Paddy Nemesis, page 4
- I'll be there. This all the information I need?
- It is and you'll no doubt be watched.
- Better look good for my fans then.
I walked away.
I hailed the next available taxi, gave him the address and sat like a statue in the back. The driver just knew from the face on me not to engage me in conversation.
It didn’t really sink in till I got back to my flat and sat by the open window in my lounge listening to the blues and the traffic out on the streets. I blew cigarette smoke out into the air; didn’t want it to stink up my flat, being a stickler for cleanliness. I rapped my fingers on the ledge, thinking, letting my imagination drag out like a blade. Let it gouge my eyes and slice my head open before stitching it shut without any anaesthetic.
I clenched my jaw so tightly shut, my teeth ached. I didn't want to open my mouth in case I wouldn’t be able to stop screaming. The swelling had almost disappeared from around my knuckles and I decided to do something I felt I hadn’t done in almost a week - take a shower.
As I took the clothes off, and left them in a pile in front of my bed - which always looked empty even when I slept in it. I looked at myself in the mirror and wasn't even taken in by the reflection. Even though I was toned, there seemed to be a covering of fat all over my body that I couldn’t get rid of, no matter what diet I went on or how many times I went to the gym. Maybe it was the scars that left my upper torso looking like scorched earth and the knowledge of every single one gave this feeling of burden. The knowledge of every one was still as clear as the tumbler of vodka untouched next to the ashtray. Maybe it was just my fucking eyes playing tricks on me like some cruel circus act. Maybe I needed some sleep. Maybe I needed retribution.
As I stood naked in the shower, shrinking into myself with the cold, I cried until I dehydrated, and turned on the shower to wash myself properly. I let all the hot water in the tank wash over me, and remove the scum and sweat and bruises and harsh words spoken, and promises of even harsher events to come.
I washed until my skin couldn’t take anymore, and put today to the back of my mind. When I towelled off, I called up Joe. He had me on speakerphone and as usual he was running late, not even home to Portmarnock but he said he didn't need to shower or anything, just a quick change. He'd be heading back in in 15.
- Grand. So I'm nearly done here but I'll get the bus in
His phone cut out. I threw mine at the wall like a baseball pitch and it came apart on impact. No way near calmed down.
- Fuck sake
I sat cross legged on the floor as I put the phone back together not feeling any notion to get up but I knew I had to.
When I was getting changed, I had an uncharacteristic pang for Boyle and my real friends. Glen, my best friend, my brother, and the shit we used to get up to around town and in Carrick. I hadn’t spoken to him in such a long time. Would he forgive me? Would I forgive myself? The circle of friends was small: Glen and myself. That was all we wanted; that was all we ever needed. And we used to rule that town when we were kids ‘cause we were big enough, and ugly enough, to take no shit off anyone. I'd like to thank my parents for that.
And then Sarah just popped in for a second, and everything changed again and I hated myself even more. I had to accept the fact that I would have to see her again and accept what she had to say. This mission was becoming more personal than any fucking Government scam.
The three-month-old razor felt like sandpaper on my face and my eyes looked sunk into my face, as if two big thumbs had pushed them in. I could have done with a line, but I reminded myself that I didn’t do that anymore. So I made a pot of coffee and drank to good health or some other meaningless toast.
Threw on some clean clothes and grabbed another deck of fags, already late after trying to find some Kleenex to mop up the mess I had left. Getting to that stage had taken some time, as it hadn’t been done in a while, and I needed to let off some steam. I just thought of her but not any situation apart from the first kiss, and the words spoken after.
There were some good memories buried deep in my head.
I jumped onto the first bus heading into town and went straight upstairs and sat at the back, still not able to get rid of that youthful feeling of rebellion. As I rubbed the condensation off the window, and got a clearer view of the grey world outside, I caught my reflection. It was the last time I would be out in town for a good while and wanted to look the best for my audience.
