Open Writing

...'What was wrong with his shirt?'

'Who? That man? Oh, he only had a dirty oily mark down the left side,' she said. Then, with a coy grin, she added, 'About where a lady would have her bra.'

Or where a gentleman would carry a gun...

Undercoverman Joe Hussy realises that he has good reason to be extra-wary.

Colin Dunne continues his thrilling tale. To read earlier chapters please click on http://www.openwriting.com/archives/ratcatcher/

I spent a long time with the newspapers - they were full of last edition hints and rumours - over breakfast, and I was still in the bar of the Drawbridge when Eileen lifted the grille.

One o'clock looked as far away as Japan and I was expecting my nerves to jump out and run around on the floor like electric eels.

Also my wrist-watch kept pushing my cuff back and staring at me.

'Smashing to see you,' she said, with a smile as wide as O'Connell Street.

'Look, Eileen, queen of my heart,' I said, 'I know it's early and all that but could you see your way to getting me a rin-tin-tin and supersonic of a large nature, long glass, bags of ice, bless your heart.'

'And what'll it be on the bill this time?' she said, with a sparkle of the old eyes.

'Garaging,' I said. 'Jesus, it's wicked what you have to pay for garaging these days. Now you bring it over here and I'll back it down my throat.'

I did too. Eileen stood watching, elbows on the bar.

'You know what annoys me?' she said, as I clunked the ice around in the glass.

'People who ask for a second drink before they've finished their first?'

'No, silly. Irishmen who try to put on an English accent. That really gets me. They must be ashamed of what they are or something.'

'God knows some of them have reason enough to be. But I know what you mean. But what about me? I'm an Englishman who puts on an Irish accent.'

'You're a bit of both, so you are. No, these two fellers came in and I knew they were Irish. I could've told by their faces. But the one who was doing all the talking, he did his best to sound English.'

All the jumpiness inside me faded. In its place, a vast quietness welled up.

'When was that exactly?' I said, in a dull voice.

The till chinged and pinged as she loaded it.

'Last night.'

'Did they have much to say?'

'Not at all,' she said, stooping to unlock the cupboards below the bar. 'I didn't let him get away with it though. "The trouble with you jackeens," I says, "is that you're such a scruffy lot." He didn't like that.'

'I bet. Then what?'

'Oh, he asks what I'm talking about or some such to try to make out he didn't know a jackeen was a Dublin man, so I says to him, "And if it's a job you're after over here, you want to put a clean shirt on or you'll get nowhere." Jesus, was he furious. Put his drink down and the two of them walked out.'

'They weren't staying here?'

'Not at all. Mr Westlake wouldn't have had them in the place. Another gin and tonic, is it?'

'No thanks, I've gone off the idea. You don't know where they were staying?'

'I don't, Mr Hussy. Why would you want to know that?'

'I thought they might be friends of mine, that's all.'

'They could've asked easy enough, couldn't they?'

'They could, of course.'

Although the room was empty, she leaned over the bar and mischief came into her face.

'You don't have to tell me if you don't want, but was that really your wife here the other night?'

I suddenly thought of Victoria trying to cut her way through all the Westminster ballyhoo that would be ten foot deep around Crocker. She wouldn't stand a chance.

'Wife? Ah, not totally and completely, Eileen.'

The girl caught a glimpse of herself in the side mirror and straightened a little.

'I'll bet she was divorced, wasn't she? There's something about a divorced woman, I don't know what it is. They've got an allure about them, wouldn't you say, Mr ...'

I didn't like to interrupt her reverie but I'd just had a thought.

'What was wrong with his shirt?'

'Who? That man? Oh, he only had a dirty oily mark down the left side,' she said. Then, with a coy grin, she added, 'About where a lady would have her bra.'

Or where a gentleman would carry a gun. One he'd forgotten to wipe off after cleaning and oiling.