a fantastic job.”

  “Questions?”

  Tara looked exasperated. “Yes. The fecking questions. For the table quiz. The quiz that you are the quizmaster for.”

  Bunny sagged. “Ara Jesus, Tara. Not tonight, Josephine. It’s been an absolute bastard of a week. Could somebody else not do it?”

  Tara grabbed Bunny’s upper arm with a strength he wouldn’t have thought possible.

  “Now, you listen to me, Bunny McGarry. You made me a promise. A solemn promise. Look around this room – the place is more packed out than it’s been in months, and quiz nights were my big idea. Last time we had to refund everybody’s money because of the …” She paused and glanced around. “… incident. This thing needs a firm hand. You, you big lump, are that firm hand. Don’t screw me over on this.”

  Bunny’s basic survival instincts kicked in. “Only messing. Delighted to be here. Let’s get quizzing.”

  Tara hugged him in a way that felt like a threat. “You’re a good man. Like I said, Hamster has done a cracking job. He’s even got musical questions in between each round based around a different song on the jukebox. It’s very clever.”

  She pushed a roll of twenty-pence coins into his hand.

  “You even get to be in control of the jukebox – for the whole night. You’ve been asking for that privilege since I’ve known you. Right, I’m going to give out the paper and pens. I’ll leave you and Hamster to get acquainted.”

  Nicknames are funny things. Some, like Bunny’s, were family traditions; others, like Butch’s, were clearly ironic; and some were Hamster. Where the shaggy top of brown hair stopped and the immense beard started was anyone’s guess. The only clearly visible features on the fella’s face were the big, wide, scared-looking eyes, as if he were an actual hamster that had unexpectedly found itself on open ground in a hawk sanctuary. Bunny glanced around the room again. Seeing how seriously the patrons of O’Hagan’s took their table quizzes, he might be right.

  “So, Hamster,” said Bunny. “Geography student, huh? What’s your favourite type of lake?”

  As soon as Bunny looked into the lad’s earnest face, he could tell he was going to take the question seriously. “Oxbow.”

  Bunny nodded. “They are fecking great, alright. You and me are going to get on famously.” He put his arm around Hamster’s shoulders. “C’mon, I’ll buy you a pint.”

  “Tara said you and I drink for free.”

  “I know. Figure of speech.”

  Bunny weaved his way through the busy pub, being careful to avoid the tables at which the teams of Terry Hodges and Mark Kind were seated. He took up his position on the far side of the bar where the microphone was and directed Hamster to the stool beside him.

  “OK,” said Hamster enthusiastically.

  Bunny held his hand up to silence him. “First things first …”

  Hamster looked at him in confusion until, as if by magic, a pint of Guinness appeared in front of Bunny on the bar. Bunny lifted it with an air of reverence, and then, after taking the appropriate length of time to stare at it lovingly, raised it to his lips and took a long slow drink.

  He placed the half-empty glass back on the counter and wiped the back of his hand across his lips. “I’ll tell ye, Hamster, as you get older you’ll come to realise there are very few truly perfect things in this world.” He indicated the pint in front of him. “But that might be one of them.”

  Hamster nodded. “Tara mentioned that in previous quizzes, there had been a lot of querying of answers. I just wanted to agree a process in the eventuality of that happening.”

  Bunny raised an eyebrow at the young man. “The processes is, I tell anyone who is acting the gobshite to cop themselves on and remember, it’s only a fecking quiz.”

  “But what if—”

  Hamster didn’t get to finish the question. Their conversation was interrupted by a heavy hand landing on Bunny’s shoulder. He turned and looked up into the scowling face of one Gary Kearney.

  Bunny was a big man, but even if he’d been standing up, Kearney would have towered over him. The boxer’s hoodie was open over a tight T-shirt, highlighting his impressive physique.

  “Here he is,” said Kearney, “the man who can’t keep his nose out of other people’s business.”

  “Gary,” said Bunny, shaking the hand off his shoulder. “I didn’t recognise you without a referee standing over you counting to ten.”

  “Funny man. Let’s see how funny you are after we’ve had a chat.”

  Bunny noticed that behind Kearney stood Jason Potts, the scrawny little shit who seemed to follow him everywhere, like a bad smell. Bunny kept his eyes on Kearney but was aware that the clamour of conversation in the room had died away to nothing.

  He reached across and picked up his pint. “Believe me, Gary. You do not want to do this now.”

  “Why? Had a hard day breaking up families, have you?”

  “You’ve got a funny idea of the definition of family.”

  Tara appeared behind the bar.

