Eight Ball Boogie Part 32

26.

I found Denise on her parents' bed, lights off, crying, cuddling Ben, who was still snuffling. I sat on the edge of the bed, not knowing what to say, smoothing the wrinkled duvet with the palm of my hand.

"You okay?"

She didn't speak.

"Is Ben okay?"

"He's okay." Her nose sounded blocked. "I told him you were playing cops and robbers with the big boys. The noise gave him a fright."

"Me and him both. C'mon, we have to get out of here."

"What am I going to tell Mam and Dad?"

"That you heard about it on the news, same way as everyone else. That some mad b.a.s.t.a.r.ds broke in on Christmas Eve, started shooting one another. I don't know, we'll have to make it up as we go along. Worst case scenario, I'm guessing Brendan'll pay for your ticket to Dallas next time."

She giggled through the tears, took a deep breath, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand.

"And... Gonz?"

I nodded.

"This time for good."

"He was doing everything you said?"

"That's as far as I know. That's the last couple of days. f.u.c.k knows what he was at for the last four years."

"When I saw him... earlier, when they arrived. Harry, I nearly died."

"I know the feeling." I stood up. "Come on. Get your stuff packed. And for Christ's sake leave those pyjamas behind."

"Harry?"

"What?"

"I'm sorry, Harry..."

"Don't be. If you apologise you'll want to explain and I don't need the gory details. Get packed."

I sat in the living room until they were ready to go, smoking, looking at Gonzo. The medics were gone, leaving the corpse behind, that and a thick wad of padded cotton wool they'd been using to staunch the flow of blood. The bleeding had stopped by then, and he sat in a black pool that was maybe a couple of inches deep. I felt no remorse for killing him, no regret that he was dead. I felt nothing, numb. All I knew was that the world was one sociopath fewer. He had been my brother but from where I was sitting that wasn't a hanging offence.

The only thing that bothered me was, his s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g Denise was now out in the open, which meant that Ben would probably find out when he was old enough to understand. When that might be I didn't know. I had thirty years on Ben and I still didn't get it.

And then I remembered something. I stubbed the smoke, got up and walked across to Gonzo. Ruffled his hair, bent down, kissed his forehead.

"You play the player, Gonz," I whispered. "Not the cards."

Brady stopped me as we left.

"You'll be around? I don't have to take you in?"

"I'll be asleep, Brady. Just don't wake me when you throw me in the wagon."

"Alright. I'll ring those people."

"Cheers."

Dawn was breaking dull beyond the mountains by the time we got away. We drove for home, Ben strapped into the back seat, asleep before we even hit the main road, Denise driving. I rolled a smoke, told her what Brady had said about packing in the job, on the off chance that she might want to fill the silence with something more important.

"And will you?"

"I don't know."

"But what else can you do?"

"I don't know, something'll come up." I thought of the feeding frenzy the photos would cause, once the murders. .h.i.t the airwaves. Even when I subtracted Herbie's cut, the money would still take up a lot of room in the deposit box of whatever bank I decided to favour with my custom. "I'll worry about it next week. If I wake up."

She smiled at that, looked across. I didn't have the energy to smile back. Her expression grew serious.

"Harry?"

"Don't, Dee."

"What you said, Monday night?"

"Jesus, Dee. I'm trying to forget what I did an hour ago."

"About me having an affair? That you'd kill him and cripple me?"

I didn't look at her.

"Don't read too much into it, Dee. He was going to kill me and take Ben." I looked out the window, watching the thaw charge down the hillsides, coursing through the ditches. I wasn't sure if she could hear me. I wasn't even sure who it was I was supposed to be talking to. "Anyway, you're already a cripple," I said. "Me too. You're my crutch. I think that's the whole idea."

She didn't say anything to that. I switched on the stereo, turned away, tried to make myself comfortable, the wound starting to burn again. Closed my eyes but couldn't stop thinking, about Gonzo, panned out on the pool table and holding the eight ball over the pocket because what else can you do when they want you to play with a crooked cue. I thought about Dutchie, sitting at home, hoping I was dead and hoping I wasn't and realising, way too late, that you only ever have a choice in hindsight. I thought about Ben, how he'd have to wait another year for his snowman, wondering about who might help him build it. I thought about Denise, and how she might fare out getting someone to take her on with another man's kid in tow. And I thought too about a dumb blonde answering the door in the middle of the night, s.h.i.+vering, not knowing that the cold was the last thing she would ever feel.

I knew Denise was watching, waiting. I liked that. Not enough to stay, but still.

About the Author:

Declan Burke is the author of EIGHTBALL BOOGIE, THE BIG O and CRIME ALWAYS PAYS. He is the editor of DOWN THESE GREEN STREETS: IRISH CRIME WRITING IN THE 21ST CENTURY. He lives in Wicklow, Ireland, with his wife Aileen and daughter Lily. He is not allowed to own a cat.