Adrian McKinty - Dead I Well May Be

Aye. It’s depressing, though, Sunshine, for a guy who’s trying to be incog-bloody-nito there’s an awful lot of people who know where I am, I said, ruefully.

Sunshine grinned.

Yes. You’re trouble. I was always worried a bit about you, Michael. Always.

Why?

Well, your references were good from Belfast and you were in the army and you were no thief. But you were always a bit too smart-mouthed. Too smart for Scotchy. You were the brains and he was the-

Don’t talk about him, I said, menacingly.

Sunshine was quick on the uptake and grinned sheepishly and changed tack.

Yeah, but you were too fast and smart, still are.

Is that why Mexico happened? I asked.

No. Not at all. You know why Mexico happened.

Darkey.

Darkey. And I was opposed. You know, I really liked you, Michael. I warned you to stay away from Bridget. Jesus, man, what were you thinking? I trusted you.

I trusted you.

No, I really liked you. You were here three quarters of a year, you were good and reliable, and you weren’t a thieving bastard like Scotchy, so Darkey and I were happy.

Mention Scotchy again and I’ll fucking plug you, Sunshine, I said.

Yeah, ok. Look, I’m very sorry about what happened. You have no idea. I was against it. You were a great worker.

Until.

Until.

How long did you know?

About what?

About Bridget.

I knew that week. Me, who is normally on top of things.

Aye. Whose plan was Mexico? It must have been yours.

No, not at all. It was Darkey. Darkey, the whole thing. I said no. I said no way. I said send him back to Ireland with a good talking-to, maybe a quiet kicking.

He was much calmer now and I preferred that. He was really thinking he could reason with me. I was cool, I seemed reasonable.

And, Jesus, Sunshine, you sacrificed the whole crew for me. Four good men and a hundred thousand dollars. Incredible. I mean, it was brilliant. Darkey could never have come up with something like that. Brilliant. You must have had contacts with the peelers down there-

Michael, you’ve got it all wrong, I-Sunshine interrupted.

I cut him off.

Sunshine, please. We both know how it was.

He nodded and sighed. Was he resigning himself? No, not Sunshine, he took an intake of breath and began again:

Michael, you’ve got to believe me, it was Darkey. Mr. Duffy had contacts with the Mexican police. Cancún police, big tourist area, big drug area. Darkey’s plan. The Mexicans get four convictions, and they keep the money. All Darkey, nothing to do with me.

And Bob sets it up, gets out, and we get ten years. Bridget marries Darkey and suspects nothing. Darkey wouldn’t sacrifice a whole crew for me. Really, Sunshine, you were very clever.

Michael, I opposed it the whole way. I said to Darkey, We’ll send him back to Ireland.

And I suppose if it fucked up and Bob got lifted too, it wouldn’t matter, it was only Bob, right?

Michael, why aren’t you listening? I knew it was madness. I said to Darkey, This is completely nuts.

Aye.

You’re not going to kill me, Michael? Sunshine asked, suddenly serious.

I have to. I’m sorry. Even if I did believe you, it wouldn’t matter, I made a promise.

With who?

The jungle.

Cryptic bastard to the last, Sunshine said. He was kneeling on the floor with his hands still on his neck. He leaned forward and started to sob. Gasping with it. Getting hysterical. His hands dropped from his neck, he was getting up, coming over. Hyperventilating.

Do you want to get it over with then, you fucker? he screamed, coming so close I had to step back.

Ok, I said.

He put up his palms and looked at me panic-stricken. He was going to beg, and it would be terrible. He started to cry frantically and dropped back to his knees.

Please, Michael, I have five hundred thousand dollars saved, more in a-

I put my hand up to stop him. He was prostrate before me, his hands together, girning his face off. Breathy, gasping, choking it out. Vomiting with fear. I could smell the fear on him. His bald head, puke on his weak chin and the sleeve of his outstretched arm. His dark eyes filled with tears. No one said this was going to be easy.

Michael, you’re a good guy, I know you’re a good guy. I’ll disappear, you’ll never hear from me, for good. Jesus, five hundred thousand, think of it. Darkey has a million, more, we could get it. Millions. Come on, Michael, I know you’re a good guy. I know it. I know it. You’re a good man.

I shook my head.

Sunshine, I’m not going to draw this out. Tell Scotchy I was asking for him.

What?

You heard, I said, and before he could say anything more, I shot him in the heart.

It had rained in the morning and then it had snowed and then it had sleeted and then, as if exhausting all possible combinations of the three, the precipitation petered itself out and stopped. The sky was gray and the sun could only make brief, faded cameo appearances where the clouds thinned. Irish weather, not really like New York at all. Cold, too cold for snow, a weatherman said. It was December.

Last December, I’d come here. It didn’t seem like a year ago. It seemed longer.

I thought of Nan. I hadn’t thought of her in many months. I’d sent her some money in February and I’d spoken to her a few times, the last occasion in the spring. Nan didn’t have a phone, so it was a complicated process of calling the neighbors and then having them go over and getting her and her getting all flustered and coming over and so on. Still, it was no excuse.

In Belfast it would be three o’clock in the afternoon, getting dark. If I called now I’d be admitting that I was alive, but I supposed they all knew that anyway.

I didn’t want to call, though. The hassle of it, and every conversation usually degenerated into crossed purposes or farce. Also, I was in no mood to placate Nan’s neighbors with lies about my life in America.

I dressed as warmly as I could and exited the building. I scoped about for a Chevy or a Lincoln or any other cars I didn’t like the look of. But it was clean. Really, I should have moved to Hoboken or somewhere, but I liked this place, the bridge view, and besides, I was always cautious.

I took the train to Fairway. The one in the seventies. There’s one now where we used to take people and give them a hiding, down at the Hudson. A place I thought Darkey and Scotchy were going to take me and shoot me one night a long time ago. A night when Rachel Narkiss was in my life and could have been a major part of a different existence. Such things were not to be.

Fairway was packed full of Christmas shoppers, but I braved it, bought some potato bread, soda bread, black pudding, and sausages. It wasn’t the real Irish stuff, but there was no way I could go near any Irish neighborhoods to get the imports. If I needed a fix of the Old Sod, I figured an Ulster fry might help. I took the supplies home and I fired up the old grill and cooked myself one, and it was quite good. Of course, I cooked it in vegetable oil, not dripping or lard, but still.

I exercised in the afternoon for an hour and then did yoga and meditated for another two hours. I slept. I woke and saw the George Washington Bridge light up. I watched the cars move on the decks, and when I was bored and tired, I slept again.

It was another day and gray.

I got up, stretched and meditated for a half hour. I stretched again and did some exercises. I ran on the machine and when I was sweating and exhausted, I showered.

But none of it was any good. Bloody Belfast was still nagging at me.

I opened the fridge. There was still some potato bread left. I wondered if I made another fry, would it cure me. I got out a pan, ripped open the packet of potato bread, and at the smell finally cracked, picked up the phone, and dialed the number.