The Scrapper by Brendan O'Carroll Read Free Book Online Page A

Kieran assumed, back to Dáil Eireann – assumed, because the Minister never said where he was going, so they just tailed him. Detective Malone sat quietly in the passenger seat. It was sunny for December and on the footpath some girls had ventured out in mini skirts. Malone watched them all with a smile on his face.
    ‘I love this job,’ Malone commented out of the blue.
    ‘I hate this job,’ Clancy retorted.
    Michael turned his full attention to Clancy. ‘Kieran Clancy! I never thought I’d hear the day when you’d say you hate being a copper.’
    ‘No, no, I didn’t mean that. I’ve always wanted to be a policeman. I just hate this – babysitting these shit-heads.’
    ‘Now, wait a minute, Kieran, it’s an important job. After all, he is a Minister.’
    ‘Minister for crapology. Let me tell you, Michael, the only person who might shoot that fella is one of the gobshites that voted for him.’ As Clancy said this he pointed straight ahead at the ministerial limousine, and Michael’s gaze followed. The left indicator went on and it began to pull in. The police car followed suit.
    ‘Now what’s he up to?’ They saw the chauffeur climb out of the driver’s door and quickly make his way around to the Minister’s door. He held it open for the Minister, who left the car hurriedly and entered a doorway. ‘What in God’s name …?’ Clancy was mumbling as he climbed out of his car. He didn’t have to ask – it was written all over the chauffeur’s face. ‘He’s gone for a … a rub, says he’s a bit stiff,’ the chauffeur explained, nodding towards the doorway. Clancy turned and looked at the sign over the doorway. The tacky sign read ‘Medusa Massage’.
    Clancy threw his eyes in the air and returned to his car, shaking his head. Michael was now out of the car and waiting for Clancy’s return. Kieran took his packet of cigarettes from his pocket, lit one, turned his collar up and leaned back against the car.
    ‘So what’s up?’ Michael asked.
    With the smoking cigarette between his lips Kierannodded towards the doorway. ‘Your Minister pal has gone for a wank!’
    ‘What? Off who?’ Michael asked.
    Kieran stared at him, one of those stares that says, Why are you asking such a stupid question?
    ‘Off his chauffeur … in there, you idiot!’ Kieran again nodded to the doorway.
    ‘You mean that’s a …’
    Clancy simply nodded again.
    ‘Well, my God! I didn’t even know that place existed,’ exclaimed Michael slowly, careful not to let Clancy see him jot the phone number of the Medusa Massage Parlour on the palm of his hand. ‘And how much would a wank be?’ Michael wondered.
    Clancy gave him that look again. ‘Are you asking me to quote you? How the hell would I know?’
    Michael didn’t pursue it. Clancy threw his cigarette on the footpath and stood on it. He dug his hands deep into his pockets and stamped his feet to keep warm. As he did this he glanced around at the main street.
    ‘God almighty, this place is desperate!’
    ‘It’s a kip, all right! I’m glad we’re not stationed out here in Snuggstown.’
    ‘Yes, Michael, that would be terrible – we might have to pretend to be policemen.’
    ‘You’re in great form, aren’t you?’
    The doorway of a building across the street opened and a man stepped out. His hair was thin on top, and he had a moustache; he was wearing denim trousers and a bomber jacket. He was carrying a sports bag. Kieran watched him as he walked towards them up the street. His face seemedvaguely familiar. Kieran frowned, then the dawning of recognition made his eyebrows rise.
    ‘Look! Isn’t that Sparrow McCabe over there, Michael?’
    Michael turned and looked at the figure walking in their direction on the far side of the street.
    ‘It is, indeed. God, he was some boxer.’
    ‘He sure was.’ They watched as Sparrow walked a short way down the street and inserted a key into the door of a black Jaguar.
    ‘I wonder did he take a dive that time