Callous

I finally got to see Colin in the hospital. He was sitting up in bed with swaths of bandages ’round his chest. I brought some magazines, grapes, and a fifth of bourbon in a Coke bottle.

He was still tan from his deployments and had the nurse in a tizzy.

He said,

“What took you so long?”

I said,

“I was assisting the Guards in their inquiries.”

I handed over the stuff, said,

“You might want to go easy on the Coke; it’s sipping whiskey.”

He took the top off, drank deep, then let out a deep breath, muttered,

“Ah.”

Thank God for bourbon.

He accused,

“’Tis not Jameson?”

Indeed.

Very little was.

I said,

“I thought you might like something with a serious kick.”

He gave a cynical smile, said,

“You obviously haven’t drunk enough of it.”

I tried,

“How are you doing?”

He laughed, said,

“I’ve been shot twice, had to be dragged from the ocean, how would you be?”

“Dead.”

The nurse came in, did that number with pillows to prove she did graduate from nurse school. She gave me a sour look, asked,

“Who are you?”

I said.

“His brother.”

She was scandalized, snarled,

“And ’tis only now you came to visit?”

Colin was smiling broadly, but then he did have a shotgun of bourbon ingested.

He said to the nurse,

“My brother here was a priest.”

Was!

Oh, one of the worst things you could say to an Irish woman. She near spat.

“And what did they fling you out for?”

Like it was her business?

I mean, fuck off.

I said,

“I resigned.”

Nope, it didn’t get me any slack. She said,

“No wonder the world is fecked.”

She bounced away, trailing reprimand.

I asked Colin,

“Do you know who shot you, or even why?”

Colin gave that enigmatic smile, the one that signaled mayhem was stirring, said,

“Not yet.”

I pushed,

“Why do you think he shot you?”

He said,

“It’s to do with Kate.”

Kate?

“Why do you think that?”

He sighed, said,

“Everything’s to do with Kate, sooner or later.”

I was running out of chat and he was distinctly comfortable with that.

Finally, I asked,

“The book that took the bullets, that saved your life, what was it?”

He was quiet, then said almost sheepishly,

“The Bible.”

I didn’t really have a response, so he reached in his locker, took out the Bible, handed it to me. It was the King James version and looked a lot like the one my mother used, save for the two large bulletholes. I said lamely,

“Wow.”

Colin laughed, said,

“Try to stem that torrent of comment.”

This happened a lot in my encounters with Colin. Truth was, I didn’t really know how to talk with him.

He was cynical.

Aggressive.

Humorous.

Combative.

And

I could never figure out which it was, or just a mash of them all but, primarily, it was a ball buster. Kate had the same DNA, so they never stopped yapping.

To each other.

To me?

Not so much.

Did it bother me?

You fucking betcha.

Add the relationship they had had with my deceased brother, Patrick, which I never had.

I was the dark sheep in a darker family.

Colin drained the bourbon, belched, sighed,

“Fuck, that was heaven.”

I asked as I prepared to leave,

“Anything you need next time I visit?”

He looked at me, said,

“A little warmth.”

“You mean like sweaters?”

“No.”

He said,

“I mean in attitude. You’re a cold fish.”

In the corridor I met a priest. He stopped, asked,

“Are you the American’s brother, the ex-priest?”

I said,

“I’m a cold fish.”

And felt cold with it.

Nora B was waiting outside for me, dressed like Annie Hall, which was a look she rocked. She was leaning on a very battered Porsche.

She asked,

“How’d it go?”

I gave her a malicious smile, said,

“We bonded and hugged.”

She said,

“Like that, huh?”

I was staring at the car as I realized she was holding keys. She went,

“Wanna go for a ride?”

I was incredulous, asked,

“In this?”

She laughed, said,

“Unless you have transport.”

Maybe she stole it. There was a streak of wildness in her that tottered on plain madness, else why was she bestie to Kate? Kate only hung with the marginally unhinged. She gave a dramatic sigh, said,

“Time to fess up. I have a shitload of money.”

Her tone was mock penitent, so I asked,

“Is that a crime?”

She tossed me the keys, said,

“Only if you don’t spend it.”

Driving that car was like a kiss from heaven. Took me a while to adjust the gears, but then it just flowed. I opened her up when we hit the stretch after the town’s limit. I drove for maybe half an hour, the adrenaline blazing through me. Pulled up at a layby, turned the engine off.

Reluctantly, I handed back the keys, stood outside the car, said,

“That was intense.”

She smiled, asked,

“Something you might get used to?”

I couldn’t quite figure what her game was. I was flattered but suspicious, asked,

“What’s your game?”

She was delighted, said,

“It’s kind of hot to be fucking a priest.”

Sigh.

I said, holding my tone,

“Ex-priest.”

She couldn’t care less, asked,

“What do you do now that you’re not priesting?”

I said,

“Trying to find who shot Colin and maybe even why.”

She said,

“Duh.”

I echoed,

“Duh? What’s that mean?”

“Money.”

She said,

“It’s always about money.”