Little Criminals by Gene Kerrigan Read Free Book Online Page B

park, Crowe saw the squad car. It came out of a nearby street, turned parallel to the path on which Crowe and Sinead were walking and slowed down, matching their pace. Bastards must have spotted him earlier, now they were timing it so they’d pass the exit just as he came out the other side of the park. Gobshites.
    Sinead was telling him about a schoolroom crisis that developed after some graffiti was found in the toilets. ‘The toilet incident,’ she called it. Teacher was pretty mad, and she wanted whoever did it to own up, or they’d be in deep trouble.
    They were twenty feet from the park exit, and Crowe could see that the squad car was coming to a stop. He recognised the driver from the local garda station. Used to run into him over in Rialto. What was it? Hennessy, Flannery, something like that. Big ignorant culchie bollocks.
    ‘I think it was probably Katy O’Neill. She’s a goody-two-shoes when teacher is looking, but she doesn’t fool me.’
    ‘How a’ya, Frankie.’ The culchie bollocks had the window rolled down and was leaning out with a big grin on his face. ‘Proper family man these days, what?’
    Sinead hadn’t noticed the squad car until now. Her cheeks went red, her gaze flicking here and there. She slid her hand into Frankie’s grip.
    ‘Just keep walking, sweetheart.’
    ‘What do they want, Dad?’ Her voice was low, diffident.
    ‘Nothing to worry about, love.’
    The squad car moved slowly, keeping up with them. ‘Off to the supermarket, Frankie? Fill up another trolley, what?’
    Frankie stopped walking.
    ‘What does he mean, Daddy?’
    ‘He’s just stirring it, sweetheart. Don’t worry about scum like that.’
    ‘You sure you don’t need anything at Tesco’s, Frankie?’
    Crowe saw that the other cop, on the passenger side, a young guy, was staring fixedly ahead, at nothing at all, as though wishing he was anywhere else.
    Fennelly, that was it, the culchie bollocks. Garda Fennelly.
    Crowe hunkered down and took Sinead by the shoulders. ‘There’s nothing to be afraid of, love. Just a stupid man making a fool of himself. Just stand here, OK?’
    ‘Daddy, please—’
    Crowe stood up, turned and walked over to the squad car. His tone was conversational. ‘Fennelly, you can mouth all you like, but you’ll always be a slag. They all know you.’ Standing close to the car, he bent down and spoke across Fennelly to the young cop. ‘He used to ride the hoors, d’you know that? When he was over the south side. Pretend to arrest the poor bitches, take a freebie and let them off.’
    The young cop stared daggers at Crowe. Garda Fennelly went red.
    ‘Did you know that? Ask your mates. Everyone knows about Fennelly, but most people don’t like to say it out loud.’
    For a moment, Frankie wondered if the two cops might be wound up enough to get out of the car – even with all the houses around – and give him a seeing-to.
    But Fennelly was rolling up the window. The squad car accelerated away.
    ‘Down the canal – they all know him!’ Frankie shouted as the squad car slowed to turn into a side street. ‘Go on, Fennelly, you fucking muppet!’
    ‘Daddy!’
    When Crowe turned back, there were tears running down Sinead’s cheeks.
    In McDonald’s, fifteen minutes later, as Sinead dipped a chicken nugget in the little rectangle of curry sauce, Crowe tried to think of something to say about what happened, but he couldn’t think of anything that wouldn’t make things worse. Sinead had adopted a stubbornly casual air that only made her anxiety more obvious. He asked her if she had much homework, and she said it was more of the same. He asked her what part of the movie she was most looking forward to seeing again and she said all of it. He asked what games she’d played in the schoolyard that morning and she said they were the usual ones.
    Crowe stirred his coffee. Back in the old days a friend of his used to collect McDonald’s little plastic stirrers. There used to be a tiny