Kilmartin’s gaze was broken by a sizable belch finding its way up through his oesophagus. He bowed slightly, tapped himself on the chest and barked.
“Ah, by God,” he sighed. “If it’s not one end, it’s the other. Never been the same since that shagging surgeon got his hands on me.”
He tapped Minogue with the back of his hand.
“You know you’re gone fifty when things are either drying up or leaking, hah?”
The barman saved Minogue the need to feign a laugh.
“Hah, Sean? Sean knows what I’m talking about, don’t you, Sean? Ha ha hah!”
Kilmartin’s laugh turned to a cough. Minogue caught the barman’s eye.
“So,” said Kilmartin finally. “What do you think?”
“I’m betting on rain.”
“The bloody case, man! Come tomorrow, I’m going to start a rehash. Right from the start. Fresh.”
“Oh.”
“Oh, yourself. Yes. And I’m going to sort out Keane and all the anti-racketeers we have over in shagging Harcourt Square in short order. Enough is enough: the hard tack and the iron discipline now, let me warn you. They can’t be holding us back any more. They say they can produce for us-‘it’s all grist for the mill’-but when do we actually get to sit down and talk hard to any of the Egans?”
“They’re alibied, Jim. Did you forget that? The surveillance logs.”
Kilmartin chopped at the counter-top with the side of his hand.
“Oh, come on there, will you? I mean getting hold of other Egan cronies, putting them to the wall. Those bloody fellas haven’t stayed out of jail for so long by being stupid now! There must be middlemen there between the Egans and selling stuff on the bloody streets, man. Have we been allowed into those files? We have not. Is that how we close cases? It is not. Is it good for morale? It is not. Will I put up with this much longer than dinner-time tomorrow-”
“You will not.”
“Bloody right, I won’t. Now you get the idea.”
Minogue was staring into the mirror behind the counter. Dusk was on the windows behind him now. The customers in Ryan’s seemed to be moving so slowly. Was the yellow tinge to everything his own tiredness? Even the laughter was muted.
The crash resonated in the windows and on the counter in front of him. An empty juggernaut hopping over a bad patch of road outside, was his first thought. The barman stood up from emptying the dishwasher, the steam issuing up into his face. Kilmartin turned his head toward the open door of the pub.
“Name a Jases,” he said. “I better cut down on the jar. That sounded too much like a bloody shotgun to me.”
Kilmartin was about to take another swallow from his glass when the windows rattled again. This time the boom was unmistakable. Clients slid off stools and rose from chairs. The talk petered out. Minogue stepped over to the door. The air smelled odd now. He flinched when the thunder crashed again.
“My Jases,” said a man next to him. “Will you get a load of that?”
The traffic had slowed. The air smells of vinegar, Minogue decided.
“My God, it’s going to just lash.” He looked back at the speaker. It was indeed an awed Kilmartin. “They told us about it but…”
The knot of patrons by the door grew larger. Someone laughed nervously.
“I’m for getting to hell out of here before we’re drownded,” Kilmartin declared. It was a five-minute walk to the squadroom.
“Honest to God,” he added. “I was just terrorized by thunder and lightning when I was a young lad. I used to hide under the bed. I thought it was the end of the world.”
He went back to the counter to finish his drink. Minogue moved out onto the footpath. He tried hard to see the sky through the yellow streetlight. The few pedestrians were beginning to scurry now. He looked back up toward Phoenix Park and the Zoo and thought of Iseult and the drive they had taken through the Park the other day. The animals would be restless in their enclosures. Kilmartin emerged from the pub, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Come on there, Matt, or we’ll be pissed on entirely!”
The two detectives hurried toward the bridge. The Liffey at Island-bridge was at full tide. Minogue strode on, his hand on the phone. He felt its vibration more than heard its chirp. Kilmartin stopped at the end of the bridge and looked back. His hands went up and flopped back down in exasperation. A lorry crossing the bridge stole some of the phone conversation on Minogue. He leaned away from the traffic, his finger in his ear, his eye on Kilmartin. Still he had trouble hearing. Kilmartin was coming back toward him.
“Okay,” he said. “Yes.”
He hung up and settled the switch on stand-by. Kilmartin was upon him.
“Well?”
Kilmartin saw the movement at the same time as Minogue. The two policemen ducked at the same time as the shapes rose up from the darkness below the bridge. Minogue heard the wings beat as they passed not ten feet overhead. He stood again and looked up as they disappeared over the buildings. Kilmartin’s eyes were wide.
“As true as God,” he began. “Did you ever in all your life…? That is the last time I go out for a shagging sandwich and a pint with you! Christ, man, for a minute there I didn’t know what was going on!”
Minogue’s heart was still thumping. He looked back at Kilmartin.
“Taking shelter, I suppose,” he said. “They know what’s coming.”
“Jesus,” exclaimed Kilmartin. “That gave me one hell of a fright, I don’t mind telling you. I heard they had them up here all right. Didn’t that famous fella, the doctor fella…that butty of Joyce donate some here?”
Minogue nodded.
“Gogarty,” he said. “To thank the river god or something for saving his neck.”
“Was that the Civil War when he nearly got his arse shot off hereabouts?”
“None other,” said Minogue.
“And the size of them!” marvelled Kilmartin. “But, sure, how could they survive with the place so built-up and rundown, and full of bowsies and gougers who would do them harm just for the hell of it?”
The thunder crashed overhead now. Minogue cowered. Kilmartin gave him a dig.
“What are we doing standing in the middle of a bridge like iijits? Come on now, for the love of God!”
The first flash showed as a flickering glow over the south suburbs. Kilmartin was breathing hard when they turned into the car-park. Minogue drew his keys out.
“There!” Kilmartin called out. “That’s the start of it. We were wise to run for it when we did, boyo.” Minogue clicked the remote. “Hey, where are you off to?”
“Come in, Jim, before you get wet and mess up my nice upholstery.”
“What the hell?”
“It’s not often you get a night like this. Come on.”
He looked back to where he had parked the Kawasaki. The trees merged into a continuous silhouette under the brassy glow of the city lights. In the darkness ahead lay the open fields. He listened. The Main Road was no more than a few hundred yards away, he figured, but the tunnel of light from the passing headlights seemed so far off. Over the distant hush of the traffic he heard the occasional squawk and groan. He listened harder. Night birds? He turned back to the grove surrounding the pond. Not even a breath of air to stir the leaves. Everything seemed to be just hanging there. He let his eyes move slowly across the grove. No van. He felt his back tightening up again and he shook his arms loose. He realized that he still hadn’t decided anything. Since the phone call, the evening had gone by like a dream. Maybe that’s what it was like being on drugs. Driving here, the night air hadn’t refreshed him at all. He kept thinking about her. He thought back to the look on her face when he had told her. He’d known straight away that she’d read his face but still she had tried once. He’d felt nothing when he slapped her. He wondered when it would all become real, when feeling came back.
The ground dipped and rose again as he walked toward the trees. Maybe he should have tried driving in over the grass. The dry grasses lashed against his shoes, and he felt them rub, sometimes clutch at his feet. It was a longer walk than he had expected. The darkness had tricked him. He stared into the trees as they came closer to
