The Devil (20 page)

a wadge of cash such as I'd never seen,

then got the fuck outa there.

Took the emergency stairs, met nobody, and once I was

out on the street, I exhaled.

Jesus.

I've killed before.

I still have dreams about it, about them.

Back in my apartment, sure, I did some fine coke, tried on

the Rolex.

Does that sound cold?

H e l l o , it's fucking unreal, is what it felt.

M u r d e r and sex.

Pure noir.

The last time I got sex, the
Titanic
was a viable option.

Instead of being wired, I was out of it, like this happened

in a bad B-movie.

I did some X to chill.

Put on the T V , L i v i n g channel, and no, the title wasn't

wasted on me.

They were showing series two of
Supernatural.

The two brothers, they killed the demon in the three

episodes I watched.

M a y b e in series three, they'd get it right.

I hoped to fuck I got it right in the only series I'd get.

2 7 0

THE DEVIL

I waited the next morning to be arrested.

Even dressed for it.

N o watch.

Just jeans and a T-shirt.

W h e n the Guards came crashing through my door, macho

shite at the fore, I'd be ready.

The Sig, unloaded, sitting on the table.

Me on the other side of the r o o m , so they wouldn't have

to shoot me.

I wouldn't even plead, just go, take the shite. Whatever

sentence they imposed, I'd been serving it for years anyway.

I could at least read in relative peace.

Bottom line, as love was out of the question, it was all I

ever really wanted.

They didn't come.

A n d I waited.

They didn't come.

Drank some strong black coffee, smoked more cigs than I

intended, but then you always do, and finally grabbed the

phone, rang the M e y r i c k .

An Irish receptionist.

The recession was truly biting.

A year ago, an Irish person w o r k i n g in a hotel? N o p e .

I asked for C a r l and was told,

' H e checked out.'

I wanted to scream,

'I know, I fucking checked h i m out permanently.'

Kept it together, asked,

' Y o u checked h i m out personally?'

271

KEN BRUEN

Keeping it light.

She said patiently,

' N o , automatic checkout, the bill is put under the door

and all the client needs to do is drop off the key.'

I clicked off.

W h a t the fuck was going on?

D i d his minions sneak h i m away?

I did a few lines of his coke, the Rolex sliding nicely along

my wrist.

The coke was primo.

Christ, that ice drizzle d o w n the back of your throat, the

w o r l d literally crystallizes and you can do what-the-fuck-

ever you ever dreamed.

Like the G o d - a w f u l song, 'I C a n See Clearly N o w ' .

I rang Stewart, didn't bother w i t h the ' H o w yah doing' shite,

launched,

' C a r l checked out this morning.'

H i s relief was evident. He said,

'Jack, I'm so glad y o u saw sense, didn't do . . . you

k n o w . '

H o l y fuck.

I said,

'Listen up, you Zen-besotted eejit, he checked out this

morning but I checked
him
out at two a.m.'

L o n g silence, then,

'Jack, you need help, you have seriously lost the plot. I

k n o w some people . . .'

I cut i n ,

2 7 2

THE DEVIL

'I shot h i m three times, and right now I'm samphng his

coke, wearing his Rolex . . .'

He hung up.

I paced.

A lot.

Coke zig, fear, exhilaration, disbelief, X a n a x , touch of the

Jay.

Didn't help.

I switched on the T V . M o v e d quickly past the Jerry

Springer show, stopped for a brief moment at the sitcom

Rules of Engagement
as the guys outlined the specifics for a

real guy weekend.

The one I liked, or the coke loved, was 'Never,
never

admit to having seen
Brokeback Mountain:

If ever a sentence nailed the Irish male psyche, there it

was.

M o v e d on to the news.

L i a m Neeson's wife had been tragically killed.

I couldn't handle that.

M o v e d on.

M o r e awful tidings.

'The Real I R A claimed responsibility for murdering two

young British soldiers.'

A n d I thought I'd killed the D e v i l .

T w o young engineers were heading for Iraq.

I dreaded the retaliation this w o u l d bring.

A n d local news: more jobs being lost, redundancies daily.

I muttered,

'The eighties are back.'

