Callous

As kingfishers

Catch fire.

Gerard Manley Hopkins.

I don’t know why, but those lines always set me on fire, in a yearning, haunting, almost mystical fashion.

I had the misfortune to once mention this to Colin. He answered,

“Shite talk.”

But to be fair (whenever anyone says that you can bet fair is the very last thing they intend) he did find and give me the battered leather copy of

The Wreck of the Deutschland.

As thus we were gathered to discuss Keegan, and what the fuck was to be done with him.

Gathered in the house was as diverse a crew you could fathom.

Kate.

Nora B.

Colin.

M’self.

Leeds.

A brief appearance from Mason.

And behind Colin were two hard-looking men, wearing U.S. fatigues with the insignias torn off, but I still make out sergeant major and, maybe, first lieutenant.

Colin said,

“The sergeant is Costello from the old neighborhood, and the other is from my unit; they got called...

“Abbott and Costello.”

Colin said,

“Costello is chatty when he’s the other side of Jack (Daniel’s, of course) but my good buddy here, the Taliban got him, and we were slow in rescuing him.”

He paused, then,

“The dirty bastards cut his tongue out and, trust me, we made the Alijah Province burn for three fucking days.”

Abbott smiled at the memory.

Colin, still weak from the two bullets he had taken, continued,

“These guys will take care of Keegan, and the marshal” — he indicated Mason — “will do what his macho buddies do.”

To say the air was tense is putting it mildly.

Mason was standing, cowboy pose, fingers hooked into his belt, which featured a Texan buckle with steer horns. It was more Village People than macho.

He said,

“Here’s the deal, people: nobody touches Keegan. Hands off. This is a federal case.”

I laughed, said,

“You’re in Ireland. They could give a fuck about your jurisdiction.”

On that note, Mason took a deep breath, said,

“I’m not feeling the love here, guys, so I feel it incumbent to share at a deeper level to kick-start a sense of family and those of you not knowing what incumbent means, don’t ask Colin’s tongue-less buddy. We don’t want to dwell on folks’ shortcomings, but...”

Pause.

“But best to put it out there. Our winsome Kate over there, all hot and simmering, well, dear reader, I fucked her and she” — he mimed a drum roll—

“She fucked Dio every which way.”

Abbott moved like a panther, dark and fast, had Mason on the ground, Mason’s head in the lock. Abbott’s other hand produced a long, jagged-edge knife and sliced deep and long into Mason’s face, then let him go.

Everyone was full-on shocked, save for Colin and Costello. Colin said,

“As he can’t speak, he needs to send messages in another fashion.”

Costello and Colin moved fast to stanch the blood oozing from Mason. It was deep and lengthways down his right cheek.

I went to help, and Colin snarled,

“No civilians, back the fuck off.

After ten minutes, many bloodied towels, much grunting, they stood, said,

“That should do the trick.

I risked looking at Mason, who was unconscious, the deep gash along his face sealed.

“How?”

Costello smiled, said,

“Superglue.”

Leeds said,

“Awesome.”

Kate asked if Mason had passed out, and now Colin smiled, said,

“I punched his lights out. No one — no one — talks trash about my sister.”

Leeds said,

“I wanna join your gang.”

Colin and his crew emphasized they would deal with Keegan and his cohorts. I asked,

“What are Leeds and I to do?”

Colin looked to his buddies, some private joke going there, and I figured I was the butt of it. He said,

“You can pray for us, pretend you’re still a priest.”

The derision was palpable.

Leeds, well fed up with the commands and orders, snapped,

“We’ll do what the fuck we think is right. You’d do well to stay out of our way.”

There was silence for a moment, then the trio laughed. Costello moved up close to Leeds, said,

“Don’t get in our way; we don’t allow for civilians.”

   Colin, who seemed to have elected himself leader, said to Kate,

“You lie low. Dio is dead, and there are those who might feel you had some part in it.”

Kate, rarely a follower, snapped,

“And you, you’ll keep me safe? Keegan has already shot you twice.”

Colin took it well, said,

“Abbott will stay with you until we end it.”

Kate looked at the man whose tongue had been torn out, asked,

“And he is going to talk to me... how?”

His buddy Costello answered,

“Abbott didn’t talk even before the mutilation. You won’t even know he’s around.”

Unconvinced, she snarled,

“A man in my home, I notice.”

I felt I should add to the discussion, asked,

“What about me and my wingman, Leeds?”

Colin, alongside his lethal buddies, sneered,

“You can pray for us, pretend Leeds is your altar boy.”

Colin said,

“We have a house off Grattan Road, plenty of room if anybody needs to crash.”

Then he and his buddies were gone.

Leeds looked at me, asked,

“We’re not going to do what that shithead says, are we?”

I said,

“We’ll stay out of their way, get all the info we can on Keegan.”

Kate looked at Nora B, said,

“Notice how the guys make plans, just presume we’ll be along for the ride.”

Nora B smiled, said,

“It was always so; doesn’t mean we have to do jack shit.”

Kate said to me,

“You and your little leprechaun need to leave too.”

I asked,

“No coffee?”

Nora and Kate volunteered to take Mason to the hospital. He was still in deep shock and went without a word.