Authors: Ken Bruen
figured there was something seriously fucking wrong w i t h
cunts w h o made Hsts.
He said,
nothing,
nada,
zip.
He asked me,
' Y o u hear from him?'
153
KEN BRUEN
A p a r t from the money bonanza, not so y o u ' d notice,
discounting the acid in me face. I said ' N o ' and asked about
the band, the Devil's M i n i o n s .
These he knew. They were a motley crew, no pun
intended, and were appearing in the Roisin D u b h the
following Wednesday.
Ireland were playing a W o r l d C u p qualifier, so the Roisin
w o u l d be dead.
I said,
' M i g h t wander round there, have a chat w i t h the little
bastard w h o threw the shit in me face.'
He asked if I wanted h i m to come along and I said,
' N a w , I'm just going to observe. M a y b e their Esteemed
One w i l l appear.'
He hesitated, knew me too well, then 'fessed up,
'I have a date on Wednesday.'
Just when I'd been reassuring meself he was as solitary as
I was, I tried to be happy for h i m , asked,
'Who's the lucky colleen?'
He didn't want to tell me, I could sense that, then said,
'She's a lawyer . . . er . . . her name is Aine and she . . .
w e l l , she likes the things I d o . '
Jesus.
Decaff tea,
vegan,
Z e n ,
clean living.
I said,
'Terrific, have a great time.'
1 5 4
THE DEVIL
'Thanks, Jack. I think y o u ' d Uke her.'
Right.
I fucking hated her already.
He rung off, saying he'd continue to dig on our Mr K.
Was I jealous?
Big time.
I was edgy, still watching Sawyer, waiting for the right
opportunity. Took two X a n a x and headed out.
Bright crisp sunny day.
Go figure.
The snow had just evaporated and people looked, if not
happy - too many jobs were being lost for that - definitely
reheved that at least the fecking weather had improved.
My mobile rang. I answered and heard,
'Jack - it's OK to use your first name, I hope - it's C a r l . '
Dare I say,
Speak of the Devil!
I said,
' H i , C a r l . '
Breezy.
H i s accent still foreign tinged, he asked,
' Y o u fancy a bite to eat?'
'Sure.'
'Excellent. The brasserie in Kirwan's Lane does a rather
splendid
coq au vin.
Shall we say one o'clock if that suits,
aujourd'hui}
I mean -
excusez-moi -
today?'
I kept w i t h the light banter.
'Works for me,
mon ami:
He chuckled nastily, said,
'Touche.
See y o u .
A bieritot:
155
KEN BRUEN
I rang off.
M a y b e I could nail the fucker d o w n this time.
I checked me watch. Some time to k i l l so headed for
C h a r l y Byrne's.
Jesus, h o w long since I'd seen Vinny?
Too long.
A n d there he was, m i d banter w i t h some old dear and
making her day.
He hadn't cut his hair and still had the look of John
Travolta in
Pulp Fiction.
He certainly had the mouth.
W h e n he finally turned he said, I swear by all that's holy,
' L o o k what the devil dragged i n . '
A n d without further ado added,
' C o m e i n . '
I d i d .
We had a coffee in Java's. He had his
Irish Times,
his
M a r l b o r o Light, putting it out as we entered the cafe, and
for one brief moment, everything was O K .
We got the coffees ordered and a croissant for Vinny, then
he sat back, said,
'I thought you'd abandoned us.'
I gave the Irish response:
' W o u l d I ever?'
I told h i m I was living in Nun's Island and he recom-
mended I read
Sanctuary.
It was just good to see h i m .
No flak, no bullshit, just a real long-time friend. I said,
'I'll be needing some books.'
He got out his pen, said.
1 56
THE DEVIL
'Fire away.'
I ordered:
Seamus Smyth,
Quinn
and his new one,
Red Dock,
Straley,
Gary PhiUips,
J i m Nesbitt,
Brian M c G i l l o w a y ,
A d r i a n M c K i n t y ,
Tony Black.
