Cross - Ken Bruen [47]
Sober now, or dry, whatever, maybe it was time to get some help. Ridge was out. We were so locked in combat she wouldn't be any assistance, and if she knew I'd bought a gun, she'd probably arrest me.
Jeff, my great friend, was MIA. Since I'd caused the death of his child, he'd vanished off the face of the earth. All my efforts to locate him had failed.
And that was it. To get to my age and have no one, not one soul to confide in, it's a crying shame and testament to how much my way of life had cost me. I toyed with the idea of giving Gina a call. I definitely felt something for her. I no longer knew what love was – if I ever had – but till I sorted out the family of killers, I decided to wait.
Which left Stewart, the drug-dealer. Instead of analysing it to death, I just called him and he said, 'Come by, I've just bought some new herbal tea.'
I could only hope the tea was a joke.
I stopped in a religious shop en route. There's one near the Augustinian church: lots of relics of St Jude, spanking new books on the late Pope. I couldn't find what I was looking for, just like U2.
The woman behind the counter said, 'I know you.'
Like the theme song of me life.
And never uplifting.
She said, 'I knew your mother.'
I waited for the usual homilies, platitudes, the dirge about her being so holy, damn near a saint and all the other horseshite. I nodded, thinking, Let's get the beatification over with.
She said, 'Hard woman, your mother, but I don't suppose I have to tell you that.'
I warmed to her instantly, asked, 'Have you a St Bridget's Cross?'
She smiled, a smile of real warmth.
'By the holy, we don't get much demand for those any more.'
But said she'd check the storeroom.
I read a plaque of the Desiderata while I was waiting, and figured with that and the Glock, you were set for life's setbacks.
The woman had one cross, blew some dust off it and said, 'There's no price on it.'
I handed over a twenty-euro note and she said it was far too much. I told her to put it in the poor-box.
She allowed herself another smile.
'Oh, we don't call them that any more, we say the disadvantaged.'
I had no reply to this, thanked her for her time.
As I left, she said, 'God mind you well.'
I sure as hell hoped someone would. I was doing a bad job of it me own self.
When Stewart answered his door I didn't recognize him for a moment, then realized he'd shaved his head.
I said, 'You're really taking this Zen gig to the limit.'
He motioned me in.
'I'm losing my hair. This way, I don't have to see it happen piecemeal.'
Argue that.
It gave him a hard-arse look and, coupled with the new stone eyes, totally changed him from the bank-clerk type I'd first encountered those years ago. The whole vibe cautioned, 'Don't fuck with me.'
The flat was still spartan and held an air of vacancy.
He said, 'I'll get the tea.'
Yeah.
I sat wondering if I could score some more of those magic pills.
He came back with two mugs of some vile-smelling stuff, put it in front of me, asked, 'What's on your mind, Jack?'
I moved back from the mug and tried for levity. 'I can't just drop by for a social call?'
He shook his head, took a sip of his tea. 'You don't do social, Jack, so what's on your mind?'
What the hell? I told him. All of it – the family who killed as a unit. Took time to lay it all out.
He listened without interruption, and when I finished, I almost took a taste of the tea. Then I remembered the present, took it out of my pocket, said, 'House-warming token.'
He was surprised, opened it and said, 'You bring me a cross – you don't think I've enough of a burden?'
Didn't sound like gratitude.
'It's good luck, keep your home safe.'
He put it aside, said, 'Take more than St What's Her Name to achieve that.'
I was a bit put out.
'Those crosses are hard to get.'
Jesus, sounded lame even as I said it.
He finished his tea, said, 'So is luck.'
Before I could reply, he asked, 'What are you planning to do?'
'I've no idea.'
He let that float around, then said, 'It's fairly simple. I've been reading Thich Nhat Hanh, who said, "Don't just