Seventy Times Seven Read Free Page A

beer?’
    ‘As long as it’s cold and it doesn’t have the letters B, U or D anywhere near the label, I don’t care, Marie,’ said Finn.
    ‘Where’s your accent from . . . Scotland?’
    She had an easy laid-back manner that Finn liked.
    ‘Ireland,’ he replied.
    ‘Shoot, I was going to say Ireland. I knew it was one or the other. It’s just a slight twang, but it’s still there. My great-grandparents were from Limavady in the north . . . The Mathisons?’ she said as a question, like Finn should know them.
    ‘Protestants?’ he found himself saying.
    It was dumb, but he hadn’t bargained on getting into a conversation.
    ‘Who knows?’ replied Marie with a shrug.
    ‘Over there, it’s essential to know what side of the denominational border your name lies on or you could end up dead.’
    ‘Sounds a scream,’ she replied. ‘My grandfather helped build the first Presbyterian church there: one of its founder members. So I guess that makes them . . .’ she paused, knowing she was going for the gag, ‘Muslims.
    ‘You living over here? continued Marie’
    ‘Sort of,’ replied Finn.
    ‘Sort of whereabouts?’
    ‘Up near Cottondale,’ said Finn, being deliberately vague.
    ‘If New York’s the city that never sleeps, Cottondale’s the town that never woke up. You do something to offend someone in a past life?’
    Finn didn’t answer the question.
    ‘You new here?’ he asked.
    ‘Been working here for just over six months,’ replied Marie. ‘You a regular? Can’t say I’ve noticed you before.’
    ‘Been in a few times, but not regularly.’
    ‘I love your accent. “Sort of” say something else.’
    ‘I’m thirsty,’ said Finn.
    Marie caught that one square on.
    ‘Oh sure! An ice-cold beer on its way. That’s the first line of the Irish national anthem isn’t it? Be back in a sec.’ Marie threw the line over her shoulder as she headed back towards the cooler.
    *
    Finn liked McHales. He never went to the same bar on a regular basis and usually only ever stayed for one drink: two at the very most, but he was getting lax. The years spent looking over his shoulder were starting to give him neck ache.
    There was a lot to be said for familiarity: it was much easier to spot something out of place. That’s why Finn had broken his own rules and been to McHales a few times.
    It smelled of stale alcohol and had a perpetual haze of cigarette smoke: a boon to a reformed smoker like himself. The red leatherette booths were cracked at the edges and the long curving bar top looked like it had been covered in red Formica some time in the early Fifties. Spilling a drink in McHales only added to its character.
    It was one of the few places Finn could relax.
    He needed to relax.
    A few regulars sat on tall stools, leaning over their drinks: heads cranked round to watch a re-run of some vintage baseball match on a television that hung precariously from the wall above them. The game was old enough to be in black and white, but that didn’t stop them behaving like it was live. They banged the bar with their fists and muttered abuse at the screen every time the opposition scored a home run.
    The usual office crowd sat near the front window making more noise than was necessary and having far more fun than the occasion warranted; happy to let everyone else in the bar know they were enjoying the ‘Good Friday feeling’ a day too early.
    That’s when Finn noticed the two guys sitting at the table next to them.
    A skinny black guy and an ugly-looking dude with slicked-back hair, and shades too dark to be wearing indoors.
    The black guy seemed uncomfortable: just staring at the floor or into his beer.
    The pair looked out of place and anything out of place made Finn uneasy. He made a mental note to ask Marie if she’d seen them before, even though he suspected he already knew the answer.
    Marie arrived with a beer and started to pour just as the office workers let out another raucous laugh. ‘Same in every