The Emerald Lie Read Free Page B

ceased jumping, poisoned like the country, when a homeless guy approached, with, I have to say, attitude, thinking,
    “This shuck came out of the church, got to be good for piety.”
    Figured wrong.
    He pushed,
    “Gimme something for a meal.”
    “Why?”
    Stymied him but he rallied.
    “Because I’m suffering.”
    “Me, too,” I said.
     

    “This is the sort of English up with which I will not put.” (Winston Churchill)
     

    I was having a breakfast of sorts in the GBC. Still the only oldstyle restaurant in the city and with prices that were reasonable. The cook, Frank Casserly, came out to say hello and asked,
    “Fry-up?”
    Indeed.
    This was
    Two sausages
    Two fried eggs
    Two rashers
    And thick-cut slices of bread.
    No black pudding or beans.
    My doctor would have had a coronary. Sometimes you just have to fuck with a diagnosis. My food arrived as a man approached my table. He asked,
    “May I join you?”
    Looked at my food, said,
    “Not really.”
    He sat, said,
    “I won’t need long.”
    I had just started on the bacon when he slid a manila envelope across the table. I snapped,
    “Hey, if I wanted company I’d have brought my dog.”
    He was in his late fifties, good suit, remnants of a tan, groomed silver hair, but an air of pain, as if he’d been recently bereaved.That look I know. I finished the food, began on the tea, than picked up the envelope, asked,
    “Is this going to piss me off?”
    An expression lit across his eyes, fleeting but I saw it, utter horror. He said,
    “It’s my daughter, Karen.”
    A beautiful girl in a graduation mortarboard and gown, had that classic Irish look, the dark eyes, dark hair, and bold expression. I said,
    “She’s a beauty; is she missing?”
    I kept my tone neutral, as if it mattered not a jot.
    He said,
    “My name is Tom Shea, I run the accountant firm near the courthouse.”
    I knew them, players.
    Then he reached into his jacket, produced a sheaf of photos, said,
    “This is her …”
    A beat.
    “After.”
    I did not want to see. I knew it would be bad and I knew even more that I did not want any part of it. I had enough money not to have to worry for a time and I was so wrecked by the last years of
    Utter devastation
    That I had no energy for anything but walking the dog. He whispered,
    “Please.”
    Fuck.
    I took the photos and scanned them, my breakfast rebelled, tried to repeat, I said,
    “Holy Jesus.”
    They were bad; no, awful in the biblical sense. I had seen mutilations, batterings, torture, but this was new.
    New in its complete
    Butchery
    Savagery, black dark evil.
    He nodded.
    I had no words. What can you possibly say when you are faced with the very worst that humanity has served up? A long tense minute passed and I stood, said,
    “I’m going to need a drink and to throw up, just not sure what the sequence is going to be.” I paid, in a sort of numbed shell, left a decent tip for Frank and Cecily, and headed out into bright sunlight. It should have been dark, with all the theatrical attendants. He was right behind me. I stopped, asked,
    “Have you got a cigarette?”
    Ridiculous. He had all the look of a health guy, leastways before the photos. He shook his head so we crossed the road to Hollands. Mary, God bless her, was still working there. She beamed.
    “Jack.”
    I muttered some lame hello, nearly asked for her mother but had heard somewhere that the poor woman had recently passed. I said,
    “Pack of Major, love”
    We went to Garavan’s. I ordered a pint and chaser. Shea said he’d have a sparkling water, adding,
    “I start to drink, I’m gone.”
    Looked pretty gone as it was. We didn’t talk until I got on the heavy side of the drinks and finally let a breath out, said,
    “Tell me.”
    He was staring at the bubbles in the water, watching them dance, then,
    “She was final year in NUIG. Like a lot of girls, she worked at various jobs for pocket money. She was told about a company doing videos for companies, supposed to be