The Mammoth Book of Best British Crime 7 Part 46

Liar too Last I heard, she was down in Boca, working on her skin cancer.

Coming out of Arrivals, I hailed a cab, took a moment and decided to go American. The flag still flew for the Micks. The Brits, now they were always thin ice. The driver, his face a riot of broken veins, purple blotches, asked "How's it going?"

I never quite worked out the 'it'. Was it life, the weather, work?

Most times in Ireland, it was the weather. I was sorely tempted to answer "It's a hoor."

Went with "Going good buddy, and you, how you doing?"

Lots of vim in there Worked He put the cab in gear, no automatic for this guy and he asked "Yank, right?"

"Outa Boston."

Why not? The Kennedys owned it and they still had sainthood here. He asked "Where to?"

"A good hotel, in the city centre?"

"Ah, you'll be wanting The Great Southern."

It would be neither southern nor great but it certainly had notions. The driver lit a cigarette. I asked "Don't you guys, like, have a smoking ban?"

Blew a cloud of smoke at the Sacred Heart Medallion on the dash, said "Ary, f.u.c.k that."

My kind of country I used my American Express at the Hotel and it was hard to focus for a moment, my British birth always got me those moments, despite how I'd immersed myself in America, d.a.m.n near raised there, the homeland still sang in me, if anything British can be said to sing. The receptionist provided me with a s.p.a.cious room, overlooking Eyre Square, the heartbeat of the city. I booked for a week and they seemed delighted.

The porter who showed me to the room reminded me of the first man I ever killed, he didn't even look remotely like him but something in his gestures, I dunno. A Mexican, named Jose, he'd tried to stiff me on a deal and it was the first time I got to use a knife. I wasn't very adept then and it was messy, stuck him in the throat first and of course, geyser of blood, been a time since then but they say, you never forget your first. He sometimes came in my dreams, a gouging spilling hole in his brown neck. I'd kinda liked old Jose, made me laugh.

The porter was showing me the amenities and I slipped him ten euros, got rid of him.

I unpacked my hold-all, one white shirt, black Levis and my Converse. Picked up the phone, got room service, ordered a bottle of Jameson, club sandwich, ice and they said it would be along in jig time.

I was in the shower when it came and I shouted "Kick ten bucks on for your tip."

Heard warm appreciation.

Clean, change of clothes and double Jameson over ice, I let my breath out, said "Good to go."

Had me a warm-up jacket from the Yankees and slipped that on, checked my reflection in the full-length mirror Tousled blond hair, even features, bordering on bland and tallish. My beer gut holding, barely. Crinkled my eyes, gave me that warm look, your regular affluent but not showy guy.

Next three days, I hit the shops, hit them hard. Galway's a walking town and suited me. Lots of quaint pubs, some cobbled streets and a definite carnival buzz. It was May, summer walking point.

Brown Thomas, a department store, with prices to rival Fifth Avenue, took care of my wardrobe. The American gig was gold, I'd go "Charge?"

Flash the plastic and they even delivered the s.h.i.t to my hotel. Got me all the G.Q. designer c.r.a.p, and what the h.e.l.l, a pair of Ray-Bans.

Through the shades, I stared at Hartmann's, an old-time family jewellers with a sign to light me up "Exclusive Rolex Dealers."

I like a touch of tradition The cops, called guards, were unarmed I f.u.c.king loved Ireland Third night, I was in the pub, one of the ones advertising the craic.

Not the dope, the Irish term for a good time, party on. I had a table by the wall, tipped the waitress and she protested, placing a pint of black and Jameson back before me "You don't need to do that."

Dragging up that boyish smile, I said "But I want to."

b.i.t.c.h lapped it up She wasn't bad looking, had that Irish colleen vibe going. Good legs, good b.r.e.a.s.t.s and nice pert a.r.s.e . . . s.h.i.t . . . a.s.s . . . gotta focus. Her age, late twenties I'd hazard.

She'd do Her name was Aine, p.r.o.nounced, you ready for this, Awn-neh . . . Jesus, I thought maybe she was Hebrew. I've no beef with them, you understand. I asked her what it meant, like I gave a f.u.c.k, she said "'Tis Irish for Ann."

Nearly f.u.c.ked up by asking "So I can call you Ann then?"

Got the look and "Why on earth would you want to do that?"

