Her Last Call To Louis MacNeice by Ken Bruen Read Free Book Online Page A

outside his house. I went in and came face to face with Quinn. What appeared dangerously close to a smirk was plastered on his grey-hound snout. He nodded.
    Doc was sitting in an armchair, a bottle of Scotch between his legs. I crouched down, said, ‘I’m so sorry buddy.’
    He looked blank, asked, ‘I dunno, should I drink whisky, Laura says it makes me cranky.’
    ‘How about some tea?’
    ‘I’d like some tea, two sugars please.’
    A uniformed cop was in the kitchen, his shoulder micro-phone emitting squawky messages. I asked, ‘Do you know what happened?’
    ‘It seems she’d been shopping and was changing trains at the Oval for the Northern Line to Morden. She went under at approximately five forty-five. Rush hour, it didn’t half bugger up the timetable. We got her name from her handbag.’
    I made the tea, the cop’s mike was eating at my nerves, I snapped, ‘Can’t you shut that bloody thing off.’
    ‘No can do Sir, any chance of a cuppa?’
    I gave him the look, said, ‘No can do pal, know wot I mean?’
    Doc took the tea but was unsure what to do. I said, ‘Drink it.’
    ‘OK.’
    He took his reading glasses from the table before him. I thought ‘Wot, he’s going to read
now
,’ and he said, ‘Can I have a glass of water?’
    Before I could act, he began to feverishly polish the lens, saying ‘This was not a boating accident.’
    For that moment, he was Richard Dreyfuss in
Jaws
and then he switched channels. This is a case for the 87 Precinct, Steve Carella and Bert Kling. Meyer Meyer was as bald as an egg – ‘let’s hear it for the deaf man’ – Steve’s wife, Teddy, was a mute. Carver City and the boys of the eighty-seven. Shit, I nearly forgot Lieutenant Byrnes. I looked up and Quinn was there, said, ‘Yer mate’s losing it, the Doc’s gone doolally.’
    I said, ‘Let’s take this outside.’
    Before I could get into it, he said, ‘I hate to laugh and run but, it seems you’ll need a new partner, it being a two-man job.’
    ‘You want to explain that Quinn?’
    ‘Yer repos – I mean wot else are you two into?’
    I’d clenched my fists, never had I wanted to take down a guy so bad, I could taste blood in my mouth, said, ‘You like to put it in people’s faces Quinn, get right in there and fuck. Keep it up.’
    He gave a huge grin, ‘Oh, I intend to. Next time you have an away day, that you take a wee excursion, I’ll be there. You’re all mine Cooper.’
    ‘Good, I’ll be looking forward to it … you mangy piece of shit.’

    Returning to Doc, I took it as a positive sign that he was drinking the tea. He said, ‘According to Freud, a man doesn’t become a man till his father dies, so I wonder what he reverts to when his partner goes.’
    ‘From the evidence, a babbling idiot.’
    He turned to look right into my face, added, ‘She really didn’t like you.’
    Jeez, thanks a bunch Doc, I needed to hear this now. I didn’t say anything. Gave one of them wise head-nodding gestures, reeking of understanding. But, he thought I wasn’t getting it, grabbed my arm tightly, ‘No, I’m serious Davey. She didn’t care for most people, but she fuckin’ loathed you.’
    I tried to interpret this as grief but, if he kept it up, he’d really be in bloody shock. ‘She said you were a cold fish, that beneath your frosty exterior was more ice.’
    I thought she’d had a rough deal. Doc’s years in prison, his uncertain future, her horrendous death … and then I thought … fuck her.

    The funeral was huge, villains like the full show. Cops came too though not in a mourning capacity. What a display of cars! I once read Maurice Gibb describe success. Remember him, the Bee Gees. He said he was standing at his front door looking at a street packed with motors and knew, ‘They’re all mine.’ I looked at the line of vehicles and knew, they’re all repos.
    Noble came, same lousy raincoat, said, ‘She was a good ’un.’
    ‘You knew her?’
    ‘Never laid an eye on