  “We don’t want any trouble here,” she said in a firm voice.

  “There’s not gonna be any trouble,” responded Kearney, “because this fucker is going to tell me where my girlfriend and her kid are.”

  “Over my dead body.”

  Kearne
y leered at him and cracked a knuckle. “Happy to oblige.”

  Tara raised her voice and pointed at Kearney. “You. Out. Now. You’re barred.”

  Kearney looked at her. “Have women fight your battles now, Bunny, do ye?”

  “Aren’t they your preferred opponents?”

  “We are not having this kind of shit in this pub,” said Tara.

  “You’re right,” said Bunny, standing up and making his way down the bar.

  Gary laughed a sneering laugh. “Yeah, go on – run away, you cowardly Cork prick.” He wafted a meaty hand in Bunny’s direction and raised his voice to address the whole pub. “There he is. Your big hero. The mighty Bunny McGarry. All mouth and no trousers. Can’t even—”

  Gary was interrupted by Bunny kicking open the fire exit that led to the alley behind the pub. He turned and looked at him.

  “Well, are you going to stand there all day flapping your gums or are ye coming?”

  Two minutes later, in spite of Tara’s extensive pleading, every last patron of O’Hagan’s was standing in the alleyway, forming a loose circle around Bunny and Kearney. She looked from one man to the other and wondered if it was too late to call the police. Even she knew who Kearney was. Bunny might be able to handle himself, but Kearney was a professional heavyweight boxer.

  He was standing with his little weaselly buddy, Jason Potts, and laughing while he engaged in stretching exercises. Bunny, for his part, merely rolled his head around his shoulders a couple of times and stared fixedly at his opponent. Tara was dimly aware that around her a great deal of wagers were being placed on the fight. Given that Kearney was a pro, with about three inches and forty pounds of muscle on Bunny, the betting was surprisingly close. Most of those backing Bunny seemed to be doing so more out of blind loyalty than any belief in his abilities.

  Kearney stretched out his hamstrings, then his lower back, and then his shoulders. He threw what, to Tara’s untrained eye, looked like an alarmingly fast combination of punches in the air, then turned around and started to take off his hoodie.

  In that moment, Tara nearly screamed in surprise as Bunny pounced. He closed the distance quickly and, while Kearney’s arms were still inside his hoodie, slammed a hard couple of rights into Kearney’s kidneys. As the boxer crumbled over, Bunny launched a knee into his face, before bringing his foot down hard on Kearney’s ankle. The big man howled. Even as he fell, Bunny continued to rain down blow after blow upon his form.

  With Kearney on the ground, Bunny threw in a series of vicious kicks. He possibly would have kept going too, but a few members of the crowd, who had recovered from the shock, pulled him away.

  The whole thing had lasted maybe forty seconds. Bunny was now being pinned up against the dumpster and Kearney was a bloody heap on the ground.

  Tara and the rest of the crowd stood there in disbelief, dumbfounded by the speed and animalistic ferocity of what had unfurled in front of them.

  “I’m alright,” said Bunny. “Let me go. I’m grand.”

  The men restraining him exchanged cautious glances and then slowly stepped away.

  Bunny walked forward into the centre of the circle and looked down at Kearney.

  Kearney, his face a mess, pointed an accusing finger at his attacker.

  “What’s that, Gary?” asked Bunny, bending over. “Did you think it wasn’t a fair fight? Well, maybe now you’ve got some idea how it’d feel for a twelve-year-old boy – fucking twelve – when a grown man comes after him. A grown man twice – three times – his size.”

  Bunny’s voice was laced with venom now. His face was red with rage and tears ran down his cheeks. Spittle flecked his lips.

  “You think you’re a big man. You’re not a man at all. Do ye understand me? He’s a kid. A fecking little kid!”

  Tara held her breath and feared for a second that the beating might resume. She doubted anyone would hold him back on this occasion.

  “You can’t do this,” protested Jason Potts, his voice trembling with outrage. “That was assault.” He indicated the surrounding crowd. “You’re a guard and we’ve got witnesses. Dozens of them.”

  A moment of perfect stillness descended. Then, Tara watched as first Terry Hodges then Mark Kind turned around. Others quickly followed suit. Soon, the entire crowd except for herself and Bunny had turned their backs on Kearney and Potts.

  Bunny hunkered down beside Kearney, who held up a hand in defence and winced. “You’ve got twenty-four hours to get out of town, and you never come back. If Janice or her son ever gets so much as a postcard from you, with God as my witness I will track you down to whatever rock you’ve crawled under and I. Will. End. You. Are we clear?”

