The Killing of the Tinkers Read Free Page A

hand,
    “I’m not a bookish man, Mr Taylor.”
    “Never too late.”
    “I didn’t say I’m unlearnt…I said something else entirely.”
    Saw the flash in his eyes. Cautioned myself not to fuck with him.
    Fucked with him anyway, said,
    “Hit a nerve, did I?”
    He ignored that, said,
    “Some of my people bought a house there. They…didn’t settle. I’d like to offer you the house. It’s small but adequate.”
    “And you’ll give me this if I help.”
    “Yes.”
    “What if I don’t find anything?”
    “The house is yours for six months.”
    My instincts said,
    “No.”
    I said,
    “You’ve got a deal.”
    Picked up the keys, said,
    “Tell me what happened.”
    He produced a scrap of paper, laid it down. I looked at it.
    Jan. 3rd…………………………………………Christy Flynn (Óg)
Feb. 19th………………………………………Cionn Flaherty
April 2nd………………………………………Seaneen Brown
June 9th…………………………………………Blackie Ryan
    I asked,
    “All dead?”
    “Aye, found in the Fair Green, near the Simon House.”
    “How?”
    “How what?”
    “Did they die?”
    “Their heads crushed with a hammer.”
    He got up abruptly, went to the bar, asked Jeff,
    “A small Jameson and a pint for my friend.”
    I looked at the list. A weariness came whispering at my soul:
    “You are so tired.”
    A line I’d once heard came to mind:
    “He drank, not because of the darkness in him but the darkness in others.”
    Sweeper returned, asked,
    “Payment?”
    “What?”
    “How much cash do you want?”
    “Aren’t you giving me a bloody house?”
    “You’ll need money, everybody does.”
    Argue that.
    He’d given me a fat envelope, stuffed with notes. I said,
    “Wish it had been brown.”
    He was lost, said,
    “I’m lost.”
    “A brown envelope, we could have been TDs.”
    The quip was not to his taste. He sipped at the Jameson like a man who’s been badly burnt. Whiskey had scorched me more times than I want to recall. A look between us and he said,
    “I have to ration it.”
    “Hey, I’m the last guy who needs an explanation.”
    “I know.”
    “Excuse me?”
    “Ann Henderson told me of your affliction.”
    Rage burned. I asked,
    “Affliction…she said that?”
    He waved his left hand, vague in his dismissal.
    “My people suffer similarly.”
    I let it go…fuck it.
    Time to pack. I said,
    “Give me a few minutes and I’ll be ready.”
    Upstairs, I packed my holdall, nicked the bottle of Harley. Jeff smelled fine. I, however, needed all the assistance available. Put on my London leather. Creaked a bit, but I could call that character. Down to the bar, put out my hand to Jeff, said,
    “It’s been fun.”
    “Where are you going?”
    The sentry raised his head, shouted,
    “He’s going with the tinker.”
    Jeff clipped him, said,
    “Hey.”
    Sweeper nodded, went outside. I said,
    “I’ve got a house in Hidden Valley.”
    “From yer man?”
    “Yes.”
    “What’s the catch?”
    “I’m going to look into a bit of trouble he’s had.”
    “Jeez, Jack, I thought you packed in that business…after last time.”
    “This is different.”
    “Yea, you’re in even worse shape. Cathy! Jack is going.”
    She came running.
    “Aw, Jack.”
    “I’ll be near, literally round the corner.”
    “But I had a fillum.”
    She pronounced it thus. When the English go native, they go bananas.
    “What film?”
    “
Julien Donkey-Boy
by Harmony Korine.”
    I gave her my best blank look. She continued,
    “It’s the Dogme #6 one. He made
Gummo
, remember?”
    “Um, not offhand.”
    “Jack, you have to see it. He takes the piss with Lars von Trier.”
    Jeff was pissing himself behind the counter. Even the sentry was smiling. I decided to come clean, said,
    “None of that makes the slightest sense to me.”
    Crestfallen, she produced a small package. I could see “Zhivago Records” on the front. She said,
    “This was to welcome you