2 7 3

KEN BRUEN

D u r a n D u r a n were highly successful all over again.

O h fuck.

U2 were pissed as they'd hit N u m b e r One in every

country save Finland.

Those Finns, eh?

I sat at the kitchen table, the Z i p p o clicking in my hand,

the Sig, I swear still w a r m to the touch, close by.

There was a tree right outside the window, almost over-

looking the nuns' convent, and I watched a tiny bird flit

from branch to branch.

Saint Martin's little bird, they called him.

I was, I know, deferring.

Great w o r d , means you're trying like the be-jaysus not to

dwell on the topic that is dominating your every thought.

I got out an A4 pad, tried to list all the stuff that had gone

d o w n since my first meeting with Kurt/Carl.

Took me close to an hour.

I timed it on the flash Rolex.

That was real.

Right?

H a d me some pit stops, as opposed to pitfalls.

One double espresso,

a X a n a x ,

three cigs,

and what had I got?

N o t a whole lot.

Was he the Devil?

D i d I k i l l the Devil?

I know, it's as crazy as it sounds and looks.

2 7 4

THE DEVIL

So . . . what to do?

The sun came blasting through the window.

Lit up the whole apartment, and right then I knew.

Let

it

go.

2 7 5

23

Here is what you might term the aftermath.

Stewart got engaged to his lawyer.

Bought her a rock the size of Gibraltar.

The killings stopped.

Ridge stayed married and the business deal evaporated.

Guess they'll have to sell another horse.

Anthony is Anglo-Irish, they don't do poverty, not in my

sense.

A n d me, on a w h i m I just went to L o n d o n , on an internet

all-inclusive package. I sold the Rolex in Camden L o c k , the

guy screwed me and I said,

'Devil of a price.'

I met a w o m a n .

An American, in her forties, she liked the sound of me

voice and she liked to drink Jay.

She hked nothing better than to breeze about books,

movies and music.

She is coming over to stay w i t h me at Easter.

We had us a real fine time.

2 7 9

KEN BRUEN

Prowled the second-hand bookstores and music shops.

I bought

Sexy Beast,

Home for the Holidays
(directed by Jodie Foster),

Mad Men,
series one.

In the bookstores, I found a rare Aleister Crowley tome.

First edition, too.

I'd had enough of the beast.

Sunday, at Heathrow, I was glowing from the night before

w i t h my new lady. T h i n k i n g ,

' H o w the fuck did that happen?'

But grateful.

Waiting for my flight to be called, I found a tabloid on the

table as I finished my black coffee. Flicking through to see if

Chelsea had w o n , I spotted - almost missed - on page six:

A student at LSE has been found murdered. The details of

his death have been withheld. The Metropolitan Police are

anxious to interview a Mr K, who was the last person seen

with the deceased.

M y flight was called.

I put the paper aside, wondered h o w the UK w o u l d deal

with the Devil.

Probably figure he was Irish.

A week later, I'd just settled into my sleep when the phone

rang.

It was the lady in my life and I was delighted to hear her.

2 8 0

THE DEVIL

Outlined the things we'd be doing in Galway till she said,

'Jack, strange thing, can I share?'

G o d bless America, they sure do k n o w h o w to share. I

said,

' H o n , course you can.'

She said,

'This is going to sound Hke I'm a whack job, but I w o k e

late last night and there was a black candle burning on my

bedside table. W h a t should I do?'

I took a deep breath, checked where the Sig was, said,

'Sweetheart, blow it out.'

281

K e n Bruen was born in Galway, Ireland. After turning d o w n

a place at R A D A, and completing a doctorate in Metaphysics,

he spent twenty-five years as an English teacher in A f r i c a ,

Japan, South-East Asia and South America. An unscheduled

stint in a Brazilian prison where he suffered physical and

mental abuse spurred h i m to write and, after a brief spell

teaching in L o n d o n , he returned to Galway, where he n o w

lives with his daughter.

K e n Bruen is the award-winning author of eight Jack

Taylor novels, as well as
London Boulevard -
soon to be

released as a f i l m , starring Keira Knightley and C o l i n Farrell

- and
Blitz,
also a forthcoming f i l m , starring Jason Statham.