V i n n y said,
'Nice list.'
V i n n y had much the same upbringing as me save his m u m
was lovely, but Catholic in all the ways that screwed w i t h
you. I asked,
'What do you think of the Devil?'
He laughed - and he is one of the great laughers I k n o w -
asked,
' W h i c h D e v i l had you in mind?'
He was buttering his croissant, laying the butter on w i t h
just the right delicacy, and Jesus, it looked tempting. I said,
' N o , the real M c C o y . Satan, the fire-and-brimstone,
cloven hooves and eternal damnation fellah.'
He took a sweet bite of the pastry, relished it, then said,
'I watch
Reaper,
does that count?'
I waited and he added,
' O K , Jack, I can see this is a serious question, so my
answer is serious. L o o k at the state of the country and w h o -
ever is stalking the land - it ain't G o d . '
1 5 7
KEN BRUEN
I had time to k i l l before lunch, so I headed for the main
street and heard a guy mutter to his wife,
'Hear about Ryanair?'
She gave h i m the look of generations of Irish women,
sighed, asked,
'What?'
L i k e she had the sHghtest interest.
Ryanair, run by M i c h a e l O'Leary, was our no-frills, cut-
price airline. I admired O ' L e a r y - day after 9/11, he offered
free flights to any destination for one cent. I'm not saying he
saved the industry, but by Jaysus, he got planes back in the
air. I thought he should be running the country.
The man said,
'Ryanair is going to charge to use the toilets.'
The w o m a n gave the universal,
' H m m m p h . '
A sound that men never have and never w i l l understand.
C a r l was due to arrive at the restaurant in about half an
hour and I had one of me rare bright moments. W h a t the
Bible terms
the still, small voice.
I bought one of those disposable cameras, complete with
flash, roll of 24. The radio was on and Keith Finnegan's
show was taking a music break. The Killers w i t h ' H u m a n ' .
Seemed k i n d of like an omen.
I went to Kirwan's Lane, passing McDonagh's fish ' n ' chip
shop, w i t h a line of Americans already waiting. I stationed
myself under a canopy that hid me from view.
Saw C a r l arrive, strutting along, women turning to watch
him.
1 58
THE DEVIL
He knew.
Small smile perched on his handsome face.
He was wearing a light suede jacket that whispered,
serious bucks,
black shirt with a muted red tie, dark slacks
and those Loke shoes, handmade jobs I could never afford.
A little sun had emerged and bounced off his bald head
like bad karma.
I began to shoot off a whole range of shots, catching h i m ,
if not in his full glory, at least in his smug esteem.
He strolled into the brasserie as if he owned it.
For some odd reason, the beautiful words of Francis de
Sales'
Cross
crept into my head. I muttered them like some
form of incantation.
I knew it by heart. One of the Patrician Brothers had taught
me - and I use
taught
with more than a little bitterness.
He beat it into me with the canes they favoured. Those
suckers hurt like a bastard.
I can still hear the swish as it came d o w n
again,
again,
again,
palms of my hands, my bare legs, till the sweat rolled
d o w n , staining his cassock.
D i d I cry?
N o t then.
Some might suggest Fve been crying ever since.
I used the rest of the roll to shoot the swans in the
Claddagh Basin and had a batch of French bread to feed
them.
1 59
KEN BRUEN
Pocketing the camera and brushing the breadcrumbs off,
I headed for the restaurant.
I was thinking about
coq au vin,
and call it a hunch, but I
knew it wasn't ever going to be on the menu.
A n d as it turned out, it wasn't.
D u r i n g the lunch we had, he never once mentioned it, so
did I?
D i d I fuck.
I'm not all that sure what it is, except it sounds . . . lewd.
But then I was raised on spuds and cabbage.
M e a t was what the priests had.
Later, we discovered, very young meat.
He had the best table.
Quelle surprise.
Rose to greet me. Was he going to embrace me?