Outside the bus, I could see young ones like positive neutrons being attracted by negative. The city lights too bright not to miss. I worried for them, fantasised about them, wanted to take them home and make them a cup of tea. Christ I needed another fix cause this come down was pulling out the desperate old romantic in me. I needed a fuck like an addict needs a needle. Superficial conversation, promising everything and giving nothing. Yeah, I knew it was a shallow outlook on them, but it wasn’t like I was going to be able to talk to them about the impact of oil-drilling in Alaska on the local wildlife.
And to be honest, I couldn’t do the serious thing with women at the moment. A girlfriend would have surely fucked things up good and proper for me. So why not be as shallow as them, and just hunt for meat the same as them.
But they needed to be loved just like me.
And I wanted sex tonight, so so badly. I wanted to be held and I wanted there to be someone next to me when I woke up. I wanted to feel like there was something normal going on, as opposed to the day job, where normal wasn’t on the menu. So without realising it, In my head tonight was already planned. Lots of drink, some recreational drugs, as long as the boss didn’t find out; a promise can be quickly forgotten. And a woman, any woman, keeping me company for the evening. I couldn’t take her home so I would get a hotel room somewhere. Probably the Morrison: that was where I took all the women I loved and who liked the look of me.
Some teenage thugs came upstairs and started shouting abuse at each other, like all teenage thugs do. If they had any intelligence at all, they would become politicians. Cloned from the same fake designer label, they came up the back and tried to stare me out with their witless stare. I carried on looking out the window, but watched them in the reflection, not bothering to rise to their bait. I was pretty pissed at them cause I had a fine view of a couple of thirty somethings linking arms, trying to keep their balance on six-inch heels and trying to keep everything in place. Fuck, anyone would think I was some desperate who got nothing but talked about everything. I guess I was just highly sexed. Well, I had to do something to take my mind off murder and drugs.
Two of the thugs lined up along the back seat and sat as close as they could to me without sitting in my lap. Another couple of them sat in the seat in front. They might as well be shouting at everyone on the bus that they were about to try and mug me. Could I not just be left the fuck alone for a few hours, please?
- Here bud, got any smokes?
Another one.
- Any weed man, or maybe some rock?
I kept looking out the window, waiting for one of them to make their move. Come on you fuckers, hey ho, lets go.
They looked at each other, confused. I didn’t move a muscle.
- Tell you wha’ man, give us whatever money you have on you and then we won’t have to break your head open.
If they were any paler, they would be ghosts and have no real individual features apart from being cunts.
- He’s looking at us in the window. Can you see us, bud?
Then it happened again. I couldn’t get them all, but got a few at least.
I turned round to the young fella next to me, smiled, he smiled back. How polite of us. Then I butted him on the bridge off the nose. As he reeled back, I got my right hand into his chest and pushed him into his mate, then swung my left hand, open palmed into one of the bucks in front, and hit his Adams apple. The fella next to him tried to grab at my hair, but just pulled at air. He got a pretty good punch off on my shoulder. As I moved up and round and down the aisle of the bus and looked back up at them, they just looked a bit dazed. If I didn’t get off the bus in the next few seconds, they were going to regroup and come back at me. It was easy enough to handle but it was Thursday night and I really couldn’t be fucked. So I headed downstairs, pushed the emergency open button above the exit doors and hop off. Luckily, it was parked at
Lower O’Connell Street. Luckily, I was less than a minute away from a pint.
Chapter 5
I got a text from Joe, he's in Q Bar, just over O'Connell bridge on the South "Dark" Side. Only a few hours ago I was just up the road, sinking into the ground, and now with a change of persona, the streets became my friend again. Lighting up a cigarette and feeling the chill coming off the Liffey, I quicken my step just ‘cause I'm desperate for a drink, desperate for friends.
