Cross by Ken Bruen Read Free Book Online

with naivety but with an essential –
what's the word? – goodness, if there's such a thing any more in a world where a pop star's mad marriages garner more newsprint than the imminent beheading of a man.
    I said, 'Well, I have some regrets about that.'
    He was eager to agree with me, asked, 'You're sorry you hit him?'
    'No, I'm sorry I only hit him once.'
    He gave a loud laugh, tinged with hysteria, then stopped abruptly, stared at me, asked, 'What's wrong with your voice?'
    I was conscious that it was more guttural than usual, like I'd sucked in granite, and it had been paining me a lot in recent days.
    I said, 'You smoke a thousand cigarettes and drink enough rotgut whiskey, it plays hell with your diction.'
    He was torn between feeling bad for mentioning it and a certain excitement at being so close to someone who'd been . . . at a shooting . His curiosity won out and he asked, 'What was it like, if you don't mind me asking, you know, to . . . have that happen to you?'
    What do you answer? That it was fun, and is the reason why you're smelling of raw whiskey at noon or that you're suffering, as the doctors warned, post-traumatic stress syndrome?
    I opted for keeping it light. 'It ruined me whole day.'
    He was nodding, as if he could imagine.
    He couldn't.
    I didn't have any more to add so I asked, 'What is it you want from me?'
    Got a nervous smile. He looked at his now empty glass, as if to say, How'd that happen?
    I knew the feeling.
    He said, 'Lemme get us some fresh drinks.'
    I wanted to, and having a bone fide drunk to keep me company, it should have been ideal, but I had parameters to keep.
    'No, not for me, I've got to go.'
    He was disappointed. Not quite the response he'd been expecting. He said, 'Can you help me?'
    I liked him, but not that much.
    I said, 'Get yourself into rehab, call AA, there's all –'
    He cut me off, horror on his face, near shouted, 'Not that kind of help, Jaysus. A few days in bed, some paracetamol, bit of grub, some kickback time, I'll be fine.'
    I thought, Dream on, sucker and waited.
    He sat up straight, said, 'I want to do what you do. You know, find stuff, work on cases.'
    I could have given him the lecture, told him he was buying a bucket of grief, but as I got ready to launch, he pleaded, 'Jack, I need a lifeline. I got nothing, I'm dying here. If you give me something to hang on to, I'll get back in shape. I just need, like, a focus.'
    And yet again I made the wrong decision.
Should have just set him adrift but he got to me, the expression in his eyes, that lost desperate cry.
    I said, 'OK, I'm going to give you a start, and if you manage it, we'll see if maybe you can help me on some other stuff.'
    He grabbed my hand, gratitude pouring out.
'You won't regret it.'
    I was regretting it already, cautioned, 'You haven't heard what it is yet. You might not be so grateful in a moment.'
    His face expressed the belief that wonderful
events were about to occur. It's a result of Jameson on an empty stomach, the illusion that all will be well. I told him about the disappearance of the Newcastle dogs and my being asked to check it. I took out my notebook, gave him the name of the man who'd asked for my help. He looked really sick, not just drink sick but the illness that rides with acute disappointment. Took him a moment to digest the information and then he near spat, 'Fucking dogs – you want me to search for a missing frigging animal?'
    I shook my head. 'I don't want you to do a blessed thing, I already told you that, but you said you were prepared to do anything. Here's your chance to prove it.'
    He was wringing his hands, a gesture I
thought was purely confined to books, and said, 'OK, I'll give it a shot.'
    He was so far gone that the awful irony of his words escaped him.
    There was resignation in his voice, the troubles of the world in his eyes, so I countered, 'Hey, listen up, you're not doing me any fucking favours. You have something else going on, then go for it, don't let