Why indeed-y?

You throw the green around, let that "gee shucks" mojo out there and the predators gather, chum in the water. Near closing when a skel made his strike. Slipped into the chair beside me, like a quiet virus, said "Welcome to Ireland."

Different country, same species, bottom feeder. He was late thirties and most of them bad, worse teeth and a worn combat jacket. His hair was in full recession, the eyes, cold and cash-registered I put out my hand, said "Thanks buddy, I'm Teddy."

Yeah His handshake was the cold fish school. He said "Ah, shure we still love Ted, with all his crosses."

I offered him a drink and he allowed he might try a small brandy, Martell if they had it. Aine brought it and I caught the rapid look between them, double act, just the way I liked it Ever catch that Mamet movie . . . House of Games?

Man, I studied it, the line . . . and two to take 'em, carved on my heart.

I put a fifty on her tray, said "One for you, hon."

She gave a radiant smile, not a bad-looking babe after all and gushed "Aren't you the terrible man?"

She had no f.u.c.king idea.

That Kraut poet, Rilke, got himself a line, Each angel is terrible . . . meant me.

The shark gave his name as Seamas. I didn't ask for translation, I knew that was Jim. He worked in communications and I wanted to go "You're a natural."

Second brandy in, my shout of course, he made the pitch "Well now Teddy, cara, they treating you all right over in that Great Southern Hotel?"

He leaned a little on the Great Fun guy I hadn't mentioned where I was staying Game on.

A time, they had me in that secure facility, yeah, the madhouse, the home for the bewildered, and the shrink, he's giving me all these tests, leaned back, said "You show latent sociopathetic tendencies."

The s.h.i.te these guys talk So I went with, asked "Gimme fifty bucks."

"Excuse me?"

"Give me fifty bucks or I'll slice your jugular."

The alarm bell right there on his desk, his hand hovering and he asked "Are you serious?"

I stared at his hand, said "Depends on how latent those tendencies are."

Ah, for the good times Seamas was waiting for my answer. I peered at his combat jacket, First Airborne and Paratroopers insignia. I needled a tad, let his balance stay precarious, asked "You were in the Service?"

Nailed the f.u.c.k but he rallied, said "My, am . . . own small tribute to the boys doing their bit."

The sarcasm leaking all over the words Good, I like a player.

Was going to run with "The grunts in Baghdad, the nineteen-year-olds from Idaho and Montana, I'm sure it helps, knowing you're sitting there, slurping cognac, talking garbage."

But I needed him He was on the same hymn sheet, went for flattery, smiled, glanced at my feet, his teeth accessorizing his jacket, green in neon, said "I like your trainers."

I'd briefly zoned Happens I go away sometimes, like a white blankness, a s.p.a.ce apart, with some episode from the past narrating on the side.

A college broad I was fleecing, trust fund mama, met her on that spring break gig they do. I was in my professor year-out sabbatical, writing the novel schtick, right down to the leather patches on my corduroy jacket.

Easy role Crib some Updike, Cheever, sprinkle with Blake, it's a lock Blake I learned from Thomas Harris, Red Dragon Go figure Blake is a shoo in, they suck that right up Took her nine large but it went south Had to drown the b.i.t.c.h and in the shower, you think that's easy, d.a.m.n soap makes everything slippy and you're a bit woozy after the s.e.x. The upside, it's a clean kill.

My own reading stretched to Julia Philips, You'll Never Eat Lunch In This Town Again. She has a story in there, hanging with Coppola, him doing forty shots of espresso daily . . . the f.u.c.k kind of jones is that?

I snapped back, levelled my eyes on Seamas, said "Converse Originals, Chuck Taylor endorsed."

They were.

He went "Who?"

"Never mind, my hotel is good, they're treating me real fine."

He finished the brandy, relaxed, said "You need anything, anything at all, I'm yer man."

The hook Before I could launch, he said "In Ireland, we speak Irish English, like the Brit version but loaded, you with me?"

How complicated was it? I nodded and he continued "For example, we say "They saw you coming", means, you're ripe to be ripped off. Now I wouldn't want that to happen to a nice fellah like yer own self."

I said "I'm here to spearhead a major distribution deal in . . ."

