Cross - Ken Bruen [59]
'The mystery of evil.'
St Paul
I needed to talk to somebody, to try and get some idea of what was going down.
Gina had experience of psychology, so I gave her a call. She seemed delighted to hear from me. That anyone would be pleased to hear my voice was stunning. I fumbled a bit, finally got round to asking her out to dinner, and arranged to meet her at a new Mexican restaurant she was anxious to try.
What did I know about Mexican food? Then reprimanded me own self. Fuck's sake, this was not about food.
An hour before I met her, I was nervous, my heart hammering. Was this like . . . a date?
How the hell did you behave, and, worse, sober? It had been so long, I no longer knew the ritual. And in the days when I did date, I'd slam home a few Jamesons and not give a toss whether the woman showed or not. By the time the evening was through, most of the women were sorry they'd showed.
I wore a blazer, tan slacks, comfortable shoes. For comfortable, read old. I debated a tie and then went with the open-neck gig, casual but cool. Checked my reflection. I looked like a dodgy geezer selling property in Spain.
The restaurant was in Kirwan's Lane, just a pint away from Quay Street. My hands were sweating. Gina was waiting outside, wearing a dark suit jacket, skirt and heels, and looked terrific. Her hair was tied back, showing her strong features. I felt woefully inadequate. She gave me a kiss on the cheek and said I looked marvellous. I wanted to run.
A maître d' told us we'd have to wait ten minutes and might he bring us a cocktail? Bring me a bucket, buddy.
We sat in the lounge. Gina had a Vermouth and soda and, yeah, I had a Pepsi. Rock 'n' roll. Gina looked round at the white stucco walls, the cacti, the paintings of old Mexico and said it was very authentic. A couple next to us were lashing back tequila, the whole salt-and-lemon vibe, and having a whale of a time. I felt like a priest and that's about as bad as it gets.
The drinks came and we clinked glasses.
Gina said, 'I'm glad to see you, Jack.'
I wanted to cut to the chase, go, 'Look, I want to pick your brains, can we just do that? Forget all this politeness crap, and then I can go home, alone.'
Very worrying was the fact that I was more attracted to her than I expected. And to handle that without a shot of something, I hadn't a clue. Desperate for time, I asked about her work and she effortlessly talked on that. I tried to show interest. The sound ringing in my ears was the tequila bottle and a rage was building in me. How many fucking drinks were those bastards going to have? Didn't they have dinner to eat yet?
Then I registered Gina asking, 'Is it very difficult for you?'
What?
I gave a smile of tolerance, as if I was resigned to whatever fate had been dealt out to me.
She said, 'A social evening without alcohol, is it awful for you?'
Sympathy, just what I needed, fucking wonderful.
I lied, 'No, it's not so bad.'
The waiter came, said our table was ready and she was prevented from replying.
I let Gina order the food and she chose enchiladas, fritos, tapas, and lots of dips with very spicy origins. She said she'd have a glass of wine, and, me, mineral water.
We ate and stayed on neutral topics. I'm sure the food was good. Gina said it was first rate, but it all tasted like loss to me.
When the plates were cleared away and we settled to a coffee, she asked, 'What's on your mind, Jack?'
This was the reason we were there, so I laid out the whole series of events. And she was a good listener, only interrupted once to ask if Sean had turned up yet. I noticed she'd only had one sip out of her wine. Yeah, I counted, it's what alkies do. Me, I'd have been on the third bottle by now.
Go figure.
I can't.
When I was finished, she asked, 'What do you want from me, Jack?'
I framed my reply carefully, said, 'Give me your opinion of the family, and – here's the hard part – where would Sean go?'
She then asked a series of questions, mostly on Gail, and I told her everything – my encounter with her in the graveyard, then her visit to my apartment, the meeting