Dead I Well May Be by Adrian McKinty Read Free Book Online

something else. A mate, too.
    All three of us got up. We stood there, stunned.
    Six shots, Belfast six-pack, Scotchy said in a whisper, and a gurgle that apparently was laughter came into his mouth. Fergal nodded and broke into a smile.
    Always wondered what that meant. Is that really how they do it, Michael? he asked, quietly awed.
    That, Fergal, is how they do it, I said clinically, as if it was all second nature to me now, as if I’d maybe seen it dozens of times. Perhaps it was even a little tedious. Of course I’d never done it, seen it once and had been sick for a week. Fergal looked at me in a new light. I was quite the cold motherfucker. He would spread it around too. Even Scotchy, I could see, was a bit appalled by what we had accomplished. Last time in the Four P. Shovel had bought us all a round.
    Their discomfort was an opportunity and I took it.
    Let’s go, I said and opened the door. The others followed. Scotchy was going to kick him on the way out but he felt bad now and didn’t. We were spattered with blood, but it was night and the car was just outside. Scotchy was shaking and trying not to show it. He handed me the keys.
    You drive, he said.
    I wasn’t used to driving on the right, but I took the keys and started her up. I headed back. There was a McDonald’s drive-through and I saw this as another opportunity. I turned the wheel.
    You boys want anything? I asked. I’m narving.
    Scotchy was pale in the front seat. Fergal dry-heaving now in the back. Both shook their heads. I pulled in and ordered a Big Mac meal and ate it as I drove. Fergal would spread this around too. It would reach Sunshine. It would reach Darkey. It might even reach Mr. Duffy. We stopped outside the Four Provinces and went in to get cleaned up. Bridget took my clothes. Andy was no better.
    I seriously think you should take him to the hospital, I said.
    Scotchy was in no mood to argue now and Mrs. Callaghan dialed the number. I showered and waited until the paramedics came.
    When we were alone, I found Bridget and kissed her.
    I absolutely have to see you, I said.
    She didn’t say anything.
    Tomorrow, I said.
    I don’t know, Michael, she said.
    For God’s sake, Bridget, we’ve both been through the mill. Tomorrow, please. Come on, we’ll do something fun.
    She nodded her head ambiguously and went downstairs.
    I stood there for a moment. Was she tiring of me? Would she come? Who knew? I shook my head wearily and followed her down.
    I had a free pint off Pat and drank it and chatted about the upcoming English football season, ate some Tayto crisps, and went down the steps and caught the train….
    All over.
    Done.
    You got through.
    You got through. Ugly, but it was Scotchy’s fault, not yours. No.
    You look for that paperback about the Russian guy but it’s gone. You sit in the subway car and you think. Not your fault. Not your fault. The train rattles and it nearly rocks you off to sleep. It stops at the stop and doesn’t move again. After a while a man comes with information. There’s a problem on the line and you have to get off at 137th. You get out and they give you a useless transfer.
    It’s dark now in Harlem.
    You walk down the hill from City College and St. Nicholas Park. The streets are empty. No junkies, no hookers, no undercover cops, no delivery boys, no workers, no nothing. Bodegas are shut and barricaded. The moon. The deserted avenue. The tremendous sleeping buildings and the rusted octopi of fire escapes. It is still warm and Harlem is all around and comforting. It’s straight here. Simple. You know how things stand. You know who you are and who they are. You know your place. You know how things will be. You know everything. You can exist here without pressure, without history. You can be anonymous.
    It’s a pleasant walk down Amsterdam. A gypsy cab comes by and honks. You look at it and nod. It stops. You get in. Three bucks to 123rd and Amsterdam, you say.
    The man nods, smiles.
    Some day, huh, he