The Devil (17 page)

lodged there. She asked,

' C a n I be honest?'

It w o u l d have been cheap to take a cheap shot. I took it,

said,

'Isn't that part of your job description?'

Wounded her and she looked away. I said,

'Tell me.'

She was torn between walloping me and fear. Never an

easy choice. She began,

'Anthony has money problems. He had to sell the horses

and those thoroughbreds w i l l go to the knacker's yard. He

had to sell some land too. The upkeep on the estate is

ferocious, we even had to let three of the staff go.'

M y heart bled.

Sell the horses?

Let the staff go?

M o s t of the frigging country couldn't put fuel in their

lighters, never mind their cars.

She faltered for a moment then reached in her purse, took

out a small gold box. Flipped it like a pro, took out a p i l l

and swallowed it, washing it d o w n with the latte.

I had but a fleeting glimpse of the pill but I k n o w me

pharmaceuticals.

V a h u m 10.

N o t yer 5, yer 10.

Mother's little helper. "

231

KEN BRUEN

I didn't comment, waited while she let the V a l do its w o r k ,

weave its artificial magic.

My serious coffee arrived and I took a serious slug

of it.

Bhss.

H a d instant heart palpitations.

Lock and load.

I thought of me Sig, nestled in the waistband of me jeans.

Never leave home without one.

M i n e was the grown-up model, 226. Recently revised to

carry fifteen rounds of 9 m m Parabellum ammo.

Y o u get what you pay for.

Like the militants' new promise, maybe?

She finally continued and I had to put aside childish

things.

H e r eyes had that V-glow which delights

Roche,

Bayer,

and all the other legal dope moguls.

She continued,

' C a r l showed up, he has such magnificent plans for the

estate and he is, as you know, so charming.'

I stayed quiet, thinking,

Charming?

' H e seemed the answer to our prayers.'

M a d e you wonder w h o they prayed to.

'We were so relieved. Jennifer, Anthony's daughter, w o u l d

be able to keep her pony and so naturally we invited h i m to

stay with us.'

2 3 2

THE DEVIL

She took a hit of the latte, maybe the V a l gave it a blast,

went on,

' C a r l liked you so much. Jack, said he could get you into

America, and I was so delighted.'

Being the renowned PI I am, I asked,

' A n d ? '

She looked truly scared now, then said,

'It was a few days after the dinner party. I was tidying up.

That makes A n t h o n y cross, he says that is the duty of the

help, but I suppose you can't escape your upbringing.'

I was wondering h o w she'd feel about sharing some of the

V a l . She said,

'I had some fresh towels for C a r l . I thought he'd gone

shooting w i t h Anthony. They like to get an early start while

the pheasants are resting.'

No doubt a peasant w o u l d suffice if the birds had f l o w n

the coop. She went on,

'I entered his room and he was there. Stark naked.'

N o t an image I wanted to cling to. She asked,

' Y o u k n o w h o w bald he is?'

I thought it depended where and when you met h i m .

Then, she seemed to physically shrink, said,

' H e was combing long blond golden hair. I thought it was

a w i g . I was so shocked, I dropped the towels.'

She squeezed her eyes tight shut for a moment, then

said,

' H e turned, smiled at me, asked, " W o u l d you like to touch

i t ? ' "

H e r voice n o w a little stronger, she said,

2 3 3

KEN BRUEN

'I thought he meant his hair, till I saw . . . M o t h e r of my

heart, his . . . phallus. Erect and monstrous.'

She buried her face in her hands, weeping softly. I reached

over, took her hands, said,

'It's O K . I k n o w who he is.'

That seemed to help her, and worse, she was grateful. She

said,

'Jack, oh Jesus, Jack, when he appeared that evening for

dinner - Anthony likes a formal sit d o w n when we have

guests, produces his finest vintage wine - C a r l was dressed

in a formal suit and was completely bald. Then he looked

right at me and . . . w i n k e d . '

The waitress, concerned, appeared, asked,

'Is everything all right.''

I gave her my best smile - it's a blend of thank y o u and

fuck off - said,

'Absolutely, my friend here just got promoted to Sergeant

in the Guards.'

Cops.'

She took off.

This was a people w h o ' d believed in Lech Walesa.

We got out of there and Ridge produced a pack of Silk

C u t , lit one with a trembling hand, apologized w i t h 'I know,

I shouldn't be smoking.'

I took one, lit up, said,

'Nicotine is the least of our problems.'

As we walked towards the Spanish A r c h , she linked my

arm.

It felt good.

2 3 4

THE DEVIL

She asked,

'So w h o is he, Jack?'

I said,

'Wrong question. N o t who . . .
whatV

We reached the memorial there near the bridge to the lost

seamen, and I said that some people just liked to see every-

thing burn.

She asked if that was one of Stewart's Z e n lines.

' N o , it's M i c h a e l Caine in
The Dark Knight:

We watched the swans for a while and her face was like a

little girl's, her delight in those creatures as basic as good

nature.

She looked at her watch, nice slim gold Patek Philippe.

Anthony obviously still had some funds.

She said,

'I'm on duty soon.'

I nodded, feeling the old pang for the career I'd lost.

'What are we going to do. Jack?'

I stayed w i t h the same movie, said,

' K i l l the batman.'

2 3 5

J

20

'God's humour tends to the dark side of life.

K B

^

I've also been holding off about Father R a l p h .

Why?

Because I liked h i m .

W h e n M a l a c h y told me of his demise, I was utterly lost.

Fd never expected to meet a priest I not only liked but

respected, and I'd truly thought I could relate this earlier.

I couldn't.

Does it seem out of synch?

That's h o w it felt and that's h o w it w i l l always feel.

