The Devil (5 page)

I gave her my most honest appraisal, said.

T i l behave, but mark my words, this guy is the worst

news to come d o w n the pike in all our varied history.'

She sighed.

65

KEN BRUEN

' Y o u ' d test the patience of a saint.'

I let that slide.

Dinner was pretty much a blur.

A w o m a n to my left w h o was shrouded in some perfume

that made me gag gave me a full inspection, her eyes telling

I was found lacking. She said,

'I'm M r s Beverley M a h o n . '

This was obviously supposed to make you sit up and

gasp.

I didn't.

She was, dare I say, a trifle miffed, and persisted,

' O f the Athenry H u n t . '

I fucking love fox hunters.

I drained my glass - some amazing vintage that I'd been

told you sip and savour.

Yeah.

I asked,

'Tell me, when you hunt the poor bastard of a fox and the

hounds tear it to pieces, do you feel - lemme get the right

bon mot - righteous.''

She turned to her other dining companion and I heard her

whisper,

'The country is overrun by riff-raff.'

A n t h o n y was table hopping or social networking or what-

ever they call it.

I needed some air, headed out to the front where the

smokers were huddled like the social lepers they'd become.

D a r k mutterings of a pack of twenty soon costing ten Euro.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, not at the

66

THE DEVIL

impending rise in cigarette prices but at who I sensed behind

me.

'Jack - if I may be so bold as to address you informally -

sneaking off for a smoke, are we?'

I turned slowly, needing to get me temper in check, for

Ridge's sake if nothing else, and said,

'I quit.'

He was opening a gold cigarette case, drew out, I think

you call them cheroots? Silly-looking bastards that are

pretending to be cigars. Asked,

'Sure I can't
tempt
you?'

H i s tone conveying that mocking, jeering lilt.

I said, my voice level,

'Temptation is a young man's gig. I'm way past that shite.'

He lit the cheroot with a gold Z i p p o , blew a perfect

smoke ring, then indicated the dinner progressing behind

us.

'Rich food not to your liking. Jack?'

A n d before I could answer, he said,

'Fast food more your speed,
peut-etreV

H o w little I knew then. But full of so much booze, anger,

pills, I didn't pay it the attention I should have and went

with,

'You're the spitting image of a guy I met recently, except

for the hair, or rather lack of.'

He loved that. I could see his eyes dance in delight and he

countered,

'The Devil you say.'

A n d we locked eyes.

6 7

KEN BRUEN

Before we could get to the real dance, Ridge appeared.

She said,

'There ye are. I'm so glad you two got a chance to have a

moment.'

He turned and, I shit you not, took her hand, kissed her

fingers, said,

'I think Jack and I w i l l have many moments, but you, my

dear, you are ravishing.
C'est vrai.'

I've had beatings, some very bad ones, and meted out

some of me o w n too, but in me whole bedraggled existence

I never wanted to kick the living shite out of anyone as much

as that bollix.

Then he offered his arm, said,

'But we mustn't keep your guests deprived of your

presence. Shall we?'

I swear by all that's holy, she blushed.

Ridge?

A n d they were moving.

He shouted back,

'Mon ami,
till we meet again.
Bonne chance'

G o o d luck?

G o o d fucking riddance.

I think I had some port and brandy later w i t h Anthony,

w h o told me h o w delighted he was that C a r l and I had got

o n so . . .

W h a t was the w o r d he used?

I'm afraid to say I think it was
swimmingly.

A n d he continued,

'Let me be candid here, Jack.'

68

THE DEVIL

W h e n they say that, you k n o w they are going to tell you

what a cunt they think you are, but nicely.

'I had thought you to be a bit uncouth, to be honest, I

mean no offence here, but a tad c o m m o n . '

I smiled nicely.

N o t a touch c o m m o n .

A n d he clapped my shoulder, said,

'But you came up trumps. C a r l is very taken with you and

I appreciate that, not only on my o w n account but my dear

wife's too.'

Jesus.

For once, I said nothing.

Someone called h i m and he took his leave, adding,

'I'm someone who doesn't forget his friends. Jack. Y o u

bear that in m i n d . '

I nearly said,

'Mon ami.'

We finally got out of there.

I didn't see C a r l again, but Ridge gave me a hug and

thanked me for behaving me o w n self.

Stewart and I got in the car, a silence between us till we

got some distance from the estate and he accused,

' W h y did you tell that guy about my Zen?'

I knew w h o he meant, but I said,

'What?'

' C a r l . He told me I was wasting my energies on the w r o n g

power, that there was a far more powerful force he could

introduce me to.'

6 9

KEN BRUEN

'I told the fucker nothing about y o u . '

He looked at me, and for maybe the first time in our

varied history he seemed worried. He asked,

' W h y is he always using German expressions w i t h me?'

I laughed and then told h i m about the whole encounter

and his continuous use of French w i t h me.

For all his Z e n mellowness and outward cool, Stewart

didn't like not to be in control. H e ' d once told me that

control was all that saved h i m in prison.

I told h i m about the fast-food remark, but we were for

once on the same page, in that we laughed it off. I told him

of my suspicions about Mr K, the airport guy, and added,

'It sounds like a Dennis Wheatley novel.'

W h e n he asked. W h o ? I realized yet again I was getting

old.

Stewart was back and, I don't know, I felt like we were

back in civilization. He said,

' G o d , I'm glad to be back in t o w n . '

A m e n , I thought.

As he dropped me off, he said,

'That guy, he offered to teach me some other paths to

power.'

To my endless regret, I said,

' G o for it, string the bollix along, let's see where he's

at.'