I gave him the full look, ribbed my nose with my index finger He nodded, he was a clued-in guy and I continued "And . . . we need some people we can rely on. We ask them to front a small amount of cash, say two large, and entrust them with a sizable package to see how they manage. The profits are enormous . . ."

I rubbed my eyes, getting that sincerity in there, then "The people I select need to prove their worth so we ask them to come up with the cash in 24 hours . . . most don't, or can't and we know from the off, they're not the people we need."

I let him digest this. The guy hadn't seen two large in one place in his whole lousy life. He asked "What's to stop you taking off with the cash, if I could produce the readies?"

I smiled "See, you're the kind of guy I feel I'm seeking. You're thinking outside the box. As a sign of my good faith, I'll let you hold my pa.s.sport and drivers licence. Where am I going to go without them?"

I ordered a last round of drinks, let him see a mess of credit cards, and thick wedge of notes. He gulped his drink then "Twenty-four hours, Jesus, hard to come by two large in that time."

I raised my gla.s.s, said "Well, we move on, you've had a nice evening, we say good luck and I move on."

His hand was up and he protested "No, no, I'm in, I'll get it."

I indicated Aine and said "If she can raise similar, you're in for twice the payoff."

Now he smiled, asked "What makes you think I know her that well?"

"It's my speciality to know people."

He was impressed.

One, as they say . . . jarring note. Apart from the zoning out that happens to me, I'm pretty much on top of my game, I've been doing this s.h.i.t a long time and am, like, very good at it. As Seamas and I finished off our drinks, a guy who'd had one too many nearly smashed into our table. He had that highly concentrated drunk walk of watching every step and then it suddenly gets away from you and you're doing a reel and a hornpipe. He hit the table hard and as he was that rarity, a good-natured souse, he was all apologies and he'd buy us fresh drinks, the whole pathetic nine and, being caught unprepared, I said "No sweat guv, don't worry about it mate."

In full glorious Brit/London voice f.u.c.k What it sounded most like was natural, like my real tone I laughed it off as I got an odd look from Seamas. I said "I do a lousy Brit accent, you think buddy?"

A heartbeat then he said "Don't we all."

It nagged at me but then I reasoned, Seamas was a dumb schmuck, why I picked him.

We agreed to meet the following evening. I'd bring the product and he and Aine, they'd bring whatever cash they raised.

He said he had a van and would pick me up on Shop Street around seven, we could do our business without prying eyes.

I clinked my gla.s.s against his, said "Here's to the Galway connection."

And he said "G.o.d bless the work."

My basic scam is. .h.i.t a place, select some skels, lay a line of patter, offer a slice of the large pie, let 'em in for two, three Gs and five times out of ten, I hook. Mainly, I get about half what I asked and four towns later, I'm usually ten to the good.

The beauty is . . . who they gonna call?

Sure it's fraught but I relish the edge, love the mind f.u.c.k.

Women are best, get a few of 'em, get a b.i.t.c.h-fest brewing.

Next day was R-day, Rolex time. My mouth was dry, I was. .h.i.tting the precipice, going out on the wing, not entirely sure if the plastic would take the weight But, it went like, dare I say . . . clockwork Walked outa the jewellers, the gold Rolex on my wrist and Mont Blanc in my jacket.

I'd pushed it, got c.o.c.ky, adrenaline roaring in my ears, blinding me to the risk. And too, I was f.u.c.king dazzled by the watch. You'd s.h.i.t a brick to hear the price. Lemme say, a town's worth of scam.

Sitting in a coffee shop after, wolfing a Danish, double espresso to chase, I eased a notch. I was going to have to split sooner than planned. The credit card would be flagged. I'd, maybe, forty-eight hours to the good Maybe.

Dublin would be next, do some sightseeing, pluck some fresh meat.

For the rendezvous, I dressed to impress, my new leather Boss jacket, Tommy Hilfiger chinos and soft tan loafers, Italian of course.

That afternoon, I'd arranged some protection, level the playing field. I'm not too big on trust. There's a lot of shysters out there Got me a knife.

I had a younger brother, Darren, snivelling little b.a.s.t.a.r.d, always in my face and worse, getting the shine from my folks. Back then, their attention seemed worthy of merit.

So, I drowned him Doesn't take long, you do it right, even looks like you tried to save them, like you were trying to help.

Tragic accident Golly gosh, gee whiz.

Backfired After, the old man got sucked into the bottle and never came back.