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:
He’d have hummed the signature tune if classical music was hummable. A faint twinge of excitement was building in his stomach, and he called it “wind.”
He got to the Cricket Ground and saw her red car immediately. She opened the door and he got in.
“You look like Morse...”
“Whoa, hold the phones, doesn’t anyone say ‘hello’ anymore.”
“Hello,” she said.
“Hello, yourself.”
She was wearing a tight black mini dress with black tights. In the small confines of the car, it was hard not to stare.
“You can look,” she said, “my legs aren’t my worst feature.”
“You can leave the car here, the restaurant is only a few minutes walk.”
He walked on the outside and she gave a smile in radiance. He said,
“It’s how I was reared.”
“You don’t need to explain matters, and rudeness... well, it’s inexplicable.”
A white teenage boy on a skateboard zoomed past them, turned and prepared for a second run. Danny pointed his finger.
“I wouldn’t.”
The kid looked at Danny’s face and tore off in another direction. Nora had been startled and now looked into his eyes.
“Mother of God, you should have seen his face... and yours, you looked like you could kill him.”
“I don’t think I’d have gone that far... but still.”
“Are you serious, you wouldn’t have done anything surely?”
“I’d have broken his right leg.”
“What... oh, you’re smiling, I thought you meant it.”
“So did he.”
She linked his arm and it had a profound effect. If he knew of any gestures more endearing, he couldn’t think of any. A wave of emotion fought with the murderous impulse he’d just experienced. She said,
“You’re shaking.”
“Ah, it’s ah... brisk.”
“I’ll mind yah.”
The restaurant was an infrequent haunt of Danny and Ritchie. Guido, the owner, greeted them warmly.
“Danyello... Senorina. Welcome.”
He seated them at their table, lit the candle with a flourish.
“Ah,” he sighed, “Amore.” He produced a bottle and two glasses, poured out a pale liquid.
Nora was completely charmed and near taken away when Guido presented her with a rose, long-stemmed. He’d even managed a drop of water on the petals. He crooned, “Though not as fair as thee.”
Nora said,
“A bit of a chancer that fella, I’d say.”
“He’s got the moves.”
Guido brought a copy of the late Standard to the table. The front page was dominated by a photo fit of the Vigilante.
Guido exclaimed,
“See, Bellissimo, a true hero. I give him the freedom of my restaurant.”
Nora looked at the photo fit, said,
“This could be half the men in London, or absolutely nobody.”
Danny took a look.
“Bit like the Chancellor of the Exchequer who’s been mugging the country himself.”
“Guido reappeared, order pad in hand. Danny said,
“Let me order for us both.”
She smiled, said,
“I do so like mastery.”
He ordered thus:
Clams Oreganata
Linguini fruitti di mare
Lasagne
Meat dish pizziada
Two bottles of Asti Spumanti
Guido was delighted and Nora was mystified.
“Will we be able to eat it, or is just to impress Guido... do you speak Italian?”
“Nora, there are days I can hardly speak English. No, I learnt that from the Godfather movies. Darcy used to love the names. You know how children love repetition. I’d say,
Linguini
Valpolicella
Oreganata
and she’d squeal with delight. It got her to eat dinner, too.”
Nora watched him closely during his story. He was in another place. She said,
“I was thinking of you today, and the horrendous grief you’ve suffered. I haven’t read as much as you, but I do remember things. I once read,
‘Grief can take care of itself
But to have the true value of joy,
You must have somebody to share with.’
I can’t remember who said that.”
Danny was about to say Mark Twain, but thought he’d let her have the moment. She continued,
“I dunno how you survived it.”
“What makes you think I have?”
“Good heavens, no, I don’t mean that, but you’re functional and here and... well, doing things... you know?”
“I’m doing things, that’s the truth.”
Guido came with battalions of food. He spread plates like a man with a winning streak... stood back and shouted,
“Eat... eat... enjoy.”
They did.
After, Guido brought zuppa. He’d laced them with lethal dollops of rum and Nora said,
“How can I drive after these?”
Danny said,
“You don’t have to, you can come home with me and drink coffee.”
“Oh, Danny, I don’t think it’s drinking coffee I’d be doing if I went.”
He didn’t know what to make of this, so he muttered,
“I don’t know what to make of that.”
“Pay the bill and let’s find out.”
They went to his flat. She looked round it and said,
“If a person’s home makes a statement about them, this says nothing.”
Before he could reply, she moved to him and kissed him ferociously. She said,
“Now, have me now on the floor before words spoil anything.”
He did.
Later in bed, they lay entwined as Carol King sang of gentler moments. They played it continuously and didn’t let their own words ruin the feeling. Before she slept, Nora said,
“A woman could pray for a man like you.”
And he knew he could take that either way. His mother used to say,
“The oul prayer is great.”
After Katie and Darcy were gone, he’d memorise whole passages of books and try to numb his mind. One passage he ran through now, the famous introduction by Professor Karl Averbach’s lecture on Freud’s “Future of an Illusion.”
Averbach believed in coincidence as a determining factor in the development of strategies for social survival.
Coincidence begets mysticism
Which begets religion
Which begets sin and retribution
Which beget
Repression
Guilt
Psychosis
By giving significance to random events, we input a hidden logic which leads to the creation of a hidden power controlling our lives.
We then invent strategies to propitiate this hidden power. In other words... we pray.
Danny wondered how the police would react to this line of defense. He could hear their judgement,
“Whacko.”
There was one prayer he felt should accompany the “events.” It said,
“O Lord God of Abraham
keep me
alive and smart
The rest
I’ll figure out for myself.”
Carol King switched off and Danny tried his damnedest to follow suit; he was partially successful.
Danny rose early, prepared a breakfast tray. Tea, toast, two eggs, hard-boiled. He then got the locket he’d purchased in the West End and wrapped it in a napkin, which he placed beside the tea.
He woke her gently, her face lit in a smile.
“Is that tea... oh, thank God. I was afraid it would be coffee. I’d have to drink it and would be a walking bitch the rest of the day... and toast... I could eat a horse.”
“Aren’t you hung-over?”
“I’m a nurse, we get hungry, not hangovers.”