“Je-! God forgive me! Who do you think!”
“Oh, yes. Sorry. She was working in the studio, so she was. She’s going home to the flat tonight.”
“And how is she? Is she going to at least visit us in the next fifty years?”
Only once, he recalled, had he found himself imagining the baby. Not as a boy or a girl, just as a toddler learning to walk.
“Probably.”
“And how does she look?”
“Never looked better, I thought to myself.”
“You mean she’s over the row with Pat?”
“Not quite. She still wants to claw his eyes out so far as I know.”
“Well, how do you mean she never looked better, then?”
Minogue groped for decoys.
“Well, you know how she is when she’s talking about something she feels so strongly about, how she’s so full of life.”
“Full of life? She’s supposed to be depressed, if you ask me.”
He let her words drag about in his mind.
“Can we talk later, love? I’m a bit addled here. I only stayed late out of guilt really. John Murtagh’s been here every evening since, and I was gambling that maybe a suspect would be picked up earlier on in the evening.”
Minogue put down the phone and sat back.
“Highlights, John.”
Murtagh swivelled around in his chair.
“The football?”
“Yep. There’d be highlights on the news or the sports part of the news, wouldn’t there?”
“Yep.”
“More than the one station?”
“Oh, sure.”
Minogue sat forward, elbows on his knees.
“Okay,” he murmured. “Okay.”
Murtagh was still looking at him.
“Thanks, John.”
He pulled his chair into the desk and grabbed the phone book. It might take a while. He could probably get the numbers of the British stations from RTE anyway.
Five pints he’d had, not four. He belched again. And only the crisps for grub. What time was it? He moved his arm about to get enough light from the lamp at the end of the lane-way. Half-nine. He shifted his stance. Something broke underfoot. He stared down and saw bits of glass. A needle. Christ! He moved off into another doorway. The sheet metal felt good under his palms. He lit a cigarette. Maybe the guy’d have a stash with him too. He’d have to remember to hold the knife away from him, against the blade. No, no, no: this was stupid. Just score, pay up and split. He could phone his ma then. She’d have an idea. Maybe there was some relative she had that he had never been told about, someone in Australia or something. How long did it take to get a passport?
There was that whistle again. He leaned out and looked down toward Mary Street. That was him all right. He could tell by the shape of the hair-do. About bleeding time too. He stepped out into the lane-way.
“How’s it going, man?” The guy nodded.
“You still want that stuff?”
“Well, yeah. I’m waiting long enough. Where were you? I could have gone off and sorted it out in a half a dozen other places, man.”
The guy wasn’t more than eighteen. He’d followed him into the jacks back at the pub. He wouldn’t be a narc if he was eighteen. Sure, he’d said. He needed ten minutes to sort it out. Friend of his, etcetera. Meet him down Jervis Lane there. Pimples and an attitude; big shirt, baggy pants, high-tops.
“So? How much’d you want?”
“Gimme two. Twenty right?”
He watched him rummage in the deep pockets. It was the scuffing of the shoes behind which alerted him. The other fella was running fast.
“Hey!”
He had his hand on the knife but the guy with the top knot had already hit him. It didn’t hurt but somehow he was against the wall now. The second guy came right at him, kicking. He turned sideways and took a kick on his leg. Did they have knuckles?
“Fuck off!” he shouted. “Or I’ll do you!”
He kicked back but missed. The first guy had taken something out of his pocket and he was swinging it. A stick? Looking down at the hand for that moment cost him. The kick came in just above his hip. The lane-way went suddenly bright with the pain. He couldn’t stop himself staggering and sliding along the wall.
“Stop! I’ll give you what I got, just don’t…”
It was a chain, he saw.
“Turn ’em inside out then!” the second guy was shouting. What? Pockets. He had a glimpse of the second face as the guy circled around. Twenties, no pushover.
“Fucking do it, man, or you’re gonna die right here!”
If he let his hand down, they might come at him again. He couldn’t stand straight. If they’d only stop moving around him…
“Okay, okay, I will! Just don’t fucking-”
“Drop everything you got there, man!”
He scattered the money on the ground and pulled his pocket out.
“The other one too, you bastard! Come on!”
Where were the cops? Where were the million people who lived in this bleeding city? If he hadn’t stayed in that kip and had all those pints… He should have just bought cans or something and gone back to the Park to have a think. Christ! He thought of the shadows in the grove of trees, the fields…
Hair-do was on him and he was trying to knee him in the nuts. He saw the older guy coming in now. The knife slipped out cleanly and he had the full swing of his free arm. It ran along the shoulder and the kid started screaming. He fell back, tottered and looked down at his hand.
“He’s got a knife, Andy! He’s after cutting me, man! I’m bleeding like fuck, man!”
He couldn’t take his eyes off the kid. He watched him reeling away down the lane holding his shoulder. Was it that easy, he thought. What if he’d cut across the kid’s neck. There were drops falling from the kid’s elbow and he watched them. The screaming turned to groans and wails.
“Andy! Man! I got to get to a hospital! It won’t stop!”
Too late he realized that the older guy hadn’t been taken up watching his mate staggering around like he had. The kick cracked against his cheekbone and he went over. He felt the concrete of the lane-way on his cheek now. There was a noise like running water all through his head. He knew he had to get up. The guy was calling him names now. The next kick caught him under the armpit and his arm buckled under him. He held on to the knife as he rolled and tried to get his knees under him. The groaning and crying was further away. He got one knee down but everything exploded when the boot connected with the side of his head. This is it, he thought, this is the end of it. He couldn’t see now but he knew he had let go the knife. He felt around for it on the pavement. A kick caught him in the shoulder. The kid was back to shouting now.
“It won’t stop, Andy! It’s bad, it’s really bad! You got to help me, man! It’s all over the place.”
He had to keep the other guy from getting the knife at least. His fingers closed on it at last. The boot came down. It was his own screams he heard. The boot turned and he felt the skin being torn by the cement. The guy was screaming at him now. He twisted and grasped the guy’s leg with his other hand. The boot came up. He tried to roll away. The kick caught him in the head again. He couldn’t take it. He shouted but it wasn’t words now. Another kick. He felt the money under his face now and he grabbed it and flung it into the lane-way. There was a whistling sound all around now, like wind around the house. He wriggled away, drawing his arms up about his head. No kick came. Footfalls next to his ear, the sound of the bills being picked up quickly.
