Dublin Noir - Ken Bruen [28]
“I guess that’s pretty obvious, huh?”
“The map and the accent were sort of giveaways, I suppose. Hi, I’m Patrick, by the way.”
“Hi, I’m Kathy.”
He asked her if it was her first time in Dublin. She told him it was, and that she’d come because her father was born here and she’d always wanted to see it. When she told him she was from New York he said, “Ah, love New York. I was there once when I was at university, but I want to go again. I’m a playwright, you see.”
“Really?”
“Well, aspiring. Had one play produced last year, at a small theater here in Dublin.”
“That’s great.”
“Believe me—it sounds more impressive than it is. The theater’s a twenty-five-seater and it was empty half the run … Are you on holiday with your husband?”
Kathy saw Patrick looking at her engagement ring.
“Oh, no,” Kathy said. “I’m not married … I’m not even sure I’m engaged anymore, actually.”
“So you’re here with friends, are you?”
“No, I’m here by myself, actually.”
“Oh, that’s very nice. If you need any suggestions on places to go, I’d be delighted to help out.”
“Actually, if you could tell me how to get to the O’Connell Street area that would be great.”
Patrick came over and circled O’Connell on Kathy’s map, and marked several other spots, writing in the names of his favorite restaurants and pubs. Kathy liked smelling Patrick’s cologne and it felt good with him close to her.
After a few more minutes of pleasant small talk, Kathy looked at her watch and said, “I better ask for my check and get going.”
“Would you mind doing me a small favor?” Patrick said. “Could you watch my laptop for just one minute?”
“Oh, yeah,” Kathy said. “Sure.”
Patrick smiled—he had nice dimples—then went into the café. Kathy caught the waitress’ attention and made a scribbling motion with her hand. The waitress nodded but was busy taking another order.
Kathy looked at the map, at the markings Patrick had made, thinking how nice he was for doing that. He was kind of cute and he had a sexy accent. Too bad he was too young for her—he seemed to be about twenty-two or twenty-three— and she never really liked artsy-type guys.
She was looking closely at the map, at the location of a good produce market which Patrick had circled, when it happened. She was aware of someone moving quickly next to her and then she looked back and saw the guy with dark wavy hair sprinting away down the block. Instinctively, she grabbed her purse, relieved that it was still there. Then she looked back at the guy who was running away and realized he was holding Patrick’s laptop.
Kathy hesitated and didn’t say anything for a few seconds, until the thief had already turned the corner, and then she screamed, “Stop him! Somebody stop him!”
The waitress and a customer—a man in a business suit—came out of the café.
“What happened?” the waitress asked.
“Somebody stole a laptop,” Kathy said.
“Where’d he go?” the man asked.
“He just ran away … around the corner,” Kathy said. “Can’t you call the police or something?”
Then Patrick came out and seemed confused. “What happened?”
“Your laptop was stolen,” Kathy said.
Patrick peered at his empty table with a look of horror, shock, and disbelief.
“I’m so sorry,” Kathy said. “This guy just came down the block and grabbed it.”
“Did you see what he looked like?” the man in the suit asked.
“No,” Kathy said. “I just saw him from the back … He had wavy hair. He was wearing jeans.”
“I don’t think that’ll help the Gardaí very much,” the waitress said.
“Go ahead and call,” Kathy said. “Maybe they can catch the guy.”
“I’ll call,” the man in the suit said, and he took out his cell phone and walked away.
Patrick was sitting, devastated, with his forehead against the table.
“I’m so sorry,” Kathy repeated. “I don’t know what to say.”
“I had everything on that machine and it wasn’t backed up,” Patrick said. “My whole new play—it’s gone.”
“I feel so awful,” Kathy said. “I mean, the guy came up so quickly. I didn’t even see him.”
“Maybe they’ll catch him,” the waitress