Dublin Noir

hear his voice; and again when she arrived at the hotel to admit that she missed him. He said he missed her too and told her that this was crazy, to get on the next plane back to New York, but she told him no, she had to stay, to try to “work this thing out once and for all.”

Now, as she lay in bed in the curtain-darkened hotel room, trying to sleep off her jet lag, she wondered what the hell she was doing with her life. For years, all her friends had been trying to convince her to dump Jim, and part of her wanted to do it. She knew she’d never be able to trust him again-for all she knew, he was back in bed with that bitch right now-so what was the point in even thinking about staying with him? But it had never been easy for her to let go of things and she’d been with Jim for six years, and although things had been stormy, to say the least, she felt she had to at least give it a chance-see if there was still something there.

She stirred for a couple of hours and then got up, not sure if she had slept or not. She still had a bad headache and felt out of it, and a shower and a whole small bottle of Killarney sparkling from the minibar didn’t help. But she was excited to go out exploring and she figured a good cup of coffee would perk her up.

She picked up a tourist map and went down Chatham Street to a pleasant-looking cafe and sat at one of the tables outside. A waitress came out and asked her what she was having.

“Just a coffee,” Kathy said.

The waitress left and Kathy opened the map and was very confused. Dublin was a maze of streets with Irish names and she had no idea where she was. It didn’t help that she had a lousy sense of direction. Normally when she traveled she relied on Jim to take her from place to place. Jim was one of those guys who seemed to have a compass implanted in his brain and always got a handle on a city instantly, even if he’d never been there before. The last trip they’d taken together was to Paris, two years ago, and she never looked at a map the entire ten days. Jim whisked her around the city, from arrondissement to arrondissement-walking to some places, taking the Metro to others-and she never had to worry about anything.

The waitress brought the coffee. Kathy had a sip, then noticed a guy at the table next to hers smiling at her. She hadn’t noticed him before and she figured he must’ve sat down while she was looking at the map. He was working on a laptop and was kind of cute.

She smiled back at him and then he said, “You’re American, are you?”

Kathy felt a wave of guilt she experienced whenever she was traveling and was outed for being American, as if her nationality was something to be ashamed of and kept hidden when abroad.

“I guess that’s pretty obvious, huh?”

“The map and the accent were sort of giveaways, I suppose. Hi, I’m Patrick, by the way.”

“Hi, I’m Kathy.”

He asked her if it was her first time in Dublin. She told him it was, and that she’d come because her father was born here and she’d always wanted to see it. When she told him she was from New York he said, “Ah, love New York. I was there once when I was at university, but I want to go again. I’m a playwright, you see.”

“Really?”

“Well, aspiring. Had one play produced last year, at a small theater here in Dublin.”

“That’s great.”

“Believe me-it sounds more impressive than it is. The theater’s a twenty-five-seater and it was empty half the run… Are you on holiday with your husband?”

Kathy saw Patrick looking at her engagement ring.

“Oh, no,” Kathy said. “I’m not married… I’m not even sure I’m engaged anymore, actually.”

“So you’re here with friends, are you?”

“No, I’m here by myself, actually.”

“Oh, that’s very nice. If you need any suggestions on places to go, I’d be delighted to help out.”

“Actually, if you could tell me how to get to the O’Connell Street area that would be great.”

Patrick came over and circled O’Connell on Kathy’s map, and marked several other spots, writing in the names of his favorite restaurants and pubs. Kathy liked smelling Patrick’s cologne and it felt good with him close to her.

After a few more minutes of pleasant small talk, Kathy looked at her watch and said, “I better ask for my check and get going.”

“Would you mind doing me a small favor?” Patrick said. “Could you watch my laptop for just one minute?”

“Oh, yeah,” Kathy said. “Sure.”

Patrick smiled-he had nice dimples-then went into the cafe. Kathy caught the waitress’ attention and made a scribbling motion with her hand. The waitress nodded but was busy taking another order.

Kathy looked at the map, at the markings Patrick had made, thinking how nice he was for doing that. He was kind of cute and he had a sexy accent. Too bad he was too young for her-he seemed to be about twenty-two or twenty-three- and she never really liked artsy-type guys.

She was looking closely at the map, at the location of a good produce market which Patrick had circled, when it happened. She was aware of someone moving quickly next to her and then she looked back and saw the guy with dark wavy hair sprinting away down the block. Instinctively, she grabbed her purse, relieved that it was still there. Then she looked back at the guy who was running away and realized he was holding Patrick’s laptop.

Kathy hesitated and didn’t say anything for a few seconds, until the thief had already turned the corner, and then she screamed, “Stop him! Somebody stop him!”

The waitress and a customer-a man in a business suit-came out of the cafe.

“What happened?” the waitress asked.

“Somebody stole a laptop,” Kathy said.

“Where’d he go?” the man asked.

“He just ran away… around the corner,” Kathy said. “Can’t you call the police or something?”

Then Patrick came out and seemed confused. “What happened?”

“Your laptop was stolen,” Kathy said.

Patrick peered at his empty table with a look of horror, shock, and disbelief.

“I’m so sorry,” Kathy said. “This guy just came down the block and grabbed it.”

“Did you see what he looked like?” the man in the suit asked.

“No,” Kathy said. “I just saw him from the back… He had wavy hair. He was wearing jeans.”

“I don’t think that’ll help the Gardai very much,” the waitress said.

“Go ahead and call,” Kathy said. “Maybe they can catch the guy.”

“I’ll call,” the man in the suit said, and he took out his cell phone and walked away.

Patrick was sitting, devastated, with his forehead against the table.

“I’m so sorry,” Kathy repeated. “I don’t know what to say.”

“I had everything on that machine and it wasn’t backed up,” Patrick said. “My whole new play-it’s gone.”

“I feel so awful,” Kathy said. “I mean, the guy came up so quickly. I didn’t even see him.”

“Maybe they’ll catch him,” the waitress said.

“Bollocks they will,” Patrick said, looking up. His eyes were red and teary. “The cops never catch those fuckers.”

“It’s my fault,” Kathy said.

“Why’s it your fault?” Patrick said. “This city’s going to shit, I’m telling you. Bastards.”

The man in the suit returned and said, “The Gardai will be here soon.”

“Not soon enough, I’m afraid,” Patrick said.

“You never know,” Kathy said. “Maybe they’ll catch the guy.”

“Yeah, I’m sure they’ll try really hard to find a laptop,” Patrick said.

“Yeah, it’s doubtful they’ll catch him,” the waitress said.

“I don’t know what to say,” Kathy said. “I feel responsible.”

“What do you mean?” Patrick said.

“You asked me to watch it and I didn’t. I got distracted. It’s my fault, I guess.”

“I don’t know what I’ll do,” Patrick said. “It took me a year to save up for that computer. And they cost a lot here-much more than in America.”

“I’m really sorry,” Kathy said. “Wait, I know.” She reached into her purse. “Let me give you some money.”