Sanctuary

30

We went into the Park Hotel and sat in the lounge. A waitress arrived, all smiles — not Irish, of course, no one in the service industry is any more — and asked what we’d like. I ordered a large cola and Jesus, did I need that sugar rush. Stewart said he’d have a sparkling water, ice and lemon, please.

He looked at me. ‘Not drinking?’

I couldn’t get the eyes of the dead man out of my mind. ‘Not yet anyway.’

The drinks came and Stewart said, ‘My treat.’

Made my fucking day

I gulped down the cola and winced at the sheer amount of sugar I could taste.

Stewart raised an eyebrow. ‘Bit sweet for you, Jack?’

I snapped, ‘I don’t do sweet.’

‘Really?’

Neither of us was ready to discuss what we’d seen or what’d happened back there.

I got back to my to my apartment and opened the door. Worry about the child was literally gnawing at me guts, and I felt a foreboding unlike any I’d experienced. I turned on the light and got one of the hardest wallops to my jaw I’ve had, and God knows I’ve had me share.

That knocked me back against the door frame and then an almighty kick to the balls had me throw up whatever shite was in me system.

When my vision cleared and the pain in my groin had eased a little, I managed to see two hardarsed guards — the shoes are how you know the fucks — and sitting in me only comfortable chair was Clancy.

He hissed, ‘Where’s my boy?’

I muttered, ‘What?’

‘Brian, my two-year-old son.’

Oh sweet Jesus, when the nun had sat on the bench with me she’d said, ‘and Brian thanks you.’ She was literally telling me whose son she was taking. God almighty, she’d taken Clancy’s!

The two guards with him were big and ready for action, like pit bulls straining against the leash, and I knew the leash was about to be unfastened. One of them, in his bad fifties, had a scar along his right cheek, testament to lots of action. The other held one of those new plastic batons, lightweight and oh so flexible. Don’t let the term ‘plastic’ mislead you — they are deadly, inflict pain that is as harsh as it is rapid, and joy of joys, they don’t leave marks, not ones you could show to a lawyer. He was tapping it absent-mindedly against his right hand, his eyes fixed on me, just waiting to use it.

I tested my legs and tried to stand.

Clancy spat, ‘Did I tell you to get up?’

My mouth, always my downfall, came out with ‘No, I’m a mind-reader.’

I received a ferocious lash of the baton across the bridge of my nose.

Clancy had a bottle of Jameson by his chair. No glass, which was a bad sign. The boyos, in the bad old days, when they intended serious damage always brought a bottle, no glasses. You saw that, you were in for a long night.

Clancy and I, in our young days when we served on the border, had seen the results of just such evenings and pretty it wasn’t.

He took a hefty swig of it now, and his cheeks were almost instantly inflamed. I’d have given my whole cache of Xanax for it.

‘Like a shot of this, would you, Jack? Tell you what, you tell me where to find my son and you can have a whole bottle to yourself.’

I said, ‘I’m not drinking.’

The two guards were highly amused at that, and Clancy said, ‘By Christ, you’ll wish you were.’

He nodded at Scar Face. ‘This is Tom, hails from Kilkenny, and as you know, they sure produce some fine hurlers. And Old Tom here, he hates guards gone bad. And is there any guard who ever went as rogue as you, Jack?’

I’d have been happier with him addressing me as Taylor. I’d witnessed enough vicious beatings to know that when your Christian name is used, you’re seriously fucked. It’s part of the psychology, keeps it nice and brutal and, above all, keeps it real personal.

Clancy, indicating with the bottle, said, ‘Tom, he’s a specialist in — I think you might recall the term, “softening up” a witness and I have to say, he’s especially keen to soften up a hard case like your good self.’

I put up a hand, and to my shame it was shaking. I said, ‘You can call him off, there’s no need, I’ll tell you everything I know. I want to help, and I can.’

Clancy smiled malevolently. ‘Jack, you’re not paying attention. But then, you never did. See, thing is, I’ve promised Tom a crack at you and trust me — will you trust me, Jack? — after he has his little way with you, you’ll sing like a fucking canary.’

Before I could mutter another word, Tom kicked me in the mouth, then proceeded to soften me up. Didn’t take long — with a pro it never does. Finally, breathing deeply, he stepped back, sweat on his face, and Clancy said, ‘Good man, Tom. That will do for the moment.’

For the moment? Few scarier threats in the whole session.

I’ve had beatings with hammers, hurleys, boots, fists, and one memorable time with an iron bar, but this particular one took the Oscar. I hurt in ways it didn’t seem possible to hurt.

Clancy said, ‘This is where the heavy usually says, “I take no pleasure in this.”’ Then he laughed, a bitter low sound. ‘Bollocks, I haven’t enjoyed anything as much since Galway won the All Ireland. Think it calls for a minor celebration.’

He reached in his jacket, took out a fat cigar and asked, ‘Mind if I smoke, Jack?’ He bit the end off and spat it on the floor. ‘Whoops.’ Then he lit it slowly, savouring the moment, and blew a perfect ring at the ceiling. ‘You take a second there, Jack, compose yourself, and then we’ll talk. Or should I say, you’ll talk.’

Five minutes passed and I heard a church bell ring, probably from the Claddagh. I remembered in my youth when a church bell rang, people would stop and say the Angelus. I couldn’t even recall the words any more, and I must have recited it every day for years.

Clancy, half the cigar gone, put the rest under his shoe and ground it to shreds, his vehemence apparent in the force of the gesture. He looked at me and said, ‘Talk.’

I did.

With a great deal of effort. Every part of me was howling in agony, as if each word cut a fresh pain in my being. I told him about the letter at the very beginning and didn’t say, I tried to tell you twice before about this. I just continued on. The only thing I left out was the death of the psycho nun’s brother. He’d discover that soon enough. I did say she had a brother but said I believed she had no love for him either.

When I was done, he said, ‘Describe her.’

I gave it my best shot.

He considered that, then asked, ‘So why, Mr Amazing Private Dick, haven’t you been able to find her?’

‘I don’t know.’

For a moment it looked like he was going to unleash Tom again. Then he said, ‘I’ll tell you why. Because you’re a fuck up. Now I’m putting every available man on this, but you, Taylor, are going to get your fucking act together and find her. If any harm comes to my son. .’

And here he had to pause, as if something was lodged in his throat. Then he shook it off and continued, ‘If one bloody hair on his head is harmed, you’re going in the river, and that’s a promise.’

He stood up, straightened his clothes, looked round and said, ‘And clean this place up. It’s a fucking pigsty.’

When they were gone, I crawled over to the bureau, pulled out the drawer and swallowed two Xanax. The bottle of Jameson was lying on the floor beside the chair Clancy had been sitting in, and there was perhaps one decent glassful remaining. I turned away, got my mobile out of my jacket. I was surprised it still worked after Tom’s efforts. I tried to hit the buttons but my eyes kept blurring. Finally I heard it ring and a voice said, ‘Yes?’

‘Stewart, I need your help. Could you come to my place?’

‘Are you hurt?’

I’d have laughed but knew it would hurt too much. I said, ‘I’ve been better.’

And passed out.