Dublin Noir

between the cobblestones; reminds me of my history lesson. Some of the Vikings, tired of rape and pillage, took a fancy to the place where the River Poddle joined the Liffey; Dubh linn, Black pool in the old language. They’d settled down, married some of the local women, and started trading with the painted inland chiefs.

I felt bad about pulling a legger on Megan, but I thought kindly of her, a heavy blanket between the chill predawn morning and her fine pelt.

She’d surprised me the night before, when we tangled up in each other after we’d done with the rasher. She’d the accent and the attitude, had her pegged for skanger, but she was a bogger, slipped out of Sligo a little after her fourteenth birthday and managed to stay two footfalls away from the whorehouse steps since. I felt like I was the only jackeen left in the whole pissing city.

That is, till the hurley stick took my legs out from under me. I figured it was a couple of local lads looking for a quick score. Then I thought better of it.

It was the worst beating of my life, and not on account of the pain. A couple of Manchester boys and a Yank had turned my piss to blood a few years ago when I was on the piss after a football match. I’d limped around for a few months after that one. I’d probably shrug this one off in under a week. Still, I prayed for a two bulb, or even a wasp to save me from the humiliation.

The fucking wog and the sasancach used hurley sticks on me. Judging by the dried flecks of blood mingling with my fresh batch, I’d say they were the same pieces of Irish ash they’d used to work over the narrowback. The fucking wankers had probably paid for them with euros.

LONELY AND GONEBY DUANE SWIERCZYNSKI

Caide an sceal?

Conas ata tu?

Oh, not Oirish, are you? Funny. You’ve got the pale skin, dark hair, the whole Gaelic vibe ’bout you.

Me? Spent a lot of time here and there. A lot of it here.

No, not literally here, in this pub. Nice place, though, innit? Tres Victorian.

Hey, let a girl buy you a drink.

Yeah, I’m foukin’ serious. Fancy a pint?

Oh. A Scotch man. A thousand pardons. Allan, could you pour this handsome devil here a Johnnie Walker black? To match his hair.

It’s a joke, boyo.

You’re a serious one, aren’t you?

Let me take a wild foukin’ guess: You’re American. And your wedding ring’s in your carry-on, right?

Yeah, sure I’ll watch your drink. I’ve got Allan here to keep me company.

That was quick.

Yeah, sarcasm. Bingo.

Ah, just drink up. Your ice is already melting. Tell me about yourself.

Hi, Jason. I’m Vanessa. Glad we covered the basics.

No, you first. I insist. I’ll get to me in a little while.

Sin sceal eile?

Ah. Knew you were a customer-relations man, Jay. I could just tell.

Ever scale the museum steps-like in Rocky?

Nah, never been. I’m sure I’ll make it there eventually.

Yes, yes.

Hmm.

Very interesting. Really. Would I lie to you, Jaybird?

Oh me?

Me, I’ve got a plane to catch in exactly fourteen hours. Which means I’ve got time to kill. And to be perfectly blunt, Jason, I’d like to spend it with you.

Which is why I poisoned your drink…

Uh-huh.

As you Americans say: deadly.

Whoops.

Was it something I said?

Ta tu air ais.

Means, “I knew you couldn’t cut it abroad.”

It usually takes a few minutes to sink in.

Yeah, it’d be easy to think I’m crazy. Or that I’ve got a seriously sick sense of humor. But part of you is wondering, right? Wondering if there’s a tiny chance that I’m serious?

Jason, mo ghra, I’m completely serious.

Hand on the Holy Book, I poisoned your drink.

Nasty stuff, too. I’m not going to bore you with the precise chemical compound-you probably didn’t like chemistry in secondary school in Philadelphia, did you?

Didn’t think so.

Well, let’s just cut the shit-in about twelve hours, you’re going to be bleeding out yer eyes. Your skin’s going to turn red and slough off your muscles. It’ll start with an itch. Then you’ll itch all over. It’ll drive you crazy. And you’ll scratch. And you won’t be able to stop.

Yeah. Weapons-grade.

I know it’s easy for you to think that.

Such a mouth on you.

Walk out of this bar and you’ll never see Philadelphia again.

They’re called gardai here. Guards. And they can’t help you.

No one can.

Only me.

Hey, Jaybird… pub closes at midnight!

An hour and forty-five minutes. That’s a new record.

You started itching, didn’t you?

Oh, sit down. I’ll explain everything. Almost.

Want another drink?

Swear to Christ, I’ll leave it be.

Suit yourself.

Here it is, Jaybird. I’ve been poisoned, too. No, not with the same stuff. Something else. Something worse. If I’m alone, my heart will stop. And my brain will burst.

Oh, I wish it were a bloody poem. No, I mean it literally.

If I don’t have someone within six feet of me at all times, I will die.

What’s that?

Look around you. We’re in a crowded pub on Dame Court. Plenty of people. Until midnight. Until I have to leave and go for a walk down Dame Lane. If I’m not with someone like you, I’ll be one dead dame.

Gallows humor is my specialty. It’s on my CV. Right after biochemistry.

Nah, I never did tell you, did I? Well take a wild foukin’ guess.

Uh-huh. U.S. of A.

I work here. The Celtic Tiger’s been roaring. We’ve got all kinds of labs.

More on the research end, but yeah. You’ve got it.

Ah, I know you’re humoring me. But that’s okay. As long as you humor me for the next twelve hours.

No way, huh?