Galway Confidential

18

I cooked myself a steak, medium rare, and lots of spuds. I’d need the fuel for another night on the tiles. I had cans of Guinness in the fridge but couldn’t quite bring myself to drink the black from a tin.

It’s kind of like a heresy.

I had bought them in a fit of indecision on one of those days I figured I’d give up Jameson.

Right!

I was halfway through the meal and watching Sky News. The onslaught in Ukraine was unrelenting. A train station packed with a thousand civilians, children and women, was hit by two cluster bombs and, shockingly, the shell of one of the bombs had inscribed on it,

“For the children.”

As the Russians retreated toward the east, they raped and pillaged like utter psychos. I wanted to turn off the news, turn off my mind, but felt the very least I could do was bear witness. I pushed my dinner aside.

The doorbell chimed and I opened it to Raftery. He was carrying two bags of shopping. He said,

“Beware of geeks bearing gear.”

He was dressed in his country-squire gig, tweed jacket and, yes, a cravat, heavy green cords, brogues, and, of course, a tweed cap. I said,

“Brideshead Revisited.”

He had brought a pile of food, enough for a small siege. I expressed my thanks and slight puzzlement.

“You don’t really do gratitude, Jack.”

Bit nasty, I thought, but went with,

“Lemme give you some money. I have plenty as I haven’t spent anything for two years, more even.”

He waved it away, said,

“This amount of shopping has doubled in price within the last week. Fuel, oil power, everything is up by at least twenty-five percent.”

Ukraine.

I poured him a Jay and he toasted me, with,

“Here’s to consciousness.”

Then he surveyed the sleeping bag and paraphernalia.

“A camping trip?”

I gave him the short version of my mission, said,

“I’m hunting.”

He considered this, looked at the hurly.

“Will the hurly be outside the bag, or how do you intend to play that hand?”

I wasn’t entirely sure but tried,

“I’m going to make it up as I go along.”

He shook his head, said,

“It’s a really bad idea.”

I could have said how bad ideas were the ones I was most familiar with but instead began to put the groceries in the cupboard and said,

“I do appreciate this.”

He finished his drink.

“I’ll come with you.”

Aw fuck.

I said,

“No, you’d only be in the way.”

We tossed this back and forth and finally he gave in. As he prepared to leave, he asked,

“If the perpetrator does show up, what are you intending to do? Beat him senseless?”

I acted as if I was weighing this, then went,

“Great idea.”

As he prepared to leave, he said,

“It’s my birthday today.”

Took me by surprise and I had to refrain from uttering,

“Like I could give a shit.”

But said,

“Happy birthday.”

He said,

“Back in my Marine days, Quinlan, my treacherous buddy, gave me a bottle of pure vodka on my birthday.”

I’d no idea where this was headed.

“Uh-huh.”

He said,

“It was the last time anyone gave me a birthday present.”

He waited but I had nothing, like zero, to give to this story so he continued,

“I drank gallons of vodka and never once had a hangover.”

Now that, that impressed me. Hangovers are the bane of my besotted life. He said,

“Trick was, never quite stop, so the hangover is hovering, but you wallop it with more vodka.”

Okay.

Enough.

I asked,

“Are you angling for a gift, is that the point of this whole saga?”

He smiled, said,

“Exactly.”

Fuck me.

I spread out my hands, said,

“What do you want?”

He pointed at my night gear, said,

“I’d like a hurly.”

“That one you’re looking at, it’s old. I’ll get you a new one, fresh from the ash.”

He shook his head, declared,

“I want that one. It’s lived in, so to speak.”

I wanted to beat him with it.

“I give you the hurly, you figure I won’t be sleeping rough tonight?”

He laughed, said,

“As if I’d be so devious.”

“Okay, take it, and I’ll rely on the sawn-off.”

Shocked him.

“You’re kidding, aren’t you?”

I gave him my best smile, all false bonhomie, said,

“I never joke about weapons.”

I spoke,

“Three times I’ve asked you who the hell you are.”

He answered,

“I’m half-American, half-Irish, I was a Marine, I had a friend, Quinlan, who shafted me. I work now as an accountant and the thing you really need to know is I saved your life.”

He smiled.

He began to walk away and I shouted,

“You forgot your hurly.”

He kept on going.

I didn’t have a sawn-off, least not then. I did have a second hurly.

You always have one in reserve.