Kevin Barry - Dark Lies the Island

‘We can’t stay long, Dog,’ he said.

‘D’ya know I’d smoke a hunderd fags for you in a night if I was drinkin’?’ said The Dog.

‘DVDs for you, Dog?’

‘DVDs comin’ out me bollix, Mull. I no more want DVDs than the fuckin’ wall.’

He eyed Tee-J.

‘You’re gettin’ big,’ he said.

He settled himself on the white plastic garden chair that was the only furniture in the place. He rubbed with the chipped black paint of his fingernails the inside of his thigh and he drank from the beaker.

‘Would we say three-fifty, Doggie?’

‘Don’t mind your fuckin’ shite-talk!’

His mood had switched instantly, as was the Mannion way, from playful to like he was going to murder you.

‘Said don’t mind the auld talk, Mull! Come in here and look at me like scum? Ye want my money but the way ye look at me? Like I’m a piece of fuckin’ shit? All I’m to ye fellas is euro! Ye fuckin’ bitches! I open my door! I offer ye the full fuckin’ courtesy of my home! I …’

He rose and went out to his patio again. The brothers watched as he swayed out there. He looked over the waters of the lake. Patrick felt the cold dread you’d get always on a visit to The Dog but the breeze changed outside and the anger seemed to melt again: Doggie had been took by gentle thoughts.

‘Forgive me,’ he said, returning to the room. ‘I get … upset in meself sometimes. I have too much love in my heart! That’s the only problem with Doggie Mannion! All I want is to spend some time with ye. Would ye not take a little drink with me?’

‘I’m off the juice,’ said Tee-J. ‘Head doctor’s orders.’

‘We’ve a rush on, Dog.’

‘Ah I know,’ said The Dog. ‘’Course my problem is I have no off-button. Are ye smellin’ that by the way?’

True enough there was the queerest smell in the place. To Patrick, it was like you’d get in a welder’s yard. Or maybe like a quik-dry foam-filler if you got it on your hands.

‘What’s it, Dog?’

Doggie winked.

‘I’m cookin’,’ he said.

‘Hah?’

‘Ye’re lookin’ at the cunt,’ he said, ‘who’s going to bring crystal methamphetamine to the County Leitrim. And ye’re the boys’ll help me.’

Patrick had that feeling — that the control of the night was getting away from him.

‘Dog …’

‘Hush, babies, hush,’ said The Dog, and with a finger to his lips he led them towards a back room. Stronger the smell got as they came nearer to it.

Not a half-hour later the outlaw Mullaneys were headed for town in the Hitachi with two hundred euro to their name from the DVDs and seventy-seven rocks of methamphetamine, fresh-cooked, neatly packed in baggies, eleven baggies, seven rocks to the baggie. Tee-J was reading from an internet printout that Doggie had given them.

‘It’ll make a buck massive horny,’ he said. ‘A buck’ll ride for twelve hours flat off a this stuff, Patch!’

Would you not, thought Patrick, get a bit cheesed off with twelve hours’ worth of riding?

‘Says here,’ says Tee-J, ‘a sure way to know a young one who’s been at the meth is that she’ll have fuck knots in her hair. From all the riding.’

‘Fuck knots?’

‘From her head slappin’ up and down off the pillow, like?’ said Tee-J. ‘For twelve hours, Patch!’

It was great to see enthusiasm in the boy no matter what it was that put it there. The plan was they’d try offload some of the stuff in Roxy’s car park when they got to town. Of course Tee-J was already burning a rock from a Diet Coke can with holes cut in.

‘Arra Teedge!’

‘Well I ain’t drinkin’,’ he said. ‘And don’t worry, Patch. I’m definitely not gettin’ into any scraps tonight.’

Of course Patrick knew sure enough what way this was ending up Tee-J-wise. There was poison and rage in the half-eejit and he hadn’t licked them off the ground. There’d be the bust and the bail and the summons. And he could see himself already, stood up in the courthouse, with his white face on, explaining why the brother had failed to appear:

Tee-J gone to England, judge.

But even so the town was laid out below them as they came down the dual carriageway, and it was full of promise.

‘And what are you making of it all, Mr McGurk?’ said Patrick.

‘Arra sure you wouldn’t know which end is the toes,’ said Mr McGurk.

Mr McGurk was a plastic leprechaun attached to the dashboard on a spring and he bobbed along comically as the Hitachi sped. How he had ended up being called Mr McGurk neither of them could remember. Both brothers would do Mr McGurk’s voice but Tee-J did it brilliant. He did Mr McGurk as a cranky old farmer who was always giving out. Mr McGurk was six inches of green plastic but entirely alive. He was made alive by their love for each other.

‘Horn on me you’d hang your coat off,’ said Tee-J.

‘If you were told the stuff’d make you fly you’d be feelin’ for wings,’ said Patrick.

Tee-J sniffed at the palm of his hand.

‘That ridey-lookin’ till girl still workin’ at the Maxol, Patch? Girleen with the dick-stud in her tongue?’

I’m on my mat, thought Patrick Mullaney, and that’s that.

There was nothing good coming. Enya’s father would get a lamp on Patrick Mullaney sure as God made little apples. The guards would take badly to word about the crystal meth that was putting the hearts skaw-ways in the crowd below in Roxy’s. The wire cutters was still in back of the van, he had forgotten to bring it into Doggie, and it was enough alone to put Patrick Mullaney back in Castlerea jail for a stretch. His teeth were falling out. It was greyer he was after getting. There was the situation with the lack of a roof over their heads and the situation with all the chest pains and all the stress. Tee-J’s odds on staying out of scraps were long. There was only the half-chance ever of finding some peace and rest. People were fly-tipping their rubbish everywhere. Oh and the white Hitachi was set fast to its tracks and the tracks led in one direction only. The Hitachi also was making some fairly severe choking sounds. But Patrick Mullaney reckoned that if he got the exhaust sorted on her at all, she’d be 100 per cent.

SHE SAT IN a pool of grey-blue light thrown by the screen. Beyond the high windows, it was darkening, the quick fade of an October day. She had not cut in nine days but maybe tonight. She hung a song on her cloud, Sufjan, and took down another — she Xed a window and opened another. There was no internet at the holiday home except for dial-up, as though powered by a hamster on a wheel, and it made her want to retch it was so slow. She went each day to the cineplex at the far edge of the town. It had coin-operated terminals in a lobby annexe upstairs. She clicked and dragged; a deep nausea swirled. The smell of stale popcorn and bodies rose from the main lobby beneath. Sound FX from the movie screens, muffled, and faint dialogue, snappy-snappy. The itch of her blood as it sped. Gun shots. Car revs. Screams. She opened 4-Real Forum and typed:

Maybe tonite …

Gretchen from Flagstaff had a green light beside her name on the screen — Gretchen was live — and Gretchen typed:

It is what is in your heart that must be answered it is your call to make we are here for you, S .

Alison from Teignmouth had a green light beside her name on the screen — Alison was live — and Alison typed:

U hav been v strong for days why now Sara. This is what I must be asking right now. Is the med changed/weakened by ur head doc?

Kandy The Lez from Bremen had a green light beside her name — Kandy The Lez was live — and Kandy The Lez typed: