Céard a dhéanfadh mac an chait ach luch a mharú?
A bow to David Goodis:
An elephant in steel boots stamped around the apartment above. Somebody in boxing gloves mangled a piano down below. PJ rattled the door handle but I had a chair wedged against it. The slice of sky was bright and blue through the window.
‘Con! There’s breakfast here for you. Are you getting up?’
Michael didn’t know how to use a stovetop espresso maker so we were having jasmine tea, with dry pancakes, orange cheese, and stale chocolate pastries.
‘Where’d you go last night?’ PJ asked. ‘I thought you were right behind us but it was after three before I heard you.’
‘Taking a look around town,’ I said. ‘I like to get a feeling about a place before a job.’
‘So? What feeling did you get?’
‘Forget about pulling Hamilton out of that apartment, for one thing,’ I said, ‘too heavy with security. Likewise the casino. No, we’ll pick him up somewhere else, somewhere easier. I’m on it, PJ, don’t worry about it.’
‘I was fucking worried last night when you went all weird on us, so I was. I hope you’re in better form today.’
I was in much better form today. Monsignor Beikle looked and sounded like a genuine banker, knew the mechanics of the system and what the officials needed to hear – Beikle could carry this thing off. I was also less down on PJ. Something in his eyes had spooked me last night but now, in the cold clear light of morning, I figured it was mostly this stab-in-the-back life getting to me again.
‘I’d be in better form without the jungle patrol above and Clair De fucking Looney Tunes below.’
‘Ach, wise up! It’s Saturday morning, so it is, the kids are doing their wee dance and piano classes. Isn’t it nice to see a bit of culture about the place?’ PJ’s breakfast was a toxic cigarette, he narrowed his eyes as he sucked the nicotine marrow from the thin white cylinder. ‘You finished, Michael, son? Here, leave the dishes, but away down there and shoot the piano player, will ye? Tell him he’s getting on Con Maknazpy’s nerves, and that’s not good news for the rest of us when that happens, sure it’s not, Con?’
We laughed, but I still probed PJ’s eyes for that Judas squint, and he knew it.
An elephant in steel boots stamped around the apartment above. Somebody in boxing gloves mangled a piano down below. PJ rattled the door handle but I had a chair wedged against it. The slice of sky was bright and blue through the window.
‘Con! There’s breakfast here for you. Are you getting up?’
Michael didn’t know how to use a stovetop espresso maker so we were having jasmine tea, with dry pancakes, orange cheese, and stale chocolate pastries.
‘Where’d you go last night?’ PJ asked. ‘I thought you were right behind us but it was after three before I heard you.’
‘Taking a look around town,’ I said. ‘I like to get a feeling about a place before a job.’
‘So? What feeling did you get?’
‘Forget about pulling Hamilton out of that apartment, for one thing,’ I said, ‘too heavy with security. Likewise the casino. No, we’ll pick him up somewhere else, somewhere easier. I’m on it, PJ, don’t worry about it.’
‘I was fucking worried last night when you went all weird on us, so I was. I hope you’re in better form today.’
I was in much better form today. Monsignor Beikle looked and sounded like a genuine banker, knew the mechanics of the system and what the officials needed to hear – Beikle could carry this thing off. I was also less down on PJ. Something in his eyes had spooked me last night but now, in the cold clear light of morning, I figured it was mostly this stab-in-the-back life getting to me again.
‘I’d be in better form without the jungle patrol above and Clair De fucking Looney Tunes below.’
‘Ach, wise up! It’s Saturday morning, so it is, the kids are doing their wee dance and piano classes. Isn’t it nice to see a bit of culture about the place?’ PJ’s breakfast was a toxic cigarette, he narrowed his eyes as he sucked the nicotine marrow from the thin white cylinder. ‘You finished, Michael, son? Here, leave the dishes, but away down there and shoot the piano player, will ye? Tell him he’s getting on Con Maknazpy’s nerves, and that’s not good news for the rest of us when that happens, sure it’s not, Con?’
We laughed, but I still probed PJ’s eyes for that Judas squint, and he knew it.
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