The doorman, looks like a retired Eastern European weight lifter, not to be fucked with in any way, shape or form. He was chatting to some brasser, so I just gave him a little wink as he opened the door with one arm, keeping the brasser in close contact with him with the other arm, she's stroking him like a big old cat. Fair fucks to him, another meaningless blowjob on the cards later I guess, its not like she even has to pay to get in.
At the top of the stairs just as you go in, a quick couple of deep breaths through the nose. I nearly choke on the near toxic waft of cheap perfume, burning my eyes and inflaming my nostrils. I looked over the banister down into the main bar and I could see where the smell was coming from, highlighted, dyed and straightened heads of hair from numerous women, a cacophony of low cut tops, showing me just enough tit and annoying me with high pitched laughing and screaming conversations. It felt like evolution in reverse, communing in shrill like noises that you'd only hear about in history lessons in school or late night reality tv shows. I couldn't see Joe anywhere, he's gotta be down there somewhere, tripping out on the fumes and doing his best Sir Sean Connery impressions without impressing the women. He'd only be lucky if he found a woman who liked Bond as much as he did. I clearly only play along with it because its only funny when its just the two of us doing it, encouraging each other to go up to a woman and pretend she's Miss Moneypenny or one of the many one nighters he had. When they never saw the funny side of it, I would claim Joe is only allowed out twice a year, so give him a break and Hi my names Jack. Joe would then go home early cause he would then slam as many pints down his neck as he could but he couldn't hold his drink no matter ow many times I told him. He would fall in love quicker than me and even if I pointed him in the direction of a woman who was clearly up for some fun, he would never follow it through because it wasn't him who had instigated the conversation.
Q Bar, ah the Bond thing again was not nearly as busy as it should be, but I'm sure we'll find somewhere else to go to before it gets to that stage, before I feel as dumbed down as the rest of the clientele.
I make a beeline for the bar and order up a pint of Guinness, the clowns to the left of me, no older than 25, all suited in off the rack cheap polyester suits either too big or too small were talking themselves up about work and how it was easier to get coke there than in any city centre bar. They were pissed already, swaying as if there was a strong wind in the bar and they could never seem to complete a sentence without one of the others butting in with a slurred interruption about how much better they were than the rest of them. These bragging rights seemed to be enveloped around football and they went on about United being in a different league to City, and how Liverpool are dirty Scouse Fucks. I didn’t realise that was a Premiership team, but it's a long time since I followed football. They were also talking about the couple of girls sat to the right of me, nudging and pointing and gawping. As the pint came up, I nodded thanks to the barman and handed over a tenner, not expecting much change, turned to the lads, lifted my pint and said "Cheers lads". They all turned to face me as I'd clearly interrupted their interruptions and they clearly took offence to this. God knows what my face looked like as I didn't have a mirror but they all turned back to their conversation and made mention of drinking up and moving on. I maintained my position and posture until the lads had necked their pints, grabbed their coats and moved off towards the exit.
- See ya around lads
And they didn't even look back but the one at the rear of the group who must have heard me hurried his mates up the stairs and out onto the street. I pivoted myself back round and was facing the bar earwigging the girls conversation, all that surveillance training was reaping its rewards. I got that their names were Jackie and Paula. They were so inner city that they may as well have had D1 tattooed on their foreheads. They were on about some young lad in BT's on the perfume counter who was an absolute ride and how it was a shame he was as gay as an Edwardian actor, incorrect comparison I thought, he would need to be as gay as a priest. They turned their noses up in mock disgust at the thought of taking it in the arse, yeah right, you admit it first kinda friends, so I clearly make a turn towards them and interject.
- Actually it’s not as painful as you'd imagine.
They just stared at me open-mouthed, for some reason. I gave a deadly serious look like, what's wrong with that? Then I split my sides laughing.
- Jesus Paula, the look on your face.
Clocked the name, used it, made it personal. How easy it was from then to engage them in a conversation. Then they started cautiously laughing,
- Sorry, but the look on ya. I'm Jack by the way, you’re Paula, and who are you?
- Jackie.