  Kearney nodded. Without another word Bunny walked back into the pub, rubbing a hand over his face. The rest of the crowd followed him inside.

  Tara looked down at Kearney and then spoke to Potts. “Get this piece of shit out of my alleyway.”

  She watched as the last of the patrons trooped back indoors and then, just before she closed the fire door, Tara spat on the ground at Kearney’s feet.

  Bunny retook his seat at the bar and dropped on the counter the roll of coins he’d been holding in his right hand. He clutched and unclutched the fingers a few times then knocked back the rest of his pint in one go.

  Hamster sat down beside him.

  “Sorry,” said Bunny, slapping him on the knee. “Before we were interrupted, you were asking me something?”

  Hamster shook his head nervously and spoke with a trembling voice. “Don’t worry about it, Mr McGarry. I … I think you’re right. I can’t see anybody arguing about the questions.”

  Tara appeared behind the bar and spoke in a low voice. “Are you OK?”

  “Sure, why wouldn’t I be?”

  Tara shook her head. “If you say so.” She reached across and placed a full pint of Guinness in front of him with one hand. With the other she held out the microphone.

  Bunny took the mic and tapped it with two fingers to confirm it was on. He cleared his throat. “Right so, folks. Sorry about the slight delay. Welcome to the O’Hagan’s table quiz. I’ll be quizmaster for the evening with my beautiful assistant here, Hamster. Before we start, any questions?”

  There were a few seconds of silence before a female voice shouted from the back of the room, “Is Hamster single?”

  Her enquiry was greeted with a cheer.

  “I don’t know,” responded Bunny. He raised his eyebrows at the student in a questioning look. Hamster went red and nodded.

  “He is indeed.”

  This revelation was met with more cheers and a couple of wolf whistles.

  “For any interested ladies,” continued Bunny, “he is currently studying geography at Trinity College. He decided not to study biology, as he has been reliably informed that he is already an expert in finding his way around the female body.”

  Roars and extensive banging on tables filled the room.

  “OK,” said Bunny. “Settle down. Settle down. Now that I’m finished playing Cupid, let’s get down to some serious quizzing.” He held out a hand towards Hamster. “The questions for round one, maestro, if you please.”

  Hamster handed Bunny a card.

  “OK. Question one. What famous cricketer …” Bunny stopped and moved the microphone away from his lips. “Hamster, can I have a quick word?”

  Free Book

  Hi there reader-person,

  I hope you enjoyed Dead Man’s Sins. Thanks for taking the time to read it. Bunny will be ‘back to the future’ causing mayhem in the USA in 2022. If you need a Caimh fix before then, make sure you’ve signed up to my monthly newsletter for free short stories, audio stories and the latest goings on in the Bunnyverse.

  You’ll also get a copy of my short fiction collection called 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/€8.99 in the shops but you can get the e-book for free just
by signing up to my monthly newsletter.

  Cheers muchly and thanks for reading,

  Caimh

  Also by Caimh McDonnell

  The Dublin Trilogy

  A Man With One of Those Faces (Book 1)

  The Day That Never Comes (Book 2)

  Angels in the Moonlight (Book 3/prequel)

  Last Orders (Book 4)

  Dead Man’s Sins (Book 5)

  McGarry Stateside (featuring Bunny McGarry)

  Disaster Inc (Book 1)

  I Have Sinned (Book 2)

  The Quiet Man (Book 3)

  The Final Game (MCM Investigations)

  Welcome to Nowhere (Smithy and Diller)

  Writing as C.K. McDonnell

  The Stranger Times details on the next page

  Visit www.WhiteHairedIrishman.com to find out more.

  The Stranger Times – C.K. McDonnell

  There are dark forces at work in our world so thank God The Stranger Times is on hand to report them. A weekly newspaper dedicated to the weird and the wonderful (but mostly the weird), it is the go-to publication for the unexplained and inexplicable . . .

  At least that’s their pitch. The reality is rather less auspicious. Their editor is a drunken, foul-tempered and foul-mouthed husk of a man who thinks little of the publication he edits. His staff are a ragtag group of misfits. And as for the assistant editor . . . well, that job is a revolving door – and it has just revolved to reveal Hannah Willis, who's got problems of her own.

  When tragedy strikes in her first week on the job The Stranger Times is forced to do some serious investigating. What they discover leads to a shocking realisation: some of the stories they’d previously dismissed as nonsense are in fact terrifyingly real. Soon they come face-to-face with darker forces than they could ever have imagined.