The Devil (10 page)

again.'

The pints arrived. No money had yet changed hands. I

clinked his glass, wanted to say.
Sin an sceal is bronach.

(That is the saddest story.)

But I figured he already knew that.

He snapped back, the artful dodger in play anew. But I

went for it, asked,

' W o u l d a demon come after a person - personally?'

Y o u can ask Romaniatis such things and not feel like a

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KEN BRUEN

horse's arse. Y o u ask an Irish person, they'd think you were

talking about the Inland Revenue.

He nodded, the cream from the fresh pint on his upper lip,

said,

' O h yeah, first they attach themselves to your family,

friends, then through them they claim y o u . '

I asked the obvious.

' W h y ? '

'A demon w i l l believe you spoilt some scheme they'd

planned and the payback is your soul.'

He gave a bitter laugh, said,

'They seem especially fond of Catholics. The more lapsed

the better.'

Jesus Christ, I was afraid to admit the awesome truth of

his words. As if sensing my distress, he abruptly changed

tack, said,

'Your friend Ridge took a bad beating, I hear.'

I had to remind myself he had the ear of the Guards. He

continued,

'The assailant. . .'

L o o k e d at me. I took a long swallow of the excellent pint,

waited, then said,

'Was of course charged, and is out on bail.'

I already knew the answer but what the sweet fuck, I

asked,

'What w i l l happen?'

He finished his pint in jig time, belched, said,

'Slap on the wrist, claims of provocation and all the good

legal argument, and mainly friends in high places.'

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THE DEVIL

Then he asked the question we'd come in on.

'What's this mania for America you have?'

I told h i m of the time before when Ridge and Stewart got

me a ticket, she got sick and I had to defer, then this time

was refused entry. But to answer his question I said,

'I loved my dad, he always told me America was the

promised land, that you could be w h o you really were, free

of the baggage of the past, and of their deep love of the Irish,

their help all through our bedraggled history, and h o w they

took you as you were, not what some gobshite said you

were - I thought if I could go there I could be free of all the

terrible stuff I've been caught up i n , and their books, their

attitude, seemed like real freedom to me.'

I was drained.

H a d n ' t spoken such a full sentence since I took my pledge

as a y o u n g G u a r d at the passing-out ceremony at

Templemore.

He asked,

' Y o u ever read A n t o n LaVey?'

I'd never even heard of h i m and said so.

He smiled, impossible to decipher, said,

'Check h i m out, he's relevant to our earlier talk. Anyway,

he always referred to his homeland as "The United Satanic

States of A m e r i c a " . '

I was about to mention the demon again when he held up

his hand, made the European sign of warding off the E v i l

Eye, said,

'Jack, don't tell me. I don't want h i m to take an interest in

me.'

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KEN BRUEN

As if on cue, his mobile rang. He had that awful ring tone

T k i l l y o u ' . Spoke rapidly in what I presume was Romanian,

slid off his stool, closed his mobile, said,

'Gotta go. Jack.'

A n d was gone.

I paid for the pints.

I gave the gorgeous girl a tip and she gave me an icy glare.

Caz leaving abruptly was my fault, she seemed to imply,

and I thought she might have a point.

Naturally, I Googled A n t o n LaVey.

Went ' O h fuck' as I read.

The night before the first of M a y is the Satanic festival of

Walpurgisnacht. In 1969, an ex-carnival roustabout and

part-time crime-scene photographer, LaVey, set up the

C h u r c h of Satan.

N o t a guy for half measures, he plunged right i n .

In short order, he got himself a house, painted it black, got

a whole new wardrobe in yeah, black, and even purchased

a black panther.

The animal, not the movement.

H i s star seemed to be rising as he gained some brief pass-

ing fame with a cameo i n
Rosemary's Baby.
A n d the guy

knew how to play the press, leaking them all sorts of lurid

stories that led to them dubbing him the Black Pope.

Euphoric on his brief fifteen minutes of infamy, he set up

his o w n church.

W o r k e d for H u b b a r d .

H i s gimmick

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THE DEVIL

N a k e d altar girls.

An ecclesiastical lap dance before his time.

A n d it w o r k e d .

For a time.

G o t Sammy Davis Jr and the then hot-to-trot, Jayne

Mansfield.

It blew fast, luridly and tragically.

He had a hard on for Mansfield's lawyer, w h o knew h i m

for what he was.

A n d LaVey laid a public curse on the lawyer.

Went badly wrong.

The lawyer died in a car crash, but Mansfield was in the

car w i t h h i m and was horrendously decapitated.

I paused for a moment, lit a cig with the now well-oiled

Z i p p o and couldn't help but think,
Headless canines?

I stood for a moment, took a X a n a x , trying to make some

sense of h o w all this tied in w i t h my situation, then poured

a wee Jay, and thus fortified, sat d o w n to read the

conclusion.

LaVey died in 1997 in a Catholic hospital. An enterprising

reporter named Cathi Unsworth w h o went on to become a

fine novelist discovered LaVey was . . .

Jewish.

141

12

' "Devil" and "diabolical" come from the Greek tvord

diaballein,
meaning "to slander".'

11

I went to a pub in lower Salthill.

N o t my usual stomping ground.

It's not quite upmarket.

Yet.

But getting there.

The barman had a dicky bow, but alas, had neglected to

iron the almost-white shirt.

I could tell by his eyes, he was probably the best customer.

I ordered a pint. Unlike in the U K , here you don't tip, or

ever offer the bar crew a drink. I asked,

'Something for yourself, maybe?'

Large brandy.

I had me guy.

He muttered,

' N o r m a l l y I don't, you know, b u t . . .'

I gave h i m my best smile, said,

'If a man can't have a wee snort n o w and again.'