No shake of the hand or anything. Jackie was just fine with her cool stare, figuring out whether I was a piss-taker or not, Jackie was surely mine. Wasn’t even in the bar five minutes and that’s how it was.
Jackie was about an inch taller than me, 6'1", thankfully I felt no longer a midget when I saw she had two inch heels on, her shoes black and gleaming like multi coloured mirrors. Natural blonde hair like summer straw in a bob style, her eyes were oval and football pitch green, this matched her slightly tanned oval face. She had a halter neck top on which looked to have been made from Liberty scarves. Little bit of cleavage on show, her east tit had a small birth mark just on the top. The just above knee length black skirt was so tight it could have been skin. No VPL, curious to see if she had a matching set of underwear on or nothing at all.
I didn't even pay any heed to Paula, noticed copper red hair tied back in a bun, pin stripe suit, white blouse, in for a few after work. About as interesting to me as reading the Daily Mail.
- So, what are you girls up to tonight?
Paula says; - We got paid today so out ‘till the early hours. Probably head into Buskers later, or Bob’s, or maybe into Spirit.
- Buskers? Cool.
- What's wrong with Buskers?
- Nothing, nothing at all, but if you can find someone from Dublin in there, please give me a call.
- Well you’re not exactly a local boy yourself, are you?
- How very perceptive of you, Jackie, I'm from Galway.
- I hear it’s mental craic in Galway?
- Well I haven't been back there for a few years now, Paula, but I do hear it’s the place to go if you actually want to go to a bar to meet some Irish people.
- Very patriotic, or just a little bit racist?
- Well I prefer to be a little bit country and a little bit rock n roll now Jackie, but I mean come on. The both of you look like really nice women and all that’s going to happen is there will be a whole load of Eastern European lads pumped up on steroids, with wee tiny cocks, who will sniff you out before you’ve even got in the door.
– Ah is that too much for your ego to handle?
- Well Paula, if that’s what you want, go for it. Sure I can’t stop you, only point you in the right direction.
- And what direction would that be?, said Jackie
- Just the right one. It's my round; can I get you a drink?
- Yeah go on, two vodka and whites. Jackie again.
I shouted out the drinks to the barman and saw Joe over the other side of the bar, desperately trying to get my attention by giving me the fingers. I didn’t make eye contact with him, just took a quick look over the bar. I let him carry on; he could see that I was chatting with Jackie and Paula. He just stared at them, once I'd slyly pointed them out. Gave him a wink and he grabbed his drink off the bar. Don’t play it too desperate there Joe, I thought. Joe was about half a foot smaller than me with a vastly receding hairline, his hair was mousey brown and cut short, any time it grew long, there would be little curls sprouting up all over the place like his head was a grow bag. He'd noticeably put on a bit of weight since I'd seen him last and his immaculately ironed and crisp blue Ralph Lauren shirt looked like it was facing a loosing battle to contain his gut. God knows what jeans he had on, but they would have cost more than a Plasma tv and were so tight I would expect he has lost all feeling in his legs. Some fucking boy he was. One day when we were shopping down
Grafton Street he told me it was all about the plumage, fucking plumage as he handed over our countries GDP to buy a pair of Gucci loafers.
I turned and smiled a bit at Jackie, not too much, just enough to show an interest and to set her apart from Paula. She smiled back, which in my opinion is always a positive. Joe tapped me on the shoulder, like I wasn’t expecting him at all, and Jackie looked up for a second, then back at me, smiled a little bit more, then took her drink off the bar. Joe's hand was still on my shoulder. Please don't do your Connery voice
- Thish ish not an act of combat
I started laughing, he always got me laughing
- Itsh an act of lunachy. What film?
- The Rock. Anyway babe, who are these two? Ahhh
Fucking babe. Joe always calls me that when he thinks it's in ear shot of a girl. He thinks they'll find it funny. The "are they, aren't they?" approach. It never fucking works, but I always like to entertain him.