I was about to shut the car door when Stewart said,

'Jack, I nearly forgot,' reached in the glove compartment,

handed me a small parcel, said,

'Because of where you live, I couldn't resist.'

70

THE DEVIL

A n d was gone, burning rubber like the Devil was on his

tail.

I got into the apartment, yet again glad of the heat, and

realized what it was I'd been feeling all that evening.

C o l d .

N o t just yer average 'I'm friggin' freezing' type hype. But

a deep insidious ice in my psyche.

I put on Sky News.

Y o u live alone, you need sound, by Jaysus, some human

contact, even of the virtual sort.

I popped a X a n a x to ease me on d o w n and, what the hell,

poured a small Jameson and then decided to have a hot

toddy.

Boiling water,

b r o w n sugar,

cloves,

hint . . . tiny dollop of the black.

Then of course the Jameson.

G o d , it was good.

Got me through the horrendous news: lay-offs, despair,

people losing their homes, an unspeakable incest case not

twenty miles from where I was, bank rip-offs, drive-by

shootings in D u b l i n in front of young children, suicides, and

the impending Oscar ceremonies.

Drink?

Fuck, y o u ' d need to mainline heroin to tolerate the news

these days.

I saw Stewart's package on the table and slowly opened it.

71

KEN BRUEN

I k i d thee not,

ten tiny nuns

and a bowhng ball.

I turned off the T V , lined up the tiny nuns and, with an

apologetic nod to the convent right outside me window,

bowled nuns till I passed out.

Perhaps an ecclesiastical homage to Agatha Christie's
Ten

Little Indians.

Or maybe just God's o w n noir humour.

72

6

'The Devil rides out.'

Dennis Wheatley

[

D i d I dream?

D i d I fuck.

Count the awful ways.

M y dad,

nuns,

ten devils lined up to be bowled,

and,

get this,

one dripping ketchup burger.

I woke in drenched sheets, me heart hammering in me chest

and that horrendous sense of impending doom.

I got to the shower, dropping a fast X a n a x en route and

muttering,

'Tis the holy all of it.'

My mouth felt like many cats had shat in there.

The events of the previous evening were flitting in and out

of me m i n d , like prayers you almost said but forgot the

crucial line.

75

KEN BRUEN

The hne that pleaded,

' G o d help me.'

Shaved without too many cuts and got into a clean white

shirt, black 501s, an A r a n sweater and moccasins that pro-

claimed ' M a d e in Delaware.'

Joe Biden w o u l d be delighted.

Turned on the radio to kill the loneliness of an empty home

and heard the ex-Taoiseach had been barred from giving a

talk at N U I by dissenting students. Bruce Springsteen was

publically apologizing for allowing a collection of his hits to be

sold at the non-unionized Walmart.

I had to smile at this.

O u r o w n major retail stores were rumoured to have been

bought by said Walmart.

Then the death notices.

I usually turned these d o w n as I nearly always knew

somebody on the list and it never ceased to depress the living

shite out of me.

The local news had an item about a girl, an employee at

a fast-food outlet, w h o had been found dead in a local park.

I stood, shocked to my core.

Couldn't be.

Emma?

N o .

W h a t was it the demonic C a r l had said to me? Something

about fast food?

My heart was pounding and I convinced myself it couldn't

be. He wouldn't wage war on me that soon and so up close

and personal.

76

THE DEVIL

I got the other side of two strong coffees, no milk as I'd

forgotten to buy any, and was waiting for the X a n a x to

weave its magic.

It d i d .

Calmer, I called Stewart and asked him to check that out.

He said,

'I'm right on it.'

I had a laptop - yeah, me, right up to speed. It belonged

to the guy w h o sublet the apartment to me.

Tried a Google search on the various aliases I'd gotten

from M r K , C a r l .

Z i p .

N a d a .

N o t a flogging bite.

Google was d o w n .

Yah believe it?

Due to the appalling weather conditions in L o n d o n , snow

up to their arse, and the freezing conditions had affected

Ireland too.

I muttered,

' N o biggie, I can live w i t h that.'

Put on me G a r d a all-weather coat and heavy scarf, gloves,

Gore-Tex boots and ventured out.

Jesus, it was cold, and the snow seemed like it might

actually stay.

My hangover was hovering, looking for a way in past the

X a n a x .

I headed for the G B C .

W h a t they call a culchie restaurant. M e a n i n g people up

77

J

KEN BRUEN

for the day, from the few farms still in business, frequented

it.

Translate as

no pretensions,

no decaff, anything.

Cholesterol heaven.

A n d it was roasting.

Thank fuck.

The waitress, Cecily, I knew her all me life, said,

'Jack, you look great.'

An outright lie, but you'll take it.

A n d she asked in that way that only an Irishwoman can,

'Are you perished.''

Y o u live a life like mine, mostly devoid of warmth, you

truly recognize it when it greets you.

As long as her type still walked and served the streets of

Galway, I'd be able to get out of bed in the morning.

She didn't ask what I'd like. Just brought me

a scalding tea,

hopping toast,

two fried eggs,

two fat sausages,

fried mushrooms,

one crisp rasher,

and black pudding.

Comfort food?

Y o u fecking betcha.

It blows the be-jaysus out of a hangover.

W h a t it does to your arteries, ask the vegans.

78

THE DEVIL

I had me mobile w i t h me, primed for what I hoped w o u l d

not be terrible news from Stewart.

I was halfway into this veritable feast of n o n - P C food

when a w o m a n approached. I thought,

' O h , for fuck's sake.'

Yeah, she led with the n o w predictable

' M r Taylor, I hate to interrupt,' etc.