Changed to a handshake.
M y imagination?
But his hand felt like a dead person's. Waving me to the
chair opposite, he said,
'Jack,
bienvenu.
I took the liberty of ordering for us.
Champers to start,
n'est-ce pasV
H o l y fuck.
He clicked his fingers, said,
'Gargon.'
The waiter was there in jig time, uncorked the bottle w i t h
a flourish, filled our glasses and backed off.
C a r l said.
1 6 0
THE DEVIL
' M o e t . '
Is there a reply?
He suddenly produced a fountain pen - M o n t Blanc, of
course, to accessorize his slim Rolex, no doubt - and held
up a finger, motioning me to be quiet.
Jotted d o w n something on a napkin, folded it, put it
beside his glass, then said,
'Sorry, Jack, just a business inspiration.'
He raised his glass, toasted,
'Here's to y o u , fellah.'
H a d he n o w an Irish lilt?
161
14
'Fear of the inferno drives me to hell.'
K B
I
Another 'gargon' arrived, w i t h a tray of oysters. C a r l said,
' N o t h i n g like a
petit
aphrodisiac'
I drained my glass, asked,
' Y o u hoping to get laid?'
A n d before he could respond, I asked the waiter, w i t h
exaggerated politeness,
' C o u l d I get a pint of Guinness,
please}'
Show at least one of us wasn't a wanker.
C a r l , not skipping a beat, never looking at the waiter,
snapped,
' M a k e it two and before Tuesday.'
Then grinned at me, said,
'Mea culpa, mon ami,
oysters without the black w o u l d be
a sin,' his eyes mocking me.
I was delighted. In the proper m o o d for d o w n and dirty
with this cock-sucker. A level playing field, so to speak.
I waited till the G arrived, then sank half without pre-
amble, belched, said,
' A h , that's the biz.' •
1 6 5
KEN BRUEN
He didn't touch his, waved his fingers at the poor
bastard hovering, indicating his champagne needed to be
refilled.
Time to turkey shoot.
I wiped the froth off my upper lip, said,
'Let's stop fucking around, pal. I k n o w w h o you are . . .'
Paused.
' A n d you k n o w I know. So quit the bullshite, what do you
want?'
Took a moment, then he threw back his head and laughed
out l o u d , startling the waiters and me.
It was loud. I imagine they could hear him in Purgatory -
or Tuam, which amounts to the same thing.
It sounded like a hyena w i t h meat in its mouth.
The hairs on my arms stood up, hterally.
Whatever I'd expected -
s h o w d o w n at noon,
denial,
outrage,
this wasn't it.
He eased d o w n , wiped his eyes, gasped,
' Y o u are, as M r s A n t h o n y B r a d f o r d - H e m p l e says,
priceless.
D i d he mean Ridge?
H e d i d .
Continued, the accent changing tone like staccato French,
German, whatever the fuck,
' L o o k at this body of mine. Jack, and you - y o u broken-
d o w n specimen, you poor deluded creature, y o u seem to
166
THE DEVIL
believe I'm the Devil incarnate? Y o u are Jack, a one-off, a
true original, no wonder she has a certain fondness for y o u . '
Ridge, I figured.
An almost grey sheen had entered his eyes, like coal that
w o u l d never light unless . . .
He leant back, his body language insinuating languor.
The Devil incarnate
seemed to amuse h i m highly. I was
about to speak but he held up a finger, said,
'Shush. I have, as your esteemed trade unionists say, the
floor.'
He took a delicate sip of the champagne, then said,
'Let's have some fun. Indulge your fanciful delusion for a
moment, act as if
the Devil wears Armani:
He leant over, right in my face, whispered,
'I'm the D e v i l , Lucifer, the Light-Bringer, L o r d of
Darkness.'
I said,
' Y o u forgot the apt one, L o r d of Lies.'
No smile, he hissed,
' D o not provoke me or allow my superficial courtesy to