He clinked my glass, said,

'Slainte amach:

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KEN BRUEN

A n d threw it back hke a man in dire straits.

Straits I knew better than I cared to admit.

I put a fifty note on the counter and his red eyes, the

brandy giving them that artificial respite, fell on it eagerly.

He put out a hand, said,

'I'm Bob, pleasure to meet y o u . '

I'd most of me pint gone and he volunteered,

'Another? On the house this time.'

By tea time, he'd be gone.

Once the owner showed up, he'd be so out of the game, it

was done but to shoot the poor bastard.

I said,

' T e r r i f i c '

A n d excused meself to go to the toilet.

Let h i m wreak havoc on the optics.

Gave h i m five minutes.

Sitting back on the counter, he was by n o w my new best

mate.

I said,

' Y o u look like a guy who's clued i n . '

He rubbed his nose in that way of the doomed coke

addict, figuring I wanted to be hooked up, smiled - G o d , it

had been a time since he saw the dentist - said,

'I've been around, could tell some stories.'

I tried to suppress,

'Gotcha.'

Sipped at the fresh pint, let h i m stew a little, eye the fifty,

and then I asked,

'A guy named Sawyer, y o u k n o w him?'

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1

THE DEVIL

I won't be daft and say it sobered h i m , but it definitely got

his attention.

He leaned forward, the brandy fumes like a blast of bad

news in my face, said,

' W h o a , y o u don't want to, like, you know, be messing

with that dude.'

I waited, touching the fifty lightly with my index finger.

He took a deep breath, then,

'The guy is a major player, got connections, y ' k n o w ? '

I smiled, us
dudes
just shooting the bull, and asked,

'I was just wondering, as I have a little biz I might put his

way and hopefully put a little something your way, in the

light of a finder's fee, no one to be the wiser, of course.'

He took the fifty, pushed it in his pocket, said,

'Every day, like clockwork, he plays nine holes, then has

a brew or two in the bar, members only.'

Bitterness came off h i m like rabies as he said that. He

knew 'members' was a term he'd never have dealings w i t h .

H a l f my pint was going sour as the atmosphere went

south and I stood, said,

'Be seeing y o u . '

He was as close to stunned as it gets.

He was at that stage where he was about to lay out his

whole shitty life.

He near pleaded,

'You're leaving? I never got your name.'

As I opened the door, I said,

'Dude,
that's like, cos I didn't give it.'

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KEN BRUEN

M y dad always told me,

'The golf club is not for the likes of us.'

Seeing my crushed face, he'd quickly added,

'But they always need caddies!'

D o n ' t they fucking just?

James Ellroy used to be a caddy.

Need I add more?

But for once, I didn't go blasting i n , decided to do this

right.

I watched.

For one whole week.

Loitering, you might say.

W i t h serious intent.

Sure enough, my brandy buddy was right. Every day, like

jig time. Sawyer played nine holes.

A n d he cheated.

O.J. Simpson did too and there's a moral there.

N o t of any uplift.

M o s t l y I clocked the two heavies w h o followed h i m

around.

Big fuckers.

Built to hurt.

He had a drink in the clubhouse after, and then the

gorillas drove h i m home.

One usually sat outside in the B M W . He w o u l d have had

a Humvee if the market w o u l d take it. The second heavy

usually stayed at the clubhouse. M i n d i n g the clubs,

perhaps?

Come three thirty, having safely delivered Sawyer home to

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THE DEVIL

his mansion, the car guy moved off to collect the three

daughters, w h o were no doubt exhausted from a day bully-

ing the wee D o w n syndrome girleen.

M o n i t o r i n g a case, following a guy, is just about as

tedious as it sounds.

But I stayed with it.

At one point, I even read a discarded cig packet.

The government warning went:

SMOKING MAY REDUCE T H E BLOOD FLOW A N D

CAUSE IMPOTENCE.

At close to nine Euro a pack of twenty, y o u ' d think

nobody w o u l d smoke. But the country was still smoking like

Bette Davis in her prime.

Broke but fuming.

I kept tabs on Ridge's progress.

She was due to leave the hospital in a day or two.

Figured I wouldn't be on the welcome committee.

R a n g Kelli's mother and right off the bat she began,

' M r Taylor, I'm so sorry your friend got hurt by the father

of those girls.'

H e r tone.

Something off.

I said,

'She's O K , and as a G u a r d , she knows to expect trouble

in the line of duty.'

She hesitated, then said,

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KEN BRUEN

' W e l l , I SO appreciate your time and efforts, and if you

send me your bill . . .'

I said,

'The fuck is this?'

Blowing me off?

I could hear her compose herself and then the shite

sandwich. She said,

' M y husband and I have decided to let the matter go. We

may change Kelli's school, but truly, we are so thankful for

your time and help.'

I'd take the money, out of pure rage. Gave her my address

in very clipped tone, then said,

'Sawyer got to you, didn't he?'

She was nailed. Tried,

' M r Taylor, really, you've been terrific, but we wish the

matter to rest now.'

I asked,

' A t the next school, if K e l l i has any bullying, what w i l l

you do? Let some scumbag scare you off protecting your

child?'

She was silent, then said,

'I have to go, but truly, thank y o u . '

1 50

13

'The Devil's mambo.'

Jerry Rodriguez

I got a call from Stewart. He was a little warmer, not a

whole lot, but easing up a wee bit. Said,

'I've been trying to get a fix on our Mr C a r l , Mr K, or

whoever he is.'

I waited and he said,

'He's like some kind of mystery man. I can't find him on

any business listing, my usual sources have dried up and not

even Google had h i m . '

I asked,

'What about the students?'

He was rustling paper. A list-maker, was Stewart. I always