by Alan Kelly
I planted my walking stick firmly on the tarmac and levered myself out of the warmth and security of the taxi. 鈥楽ome things never change鈥�, I thought, when I saw the Wheel Bar still poking out of the ground like a serrated tooth in need of urgent capping. In my perfectly tailored black pinstripe and meticulously shorn bleached hair, I couldn鈥檛 have looked more out of place if I was one of those purply guys with tails in Avatar. In my heart of hearts I didn鈥檛 really care. My old identity had been kicked into permanent touch and now this was the new me 鈥� how I liked to look, how I had to look. I could not change back again for anybody or for any reason. Three painful years had slipped from my life since I last downed a pint in Finglas and I never felt more alone. But then again I had never felt among friends even when growing up here.
I looked slowly around. It was the back-end of summer and the nights were calling sooner. A clammy breeze brushed across my face as baleful shadows slithered across the concrete bones of the old Jamestown Road. Right at that moment I hesitated. Maybe Paddy Dwyer was right and this was all a big mistake. In the middle of my reflections a very different image flashed through my mind. I was sitting under a shady lemon tree with the aroma of wild thyme adrift in soft primitive heat. It was my one and only holiday with Mary Jane and it seemed to pop into my thoughts lately whenever clouds of stress approached my horizon. At first I welcomed the intrusions. Now it just felt like a lament for a strangely stupid Romeo with fixation issues. It was dangerous allowing my mind to wander out on its own.
Before I became overly maudlin about my recent past I noticed a half dozen or so troglodytes loitering around The Wheel entrance sucking mega joints and John Player Blues. At least one scuttled off in a tizzy when he saw who had just disembarked from a taxi.
A beanpole with bright orange hair stretched his neck from the smoky porch. It was Small Paul in a scarlet Ben Sherman and a pair of dun coloured skinny combats that made him look deformed. He was yelling like a loon and waving a heavily inked left arm that looked like a swirling multicoloured stain.
鈥楬ey, Macker man! I can鈥檛 believe you made it!鈥�
鈥楽P, the very man,鈥� I replied with a hurried smile.
I first engaged the skills of the wiry Northsider in a teacher/prot茅g茅 kind of way after busting him for possession back in my early copper days. He wasn鈥檛 the usual dope donkey and he made a positive impression on me. A brainiac prodigy, he had dropped out of UCD before the college dumbfuckery had completely de-knackered him 鈥� or at least that was his alibi. Mysteriously, after such a transitory stint in college, he had somehow still managed to accumulate an extraordinary index of blue-chip contacts. It included most of the banks and financial institutions, practically every government department, and a few noteworthy freelancing bastards in foreign fields 鈥� all an integral part of his information archive. A loose but mutually rewarding alliance thereafter blossomed between the former college geek, the nob solicitor, and now, the ex-cop private investigator. Small Paul had two primary weaknesses and one mild predilection, i.e., imbibing copious amounts of Guinness and grade A cannabis, and entering 鈥榮taring鈥� competitions. While he insisted the 鈥榮taring thing鈥� was simply to sharpen his concentration, I suspected all that enforced attention was the main attraction. Regardless, he was like a starving terrier rooting out the last bone on Earth when sniffing the dirties on errant husbands, wayward wives, or bent bankers.
The Wheel was jammed with moody young men with enormo-beards and women with skirts raised to stunningly high expectations. Local oldsters still clogged-up the corners sipping everlasting pints and picking a string of losers from the racing post. This made me feel simultaneously happy and mildly depressed. Out of nowhere, a digitalised farrago of rock, hip-hop, and metal abruptly pounded into life and drilled into my brain. I winced. It sounded like a half-crazed deaf bastard had grabbed the zeitgeist by the balls and kicked the crap out of it. The music lover inside me cried in desperation 鈥� holy fuck!
No longer feeling part of any cool demographic I scanned the beery tableau for a recognisable distraction. The old polished bar still resembled an undertaker鈥檚 display coffin with a cluster of beer handles protruding at one end and a pair of perpetually empty poor boxes chained to the other. Sets of matching pensioners were welded to bar stools hypnotically watching Sky Sports on giant flat screen TVs. I noticed an older barman with a flushed face and two bloodshot holes near his forehead squinting through the fug.
