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

in Spain?’ Michael asked Clancy.
    Clancy continued to watch Sparrow. ‘He must be doing all right now, driving a Jag.’
    ‘That’s not his.’
    Kieran now looked at Michael. ‘How do you know?’
    ‘I know because before you got me this cushy number, I was in Traffic. The Jag belongs to that scumbag Simon Williams – Simple Simon. He runs Snuggstown.’ Michael turned and nodded towards Medusa’s. ‘He probably owns that place. Sparrow drives for him. He has done for about the last six years.’
    As Sparrow climbed into the Jaguar the two men watched him with interest, but were interrupted by the Minister as he exited from the massage parlour. Without a word to either his chauffeur or his bodyguards, the Minister climbed straight back into the ministerial car. The two detectives got into their car and Kieran started the engine, his eyes still fixed on Sparrow. As they set off down the street, they drove past the Jaguar. Kieran Clancy stared at Sparrow. Sparrow met his stare and frowned. The first meeting of these two men was over. It would not be the last.

CHAPTER SEVEN
Thursday, 5 December
The McCabe home, Snuggstown West, 9.45pm
    Sparrow McCabe lived in a two-bedroomed terraced house in Meadowmist housing estate. Although this area was still referred to as the ‘new estate’, it was actually twelve years old, but hung on to its name because it was the final phase of the Snuggstown West housing plan. Just two years after their marriage, Sparrow and Eileen had applied for one of the new houses. Less than a year later they had moved in. The design of the houses was simple. Upstairs there was one large bedroom in which Eileen and Sparrow slept. Next to it was a bathroom and toilet. At that moment Sparrow was standing at the door of the second, smaller bedroom. Inside this room lay the family jewel. After the tragic loss of her daughter in Madrid, it was seven years before Eileen gave birth again. The pregnancy was a tense and tortured time for both of them. When the boy was born he was greeted with a huge sigh of relief rather than open joy. Eileen named him Michael, after her father, but this had quickly beenshortened to Mickey. As the boy grew into a seven-year-old scamp, the name suited him perfectly.
    Sparrow pushed Mickey’s bedroom door open softly. The light from the single bulb on the landing spilled in. Mickey’s room was typical of a seven-year-old’s bedroom. His clothes were scattered along the floor where he had tossed them, for like most seven-year-olds he undressed on his way to the bed. Quietly Sparrow gathered up the clothes and folded them. He picked up the child’s things as well – a football and a tiny TV with a computer game console attached to it. The monitor was on and Sparrow clicked it off. The walls were adorned with various posters showing the diversity of Mickey’s interests: Hulk Hogan, the Irish football team, various players in various poses from Aston Villa FC, and a huge Spice Girls poster reflecting Mickey’s anticipation of future adolescence rather than his musical taste.
    On Mickey’s bedside table were two framed photographs. One was of the boy himself in football gear, holding a ball. He was laughing and covered from head to toe in mud. Sparrow picked it up and smiled as he looked at this little bundle of energy. He then quietly replaced it beside the photo of himself, a black-and-white one, in full boxing regalia. Sparrow lost his smile.
    Mickey was sound asleep but still wearing the headphones of his walkman, so Sparrow leaned over and gently lifted the headphones from the boy’s head. He smiled down at his son lovingly, and bending over him placed a gentle kiss on his forehead. ‘Goodnight, Mickey the Gick!’
    Sparrow made his way downstairs, on the way tossing Mickey’s clothes into the washbasket in the bathroom. He flicked on the kettle, then went to the fireplace. It wasfreezing cold outside, so he heaped some more coal onto the fire, to have the room nice