Ken Bruen - Her Last Call to Louis MacNeice

‘Yo Cooper, none of your lip, I didn’t shoot at you but you’re not too big for a flaming good puck in the mouth.’

Doc picked up a piece of paper, scanned it, said, ‘Think this is for you, fella.’

I guess it was meant to accompany the rose, it read:

‘Gotta keep it together

while I’m falling apart’

(Martina McBride)

I didn’t know who the fuck this was, asked, ‘Who the fuck’s this?’

Doc laughed, said, ‘A country and western singer and if I may say so me fein , a real cutie pie.’

I balled it, flicked it across the room, said, ‘Jeez, the whole thing’s like a bad country and western song.’

‘I did some reading on your account last night.’

‘On my account.’

‘Yeah, checked out MacNeice, best if you know who you’re dealing with.’

‘And?’

‘That’s right Coop, be grateful, it’s probably what you do best.’

‘You’re going to tell me or wot, you want what… flattery…?’

‘Yeah, you’re so good at it. OK, here goes. He was born in 1907 in Belfast. His oul lad was a Church of Ireland clergyman and you know what happens to their offspring.’

‘What?’

‘’Ary Jaysus, don’t you read the News of The World ? What class of ignoramus are you. Anyway, he’s regarded as the poor fourth.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘In relation to the big three… C.S. Lewis, Auden, and Stephen Spender. No doubt you’re familiar with those boyos.’

‘Sure.’

‘I thought so. He had a brother with Down’s Syndrome.’

‘So?’

‘So Orson Welles had a brother who was mentally handicapped and his father had him locked away for ten years after which he became a social worker. A natural progression you might say. David Bowie has a brother who was also hidden away.’

I threw up my arms, said, ‘Enough, you’ve gone a tad too Irish for me.’

Doc gave a hard stare at his footwear, said, ‘Any chance of a sup of tea, here I am trying to wise you up, you won’t as much as wet a man’s whistle.’

Lisa came out of the bedroom wearing one of my shirts. At this rate I’d be shirtless. I already was clueless. I didn’t mention it, just old-fashioned gallantry I guess. But Doc leapt in.

‘I recognise the shirt but the coleen, now surely ’tis not the bould Lisa, you filthy article, what would your mother say?’

Lisa didn’t blush but her body language tried to convey she knew the feeling, answered, ‘My mum would say, I hope you took precautions.’

I was with her mother, she sure got my vote. Doc said, ‘Do you like me shoes.’

‘They’re white!’

‘Aye, as pure as the driven, any chance you’d give a man a drop of tea?’

She did. I had another jolt of coffee. I wasn’t in the mood for pissing about with tea, I wanted my caffeine naked and lethal. Doc asked her, ‘You wouldn’t know what a spike is me girl?’

‘Like on a railing?’

‘No, like a shelter for homeless men. Years ago when the drink had a grip, I went down the shitter and ended up in Gordon Road. Not just once either. Well, if you’d been living rough, they de-loused you.’

He paused to sip the tea and Lisa said, ‘How awful.’

‘’Twas that and all. Then they gave you a white boiler suit. God in heaven, the mortification! You stood shivering in them white suits and everyone knew you’d been sprayed.’

‘Was it dangerous?’

‘Compared to what? You tied yer shoes round yer neck while you slept, if such a thing could be had among a multitude of farting roaring men. But the smell… ah… now there’s a memory.’

‘Of urine… and… things?’

‘That… sure, but I meant the other. The very smell of desperation, of lost men in a lost place.’

I’d heard this yarn before so figured I’d shower. It’s not a story you like better through repetition. As I shaved, I could hear his soft brogue.

‘There was a fella there… Grogan. He gave viciousness a bad name, he’d steal the eye outa yer head and blame you. Men hold on to any shred of individuality… anything to mark you from the horde. His trademark was his boots, the old Doc Martens. One night in February, a cold bastard of a Friday, I heard him thrashing. Nothing unusual in that but I looked up anyway and saw two fellas moving away from his bunk.’

Lisa gave an excited cry.

‘They were stealing his shoes?’

‘They’d tried but the bastard had sea-manned the laces, merchant navy knots, and they’d strangled him.’

‘Oh my God!’

‘Yeah… but I got them loose.’

‘You saved his life.’

‘No, I saved his boots.’

Lisa left shortly after and the Doc said, ‘You could do worse, in fact you’ve frequently done worse.’

‘Thanks. So what do you reckon on this Cassie lunatic?’

‘I’ll put the word out, how hard can she be to find. Plus, I think she’ll stay close, she seems fond of you.’

‘You don’t think I need get another shooter.’

‘Naw, I’ll do it, a fella offered me a grand yoke last week, I was going to buy it anyway.’

‘What is it?’

‘A Smith and Wesson 38. The Bodyguard Airweight one. It holds a little heavy in yer hand but I like that.’

‘Where’d he get it?’

‘You know those holiday apartments over in Kensington, the Arabs rent them? Turning one of those over, he found it in the fridge.’

‘On ice so to speak.’

‘Yeah. Best of all, it has a shrouded hammer.’

‘Which does what exactly?’

‘Stops it tangling if you’re carrying it in yer pocket.’

‘Ammunition?’

‘Does the Pope have beads.’

The first bank we took was in Chingford. Yeah, like that, how many folks have you met who’ve been there… let alone heard of it. These small areas, who’d rob them… who’d bother. Yet they usually hold a shitpile of money. Can’t be bothered moving it on and security is a joke. We didn’t see it as a career move, we were hurting for readies and didn’t want to play in our own manor. Doc said to me, ‘I’d like to rob a bank in Chingford.’

‘They have a bank?’

‘Let’s find out.’

First we had to find the whorin’ place. But even then, the pattern was being set. We ‘borrowed’ a car in Ealing and hit off. Went in hard. Wearing balaclavas and boiler suits, shouting like fuck. I thought all the roaring was to intimidate the customers and staff. But it’s to keep you rolling, keep you hyper. It was so easy, they near threw the money at us. In and out in six minutes and the buzz was so manic, we took down the post office as well. Fuck knows, we’d have gone in the building society but they’d closed. I was cooking, a white energy moving through me, like sex, I wanted to rob every premises on the High Street. Doc grabbed my arm, shouted, ‘Enough, let’s go… get a fucking grip on yourself.’

Burned rubber outa there and tore off the masks. Those fuckin’ things are hot and itchy. As I hit fourth gear, revving like a lunatic, I glanced at Doc. He felt it too. Rivers of sweat pouring down his face and his eyes like major bullets, near popping out of his skull. The back seat was jammed with money. We knew we’d been incredibly lucky and blatantly stupid. But the foundation was good and I could see a blueprint for serious profit.

It was intended as a one-off, for walking round money. That evening, at Doc’s flat, he said, ‘You really got off on that, yeah.’

‘Fuckit, I never expected to take so much. If we’re not careful, we might be bordering on actual fuckin’ wealth here.’

‘That’s not what I meant.’

‘You’re not happy with the cash, take less, what’s the matter with you.’

‘You liked it… the job I mean… no… you adored it. I’ve never seen you so… gimme a word…’