鈥楻aymond, me old son,鈥� he wheezed over the din. 鈥榃elcome back. Haven鈥檛 seen you in fecking ages. I heard you were brown bread?鈥�
鈥楴ah, still alive and kicking, Murph.鈥�
鈥楪reat to see yea, anyway.鈥�
鈥榊ou too, mate.鈥�
鈥楢re you having a drink or what?鈥�
鈥楴o, no, I鈥檓 ok. SP is looking after me. Thanks anyway.鈥�
鈥楻ight so. Mind yourself. Talk later maybe?鈥�
鈥榊eah 鈥� later, Murph.鈥�
When Murph turned to a pair of old bods stationed at the bar I managed to catch his scratchy response.
鈥楧id you see who that was, lads?鈥�
鈥業t was oul Jimmy Mack鈥檚 young fella. The Guard,鈥� grunted one of them. 鈥楽o what?鈥�
鈥楽o nothing, really. It鈥檚 just, well you know 鈥� it鈥檚 always good to see old faces.鈥�
鈥榃ell, I wouldn鈥檛 get too attached to that particular old face, if I were you, Murph.鈥�
鈥楢nd why鈥檚 that?鈥�
鈥楬e鈥檚 just a pile of shite waiting to be shovelled.鈥� I quickly looked away.
A handful of seasoned drinkers, alerted by Murph鈥檚 salutations, rubbernecked in my direction and casually raised their glasses. I eyebrowed my appreciation. I was beginning to feel in a comfortable groove and pushed that shite and shovel prediction out of my mind.
鈥楲et鈥檚 find somewhere quieter, yeah?鈥� Small Paul bellowed into my face.
鈥楽ure. What about Westmeath, then?鈥�
We bagged an empty-ish corner where some high-back seating promised an adequate amount of protection from the musical onslaught. Small Paul carefully positioned a couple of creamy headed pints in front of us and immediately launched into a whirlwind spiel.
鈥楳an, this is so fucking cool! And you know what?鈥�
鈥榊别补丑?鈥�
鈥楾his is the first time you鈥檝e been out this way since the shoot-up!鈥�
鈥楢h well, hadn鈥檛 really thought about it.鈥�
鈥榃e need to commemorate it, man. Mark the moment, yeah. Set up a routine if you know what I mean. Hey, that rhymes! And鈥︹��
To slow him down I slid a wrapped newspaper across the table.
鈥�2K. And I need your talents for my first official PI job 鈥� starting tomorrow.鈥�
Small Paul wasn鈥檛 listening. He was peering down at the folded-up newspaper.
鈥楾he Irish fucking Times! Does this look like an Irish fucking Times kind of place? You might as well plant a big flashing sign over my head that roars 鈥渢wat with two grand! twat with two grand!鈥濃��
鈥榃ell, if you don鈥檛 want it鈥︹��
In a blink he grabbed the cash and shoved down the front of his combats.
鈥楤esides extracting bits of bullet out of your arse, did they remove bits of your brain as well?鈥�
鈥楳y brain problems happened long before any shooting.鈥�
鈥榊ou really have been away too long, Mack.鈥�
鈥業 don鈥檛 think I have,鈥� I pointed behind us with my thumb. 鈥業t鈥檚 impossible to be away too long from that everlasting god-awful stink in the jacks.鈥�
鈥楻ight, granted. It is a mite putrid. But you always know where you stand with a good stink. It鈥檚 like a factoid that never varies 鈥� you know what I mean.鈥�
鈥楢 factoid.鈥�
鈥業鈥檓 serious, man. And there鈥檚 things living back there that can never be killed.鈥�
鈥極k-ok, I鈥檓 in. Explain.鈥�
鈥榃ell, just for a laugh, we cut the heads off a few cockroaches a while back鈥︹��
鈥樷�hy the fuck would鈥︹��
鈥樷�� And guess what? 鈥o on, guess.鈥�
鈥楨hh鈥veryone looks normal until you get to know them?鈥�
鈥楾hey stayed alive for fucking weeks afterwards.鈥�
鈥楻eally! And what? They ate through their arse?鈥�
鈥楴ah, I think it was osmosis, man. They sucked it up through their feet.鈥�
鈥榃ow, and there was me, worried that college had been completely wasted on you.鈥�
I realised at that moment how much I had missed Small Paul鈥檚 brand of mad Northside chatter. I let myself go and laughed properly for the first time in yonks. It felt good, like waking from a nasty dream feels good.