I can only tell it after time has put some distance

there.

If I hadn't met h i m , I'm in no doubt he'd be still alive.

That's a given.

So perhaps you can understand why I'm teUing this in

flashback - or in truth, in cowardice.

Plus it gives a feel of h o w X a n a x and booze and the D e v i l

distort everything.

Works for Paul Auster, so w h o am I to argue?

2 3 9

J

KEN BRUEN

The morning started w i t h all that luring promise of an Irish

fine day.

Y o u k n o w it won't last.

Dress lightly and yup, y o u ' l l be drenched in jig time.

But you buy into this crap.

W h y ?

Otherwise y o u ' d believe it rains all the time.

It does.

I was having me morning coffee - none of that latte shite,

a double espresso and no sugar.

Was it bitter?

L i k e me heart.

I was going through the bookcases, trying to find an

answer to C a r l , to K u r t , to the D e v i l . Settled on this f r o m

that bastion of depressed priests, St Augustine:

Everyone who knows that he is doubting, knows something

that is true, and about the thing he knows, he is certain.

Everyone therefore, who doubts whether there is truth, has

something true in himself, which he may not doubt.

I sat back, mused on this, sipped at the coffee and

wondered if a X a n a x w o u l d clarify it.

D i d the X anyway and brewed more caffeine.

The sun was still conning us, of that I could be certain, so

I headed out after the X kicked i n .

H o w long since I'd been in a church?

Let's say they still used the L a t i n version of the M a s s , was

when.

2 4 0

THE DEVIL

W h a t drove me in?

N o , not Augustine, I'm certain.

R a i n and desperation.

I'd been feeding the swans.

As a Galwegian, there are certain things you do:

1. Talk shite.

2. Never answer a question.

3. Stay the fuck away from notions.

4. Feed the swans.

The heavens opened and d o w n came teeming torrents.

A n d yeah, I'd bought into the con of the early sun.

Was wearing a light wind-breaker, T-shirt featuring

Barack, my perennial 501s, Converse trainers and no hat.

No warning, of course, so you could dive for shelter.

Just lashed d o w n like the last refrain of the song

'Expectation'.

The Claddagh church has always been one of me

favourites. The Dominicans had done one wondrous job on

the restoration.

The church was nigh on empty.

One bent-over old lady doing the Stations of the Cross.

She seemed transfixed on the seventh.

I lit candles for my dead.

That took a time, not to mention a fair whack of Euros.

I was drenched, rain leaking from my hair d o w n into the

collar of my T. As I knelt before the array of candles, I tried

to summon up the right prayer.

I had nothing, save ' G o d m i n d ye w e l l . '

Least I meant it.

241

KEN BRUEN

I took a pew near the altar, and like the government,

decided to sit out the deluge.

I never heard the priest approach.

They'd become the stealth bombers of our nation.

That or be crucified.

He gave me a start. Realizing, he said,

' G o d forgive me, I didn't mean to give you a fright.'

Way too easy to utter,
Ye've been doing it for centuries.

I nodded.

Wetly.

He was tall, m i d fifties, full head of white hair, thin, in

need of spuds and bacon.

I said,

'I'm used to frights.'

He gave a lovely smile. Then asked if he might sit for a

moment w i t h me.

If he wanted money, he'd have to raid the candle gig.

I said,

' Y o u r church.'

Sounded more bitter than I intended, but I was wet and

cold and not in need of a homily.
The Waltons
were on D V D

if I needed that shite.

The smile again - could get on your nerves a bit. He said,

'God's, actually.'

W r o n g programme. I should have said
Little House on

the Prairie.

He indicated the barrage of candles.

' Y o u must have a long list.'

I could have said,
And you have a long fucking nose.

2 4 2

THE DEVIL

But it was a church.

To rattle h i m , or just the bad drop in me, I said,

Tm trying to neutralize fifty black ones someone lit in my

home.'

Worked.

He was rattled.

' M o t h e r of G o d . '

I don't in fairness think he could lay it on her.

I didn't reply, so he asked,

' W h y on God's blessed earth w o u l d somebody do such

a . . :

He couldn't find an adequate description so I supplied,

'Diabolical?'

Nice to help a priest and gets you all kinds of good shit in

the hereafter. I even added,

' A fiend.'

He was nodding, Hke he could see it, said,

'Exactly. That's precisely the term.'

A priest tells you that you're so correct, watch yer wallet.

As I was on a clerical roH, so to speak, I said,

'Left a headless dog too.'

That did h i m in entirely.

H o r r i f i e d , he made the sign of the cross.

'In
Ainm an Athair,

An Mhic,

Agus,

An Sirioaid Naoimh:

Said it aloud in Irish, In the N a m e of the Father . . .

I was impressed with his Irish. He spoke like a native speaker.

2 4 3

KEN BRUEN

They were as rare as decency.

I could see he was wondering if perhaps joining me had

been such a smart move.

There was just us two in the church now.

The old woman had packed it in on the eleventh Station,

and w h o could blame her?

He ventured,

' M i g h t I pry into what in God's heaven w o u l d possess a

person to do such an act?'

Possess?

H o w apt.

I told him most of the story, omitting my . . . retaliation.

I k n o w the clergy is big on retribution, but retaliation?

I painted a fairly comprehensive picture of Carl/Kurt and

his minions.

He muttered,

'The Devil's minions.'

I almost slipped.
Good name for a rock band, yah think?

Instead, I concluded w i t h ,

'There is a Ban Garda - actually a Sergeant now - and she

can verify everything I've told you, lest you think I'm a

raving l u n a t i c '

It wasn't that he didn't hear me, he clearly d i d , but in his