A Fifth of Bruen: Early Fiction of Ken Bruen
- Автор: Бруен Кен
- Год: 2006
- Язык: английский
- Год: Busted Flush Press
- ISBN: 978-0-9767157-2-6
- Жанр: Триллеры
Электронная книга - «A Fifth of Bruen: Early Fiction of Ken Bruen». Краткое содержание книги:
“Ah, Jaysus,” he gasped, and swung his other hand in a side arc. The blow slammed against the side of her head and knocked her to the floor. The bite had gone almost clean through. She sprang to her knees and spat.
“Priest... you belong to me... the Jezebel shall not seduce you from me... The Whore of Babylon will not be triumphant.”
A string of obscenities, mixed with Latin, followed, the likes of which he’d never heard.
The door opened and Conor stood there. Walter followed behind in black overalls. Conor said,
“What in the name of God...”
Sera sprang at Morgan and tore her fingers down his face, missing his left eye by a fraction. The man grabbed her and tried to hold her. She broke free and ran to the door... turning, she said,
“And a fearful vengeance shall be visited upon ye all.”
And she fled.
Three deep gouges were imprinted on the left side of Morgan’s face. He said to Conor,
“Call a taxi. I’d better get to the hospital.”
Walter said, “If that’s the result of chastity, I may have to re-examine my options. Does this go on at The Church of England?”
At the hospital, the same Irish nurse was in attendance. She said,
“By the hokey, you have some effect on women, Father.”
“Stay out of my face,” he said.
“Tis a bit late for that, by the looks of you... what you do at weekends I can’t even begin to imagine.”
Conor, still in shock, laid his arm on Morgan’s shoulder. He said,
“In all me born days, I never saw such ferocity. That woman was like a demon.”
Morgan groaned.
A fragile feeling clung to him over the next few days. Nothing was heard of Sera, but he lived in dread of an appearance. Conor said only,
“I know how much you like quotations, so maybe Leo F. Buscaglia is appropriate.”
Morgan had never heard of him.
“I never heard of him. What had he to say for himself?”
“That when we cling to pain, we end up punishing ourselves.”
“Oh, very deep, Conor... stick to limericks, they’re more in your line.”
He rang Kate, and she arrived with a bottle of bourbon.
“Let’s go American,” she said.
“You betcha.”
They talked about everything save Sera. The level of the bourbon sank. Kate asked if she might use the phone to call a cab.
“Use the one in the hall.”
Morgan was feeling the drink, and as he reached to put the glass on the table, he staggered, knocking Kate’s large handbag. It hit the floor and spilled open.
“Aw, shit,” he said.
Getting down on his knees, he began to gather the various items. A small bottle caught his attention. The label read “Patchouli Oil.”
“What?...”
He upturned the bag again and began to sift more carefully. A notebook. He flicked through. Halway along, the address of the coffee bar on the Strand. Where he’d first met Kate... and underneath was printed a name,
“Luigi d’Agostino.”
“The bloody waiter... she already knew him!”
Another entry gave the date of Malachy’s death. His mind was reeling... Click... Click... Click, came the sound of her heels... he dived back to his chair, the contents rammed back into her bag. Messy, but what could he do... hope... a lot. Kate was smiling and asked,
“We’ve time for another bourbon?”
“Absolutely... look, Kate, I just need to go to my room for a second... help yourself.”
As he left, she gave him a curious look. He bounded up the stairs, his heart in his mouth. The full impact of his discovery was nigh too much. A series of deep breaths didn’t help.
A sound behind... Kate was at the door. She said,
“So you know, priest... don’t you?”
“Why... what on earth for... Jaysus, I can’t get a grasp of this.”
Kate spoke, the voice from the confessional.
“The altar was easy... and true, the cat struggled... but your mother’s beads were a tremendous help. A personal touch is so endearing. Kept it in the family. When Martin died, the Church, your fuckin’ Church turned from him. Even in death, he was to be tormented. I thought I’d introduce the Church to some demons of their own. A suicide kills two people. I died with him. The church condemned us both.”
“But Sera... what about her?”
Kate chuckled, it sounded like a straight line to the very nature of viciousness. She continued,
“Might one say, the luck of the devil, a pure coincidence. A trollop on heat. Your thinking was all below your waist. You petty dipso cleric. I spit on you from a height... and always. I’ll be bear... to you.”
Tossing her head, she gave a laugh like a shriek and turned back to the stairs. He ran after her and made a grab for her arm.
“Are you insane?” he shouted.
She pulled free and her heel caught on the top stair. The movement threw her body forward, and she crashed down... a horrendous cry as she fell. Morgan rushed down. Her neck was twisted to the side and her legs were broken beneath her body. He knelt and began to form the words of Benediction.
Her mouth moved.
“F... u... c... k you, priest... I’ll be in your dreams... watch for me.”
Over at the convent, celebrations were in full roar. Sister Ben had turned her final lotto card and screamed,
“Cripes... I’ve won... it’s flaming torture... God forgive me cursing... yippee!”
Walter was on the other side. At the Church of England near Balham High Road. He was laying lavish praise on “The Book of Common Prayer” to a puzzled Vicar.
Conor was studying literature. He’d reckoned he’d found a gem in the following... from one of their own calling, too. A man of God... Thomas a Kempis. The quotation read:
“We could enjoy much peace
if we did not busy ourselves
with what other people say and do,
for this is no concern of ours.”
“Even Morgan would appreciate that,” he said.
All the Old Songs and Nothing to Lose
Book I
“And all the old songs. And nothing to lose”