Plugged - Eoin Colfer [20]
‘Hilarious, Sergeant. Hiding behind humour. Good tactic. How’s that been working out for you?’
Simon could be a pain in the arse, but he generally hit the nail on the head.
I lay down. ‘Not so good. Listen, Doc, everyone’s got problems, issues, whatever. You just get on with it, try to stay as calm as possible.’
Moriarty flicked ash from the front of his Ramones T-shirt. ‘That’s what we’re here to as-certain, Daniel. Can you stay calm? We can’t go releasing a trained murder machine into the big city if he can’t keep his talents to himself.’
‘Don’t worry about that. I’ve seen enough bloodshed.’
‘You have plans?’
‘I’m free on Tuesday and I know a nice bar.’
More ash-flicking. ‘Life plans, smartarse. With your tendencies, you need to be careful what kind of situations you put yourself in.’
‘Tendencies? You make me sound like a pervert.’
‘Here’s my theory, Daniel. You had a violent father who beat up on your mother, yourself and your baby brother, got the entire family, except you, killed drunk driving. So now you feel like you have to protect the defenceless. That’s why you joined up. Not to kill, to pro-tect. The problem is that you also have difficulties with authority, father figures. So, you felt compelled to join the army, and you also felt com-pelled to clock your superiors. Do you see the conflict?’
I felt I had to defend myself. ‘My superior officer left three of his own men pinned down between Israeli troops and the militia and he refused to order any covering fire. Some people need to be clocked.’
Simon pretended to write something. ‘There are protocols for these things, Dan.’
‘I know. Fired upon twice, blah-blah-blah.’
‘So you broke protocol and once again drew fire on your own twenty by deciding to ignore the chain of command and providing some covering fire of your own.’
‘Twenty? That’s CB, not military.’
‘I’m reaching out; cut me some slack. So you break protocol, this time getting half a mortar shell up yer hole.’
‘It was a whole shell.’
Simon frowned. ‘A shell made specifically for holes?’
‘Whole with a silent w.’
‘Oh, I see. But my point stands: you felt compelled to protect.’
‘Com-pelled to pro-tect. Got it. Where were you when I was signing up?’
‘Also you have the gambling addiction.’
This was a new one. ‘Addiction? Come on. Who told you that? I like a hand of poker, it’s true, but no more than the next man. It’s hardly a problem.’
‘Wishful thinking,’ Simon admitted. ‘I grow weary of this analysis, plus I like a game of poker myself.’
‘I don’t think you’re a man to be bluffed.’
Simon closed his notebook with a snap. ‘All in all, I think the medical discharge is the best thing for you.’
‘Medical discharge? Sounds disgusting.’
‘Find yourself a nice conflict-free position,’ continued Moriarty, ignoring my attempt to hide behind humour. ‘Somewhere you don’t have to protect anyone.’
I can’t help it. ‘Don’t you mean pro-tect?’
Simon ha-ha’ed drily. ‘Very good. Wisecracks, the fast track to mental health. Seriously, Dan, find yourself a stress-free position. No cards, no boss and no one depending on you for their well-being.’
So now I’m a doorman at a casino. But it’s not my fault; I’m com-pelled.
The town is busy tonight, but I don’t feel connected. It’s like I’m watching everything through a dirty window. The world I’ve been holding together with spit and dreams is finally coming apart. The cops toss us out on the street like we’re trespassers and tell us to get lost. There won’t be any rickety roulette or polka-dot bikinis tonight.
Connie is dead, Zeb is missing. I killed a person with a key, for Christ’s sake.
I know that really the key part of it is not important, but there seems to be some kind of irony in it.
Instead of locking the door, I opened Barrett’s doorway to the next life.
Forced. Laboured.
There is no key to life, just a key to death.
Better, but I won’t be writing slim volumes of poetry any time soon.
I feel sick deep