鈥業鈥檓 glad now I left my regular mind outside.鈥� I said. 鈥業t sure helps with the communication.鈥�
鈥楾oo true鈥nd the pints taste better as well. Cheers.鈥�
My belly struggled with its sudden re-acquaintance with ice cold Guinness. My brain remembered well enough, though. All those benumbed mornings-after congealed in porter stains and nicotine flashed briefly into existence.
鈥楾his is really good for us, Macker man. And you know what 鈥� I think we should make a night of it.鈥�
鈥楨h 鈥� I鈥檓 not sure that鈥檚 such a good idea.鈥�
鈥榊eah, yeah, of course it is. It鈥檒l be great 鈥� you鈥檒l see. Just let good old SP look after the necessaries.鈥�
鈥楶aul, don鈥檛 bother, please. I鈥檓 not staying鈥︹�� but his mouth was already out and about.
鈥楩irst things first, though. We need company.鈥�
He immediately eyeballed the floor for feasible targets.
鈥榊o ladies, do you know where I can find a good plastic surgeon?鈥�
A pair of beautiful young things with basketball boobs and impossibly precarious stilettos pulled up to inspect the ginger nut.
鈥榃hy? D鈥檡a need a face transplant, or maybe a new head for your granddad, there?鈥�
A spasm of cackling laughter ignited between them.
鈥榃ell, if you must know girls, my friend here is in dire need of a penis
- He鈥檚 packing so much meat he needs a walking stick just to get around.鈥�
Cackling of quadraphonic proportions now assailed the once muffled corner. Unbelievably though, the girls took the bait and plonked their lipstick-stained glasses in front of us.
鈥榊ou鈥檙e a frigging nut job, but we could do with a bit of a laugh, couldn鈥檛 we, Maeve?鈥�
Before I knew what was happening I was within an ass鈥檚 roar of having some genuine craic. I always envied my young friend鈥檚 capacity for living the moment and I slipped easily into his idyllic comfort zone.
Abruptly our shenanigans were brought to an end when a pair of human nightmares slammed through the entrance doors. As they cast a slow malevolent glare around the premises they looked every inch a diabolical mix of hairy primate and tattooed concrete. Moments later they zeroed in on our table.
鈥楩uck me pink,鈥� groaned Small Paul, staring hard at the floor. 鈥業t鈥檚 the Fluffy twins.
A-And I think they鈥檙e looking in your direction, Mack. At least I hope it鈥檚 in your direction.鈥�
The Fluffies trundled their way across the floor as Small Paul and the girls dissolved into the ether. The rest of the bar craned their necks and watched with morbid fascination as one of the twins rested a pair of king-sised fists on the table in front of me. Black pitiless eyes searched about the table like a vulture unsure when feeding-time should start.
鈥楨vening, Mr. Mack,鈥� he began, his arm muscles rippling like a bag of tired eels. 鈥楲ong time no see.鈥�
鈥楬i, Seanie 鈥� Mattie. Didn鈥檛 know you guys were out?鈥�
鈥楨arly release, Mr. Mack, overcrowding in the Joy,鈥� Mattie replied with a sly grin.
鈥楢nd eh, we鈥檙e kinda sorry to tell you this, Mr. Mack. But鈥e have orders to smash-up your good leg and stick your cane up your arse.鈥�
鈥楬oly fuck, lads?鈥�
鈥楢nd also鈥�.鈥�
鈥榃hat. There鈥檚 more?鈥�
鈥楩raid so, Mr. Mack,鈥� said Seanie. 鈥榃e have to put it on YouTube, as well.鈥�
鈥楾here鈥檚 no way around it,鈥� sighed Mattie. 鈥楢nd it鈥檚 nothing personal, like. But orders is orders, you 耻苍诲别谤蝉迟补苍诲.鈥�
鈥極nly too well, lads.鈥�
鈥楤ut you know what鈥ou were always good to us and our dear old ma, Mr. Mack, when you was a cop. And we remember that, don鈥檛 we, Mattie?鈥�
鈥榊ea, Seanie, we always remember that, so we do.鈥�
鈥楽o, tell you what, Mr. Mack,鈥� continued Mattie with a knowing wink. 鈥榃e鈥檒l only break your leg in one place and we鈥檒l use Vaseline on the cane. How does that sound?鈥�
鈥樷�nd we won鈥檛 shove it too far up your arse neither,鈥� Seanie interjected.
