Galway Confidential

26

Two cases of Monkey Pox reported in Ireland.

A weary public asked,

“What fresh hell is this?”

I had gotten to know the street people during my brief time with them and an unlikely bond had developed. Three men, who had lasted over a decade living below the radar, seemed to believe I was but a drink away before I ended up full time on the streets.

They had shouted this to me one evening as I left a parcel of supplies with them, and something clicked in my head, madness or no. I told them of Scott Williams, one of the two young guys who’d killed their compadre. They listened in silence then asked about the other one. I said he was attempting to bring me to court but that Williams had told me he would deal with me personally. That last bit interested them most and one said,

“Did he now?”

They offered me a slug of their perennial Buckfast, but I declined, it kicks like be damned.

A few days later, Scott Williams was fished out of the dock, a tragic accident the papers said. I later learned from Owen Daglish that the only item found on Scott Williams, body was a bottle of Buckfast. Owen had looked at me, asked,

“Why would a rich kid like that be drinking rot gut?”

Why indeed?

Tony Wren, the other assailant, who’d attempted to bring me to court, left town and no one was willing to divulge where he might be headed. If he came back, he might well be drinking Buckfast too. I don’t know if justice was in any way done with those two psychos but at least they were off the board.

Raftery went to ground. I never knew exactly where he lived as he’d been vague on that info, and now when I investigated him, he was a ghost. People knew him vaguely, but nobody had any definite knowledge of him.

Sheila had come around to my apartment, and she was not happy.

“How can you not know where he lives?”

I tried,

“Hey, I was in a coma for two years and he was the first person I saw.”

She glared at me, said,

“He was your friend. He seemed to be always in your company.”

I gave up, I had nothing.

She examined me from head to toe.

“I can’t believe I used to think you had some character.”

She produced a very heavy rosary, the beads seemed to be pearls and the cross appeared to be of solid gold. She said,

“This dates from the seventeenth century and was blessed by Padre Pio.”

I nearly said,

“Your version of worry beads, and God knows you’ve plenty to worry on.”

But I said,

“Impressive.”

Which it was.

She held it in her hands, her eyes seeing something ethereal. She said,

“When you apprehended the monster attacking our nuns, we were going to present it to you.”

What could I say? I said nothing.

She sighed.

“But not now of course.”

She asked again about the Guards, and I told her that Raftery’s confession to me was hearsay and my credence with them was never too strong.

I said,

“He’ll show up. All of this is like unfinished business to him and one thing I do know is he has a sense of arrogance and—”

She stopped me mid-flow, snapped,

“Talk, speculation, that’s all you’ve got. If he does show up, I won’t be anticipating your dealing with him.”

As she left, she said,

“The nuns aren’t praying for you anymore.”

The shame of it.

I was walking down Shop Street, and wondering where the ton of people were coming from. A guy I knew vaguely from a pub I was once barred from saw me, said,

“It’s pride.”

I had no reply to that, so he continued,

“LGBT and other initials I don’t know.”

I watched as a rainbow of color and outrageous fashion passed by. The guy asked me,

“What’cha make of that, huh?”

I said,

“It’s certainly colorful.”

I knew he was hoping for some rant or insulting commentary, but before I could reply, through the crowd, on the far side of the street, I glimpsed Raftery. He was but a fleeting flicker and then he was gone. I went after him.

Had to fight through the crowd, and by the time I got to the other side, there was no sign. Did I imagine him?

I made my way up the street, turned into Dominic Street, my heart pounding.

What would I do if I caught up with him?

A citizen’s arrest.

The problem with that was, I never was, and was unlikely to be, a citizen.