Кен Бруен - A Fifth of Bruen - Early Fiction of Ken Bruen

“The nerves act up.”

“A relative... any relative... dies suddenly.”

“You catch that oul bug going round... everyone has it...”

For all of the above... for none of the above, we’d three-quarters of the staff out. I stalked out along Traders perimeter. The car park hadn’t been nicked in my absence. Walk point. I gave a cigarette a lot consideration. But I couldn’t get to it. The thought increased my nausea. T’was one of the most conscientious days work I ever did. I patrolled like a thing demented. Walk that sucker off. And had me a whale of positive thinking. “Sick... I’m not sick... whoops, nigh puked there... no... good good... walk. Cramp... no... retch... argh... I’m well, I’m well but... on the other hand.”

For lunch I had two Alka-Seltzer. Get that goodness down. Ah. My shift ended at four. The guy relieved me had the dog patrol. Was it on meself or was the dog the worse for wear drink-wise.

“He has that oul stomach bug that’s doing the rounds,” I was told.

“How’s yerself?” I asked.

“Well, Dillon, I have a touch of the flu... I wasn’t going to come in at all.”

I watched man and dog limp off. A fearsome duo. Mainly to themselves. I met Gurteen agitated... and extremely so.

“I need to talk to you, Dillon.”

“Okay.”

“Let’s go to Nestor’s, and you can buy me my Christmas drink.”

Nestor’s is a spit and sawdust pub. They only serve natives. They’ll serve a wino if he’s a local... and even women.

Mrs. Nestor is as old as Guinness and as black. From dirt. I dunno if she hates everyone but she sure fakes it well. Locals get a kinda tempered hostility.

“Lads,” she said — you’re a lad till you marry. Then you advance to yolk.

“Howyah, Eileen,” said Gurteen. No one... absolutely no one called her that. But Gurteen was missing the few dots from his dice. Exempt from all regulations.

“Give us two pints of Arthur J,” he said. She shuffled off to do that. She was a huge Connamara woman who’d married a local. Her eyes gave malice a bad name. Mebbe she’d had a head of hair once. Rumour had it she’d got the first ever hair net in Ireland. It sure appeared as if she’d never felt the need to once remove it. It fit like a bonnet... like dead glue. She dressed habitually in black.

The pints came. I paid. We sat at the counter and sipped gingerly. M... m... ph, nothing alive in there... yet.

Gurteen winked and we lashed half them home.

“Same again, Eileen... give us a fag, Dillon.”

I did that. The Guinness settled on me like gloom. I was off again.

“You’re in trouble, Dillon. I was in The Weir at lunchtime and I heard a conversation between three fellahs.”

“Do I know them?”

“Marisa’s... is that her name... yeah, her brother, the queer... and Robbie Fox... and the part-time barman, Ed of something.”

“Ted.”

“The queer looked like someone walked on his face. The Raoul fella. Someone did him!”

He looked at me. I nodded.

“Good on yah... well, them three were fixing to fix you. Soon.”

I thought about that. Not hard but I thought about it. Two more pints arrived. I paid.

“I wouldn’t like to think of them thundering shites beating up on you, Dillon.”

I didn’t like to think of it either. I said, “Me neither.”

“Them scuts have bin pissin’ me off for a while now. They’re meeting again this evening in The Weir.”

“I’d better take a look in so.”

“Good man, good...”

I drained the pint. My cigarettes were on the counter. I left them. Gurteen gave a big smile.

“I’ll keep our Eileen company for a bit... eh Eileen, come out here and I’ll throw me leg over. C’mon... it’s Christmas... and who’s to say.”

How do you dress for a hiding. Your worst clothes? Clean underwear in case hospitals feature. That stirred a thought. Wearing dirtied jeans, sneakers, and a dying sweatshirt, I threw an old oil-skin over me. Banish the thoughts of shrouds. I rang the hospital, but Nurse Allison Brown was off duty. Trucking down the canal I wondered how worried I should be. The first thing I saw in the Weir was three thugs. At the counter. Dressed in those black biker leather jackets, and chains weren’t decorative. I knew those three by reputation. The guards avoided them. They were standing at the bar... drinking shorts. No one was standing within a wallop of them. Not a word was spoken by or near them.

My three laddy-a-bucks were down at a far table... and boisterous. Howls of laughter. I ordered a large scotch. The thugs continued to stare at nothing. Ho-kay... let’s walk and talk. When I got to the table, I pulled a stool over and sat. The three had stopped laughing. Raoul’s face was a mess. Ted was tittering, and Robbie whispered something to him. The table before us was covered in glasses.

“You’re looking for me... are ye...”

Before any reply, another stool was pulled up and Gurteen sat between Robbie and Ted. He spoke to Raoul directly.

“Do you see them three fellahs at the counter. They want to talk to you now.”

Oh, like right now.

Raoul looked at me... then his friends. He stood up and sauntered to the counter. A few brief words were said by the first thug... who then tapped Raoul gently on his bruised bone. Raoul turned and walked smartish out of the pub.

“And then there were two,” said Gurteen.

Ted gave another low giggle.

Flash... Gurteen head-butted him on the bridge of the nose and grabbed him from falling.

“Piss off now, horseface.” Ted, dazed, got shakily to his feet and did exactly that.

Gurteen turned to me.

“Dillon, get the drinks in, will you... Robbie here doesn’t want anything.”

I ordered two doubles. When I returned, Robbie was holding out a fist of money to me. I took it.

Robbie made to leave. Gurteen put a hand lightly on his chest.

“Ary don’t go, Robbeen, you’re great crack... sit and watch us drink a bit... alrite?”

Robbie nodded.

Gurteen then proceeded to tell me a lengthy story about his initiation to sex. This was a long crude mechanical tale. He kept winking at Robbie. I finished my drink and said I’d be going.

“Sure, Dillon, thanks for dropping in, me and Robbie will stay on for a while and I’ll tell him a few more stories... Okay... Robbeen? I’m getting to like you... would yah credit that. Hop up there and get me a drink like a good lad.”

I left. There wasn’t any sign of Raoul or Ted. But I wasn’t expecting there would be.

A shoplifter ran smack into me the next morning. The sales had begun. If bargains be what you don’t want your neighbour to have, we had Big Bargains. The stampede was in full swing. I was standing sentry outside the main door. Well outside. Teeming with people. A man erupted from the door like the bat outa hell... and hell for leather he was traveling. He was laden with unwrapt clothes. I tried to move out of his way. Too late. Colliding, we went sprawling. Clothes littered the wet ground.

“You have me,” he said.

“Not if you run like the hammers—”

“... God bless you, Dillon,” and he snapt a permanent crease trousers and lit out. I gathered the remnants and entered through the fire door. The vegetable department lay just beyond. Like a haunted place, it was not in the “sales category” and thus shunned. Standing over the fruit counter was Julie. An indifferent melon in her right hand. Her gaze was up and over the whole area... and preoccupied. I snuck off with the wet contraband.

I began to plan my funeral.

How to phrase the invitations.

A black border naturally.

A simple white card to read...

“You are cordially invited

to the funeral of