As the twins stood back I knew I was only seconds away from being totally fucked. I looked at the weighty silver handle of my cane that was shaped like a small rugby ball. All of a sudden memories of self-defence lessons in Rehab flashed into my mind. 鈥楾he Solar Plexus is a complex bundle of ganglia and nerves radiating out from the pit of the stomach,鈥� Mr. Doolan the Rehab instructor had proclaimed. 鈥業f punched with enough force, say, with the tip of a walking stick, it will bring down a gorilla.鈥�
I took a deep breath. 鈥楽ounds fair to me, boys, thanks for being so decent about it.鈥�
鈥楾hat鈥檚 ok, Mr. Mack. Don鈥檛 mention it.鈥�
I said a quick prayer as I slipped out from the seat, pushing the cane along the table in front of me. Approaching vertical I took careful aim. It was now or never. I had no choice. And with all the strength I could muster, I rammed the tip of the cane into Seanie鈥檚 solar plexus. Hostilities initiated, the giant Fluffy gasped horribly and crumpled helplessly to the floor.
His mammoth brother roared like a lunatic and hurled himself in my direction. In another rehearsed tactic I dived to the floor and rolled posthaste into Mattie鈥檚 scrambling legs. Momentarily flummoxed, he toppled over in a confused heap. Before he untangled himself I was already on my feet and launching into a golf swing that brought the cane head scrunching into Mattie鈥檚 exposed scrotum. He recoiled like a human globule and gently folded over beside his brother.
A collective intake of astonished breath sucked the entire bar of oxygen and the only sound to be heard was the thud-thud-thud from the big speakers behind the counter. A hundred and fifty drinkers stood stock-still with their mouths open in stunned silence. I gently poked Seanie with my cane.
鈥楽eanie, are you ok, lad?鈥�
鈥榊eah, Mr. Mack, I鈥檓 ok, thanks.鈥�
鈥楬ow about you, Mattie?鈥�
鈥榊eah, I鈥檓 ok too, thanks for asking.鈥�
鈥榃ard sent you, didn鈥檛 he?鈥�
鈥楥an鈥檛 really say, Mr. Mack, he鈥檇 kill us if we did. You 耻苍诲别谤蝉迟补苍诲.鈥�
鈥楻ight guys, I understand. Thanks for not telling me.鈥�
I hawed the top of my cane, polished it with a paper napkin, and made my way slowly towards the door. The gob-smacked clientele parted like a human Red Sea. Small Paul snapped himself awake.
鈥楬ey you, God. Wait up there,鈥� he yelled. 鈥榊ou just twonked the Fluffies with a fucking walking stick. Fuck-sake man, I want to have your kids. Take me now, here, in the car park.鈥�
But I was in no mood for jokes. 鈥業t was Ward,鈥� I said. 鈥楬e knows I鈥檓 here, he鈥檚 probably watching us right now.鈥�
鈥楽ay what! Ward鈥� looking at us! Eh, I鈥檒l take a rain-check on the old starting-the-family-thing, Mack. Call you tomorrow about that job. See yea.鈥�
I was alone again in the dingy car park with the muffled din from the Wheel battling against a blustery north wind. Overhead a mangled street lamp swung wildly from side-to-side. I stared into a smoggy metropolis of terraced houses, flats, and thickets of satellite dishes. I grew up on these streets. But for the first time in my life I felt really afraid being back here. A taxi pulled up and disgorged a shaven-headed guy in a dark tweed overcoat with a mobile phone stuck to his ear. I climbed into the vacated space.
鈥楥onnolly Station,鈥� I said. And without saying a word the driver pulled smoothly away.
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