Plugged - Eoin Colfer [6]
I sat behind the desk while Moriarty lay on the couch and frisbeed questions at me. Eventually he came around to:
‘Why’d you join the army, Daniel?’
I remembered something from the magazine. ‘Why do you think I joined the army?’
Moriarty did the kind of long hard fake laugh that would make a Bond villain proud. ‘Wow, that is hi-larious,’ he said with a confidence that made me feel I’d been saying hilarious wrong all these years. ‘I feel quite the fool now, wasting all that time in university when all I had to do was read a magazine. Have a nice time in the Lebanon.’
I sighed. ‘Okay, Doc. I joined up because . . .’
Moriarty actually sat up.
‘Because?’ ‘Because the uniforms set off my eyes. Come on, Doc. Work for the money.’
Simon Moriarty blinked away the previous night’s party. ‘They flew you home early, McEvoy. Remind me why they did that?’
I shrugged. ‘I called in some gunship fire on my own position.’ The shrug was to make this seem like no big deal, but it was a big deal and my legs were shaking as I said it and my mind flicked back to the tracers criss-crossing the night sky like something out of Blade Runner or maybe Star Wars. Whichever one was in space.
‘That does sound like the action of a moron.’
He was baiting me, but that was okay, because we were both smiling a little now. ‘What was left of Amal decided to overrun the entire compound,’ I explained. ‘Old-school style. An honest-to-God battle; couple of them had swords. Everybody made it into the bunker except the watch. I had a radio so I called in a gunship.’
‘Was that a good decision?’
‘Not according to the manual. Lots of property damage but not as much as there might have been. Plus a general got to live.’
‘So they shipped you out?’
‘Cos I was shell-shocked.’
‘And were you?’
‘Absolutely. No bowel movements for three days.’
Moriarty hit me again. ‘So why did you join the army, Daniel?’
He was good. I wasn’t expecting the change of tack. I mean, that gunship thing is an interesting story. ‘Because I reckoned dying overseas was better than living at home.’
Moriarty punched the air. ‘One nil,’ he crowed.
Most nights after work at the casino I take a couple of Triazolam to nod myself off. I go for as long as I can trying to tune out Mrs Delano in the apartment above, but she grinds me down with her ranting, so I pop the pills just to shut her out for a few hours.
Usually we have a little exchange through a hole around the ceiling light fitting.
I’ll lead off with something like:
For Christ’s sake shut up.
To which Mrs Delano will reply:
For Christ’s sake shut up.
I could follow this with:
For one night? Could we have a little bloody peace for one night.
Which she might cleverly twist to:
One night I’ll give you a little bloody piece.
You get the idea.
Tonight I’m thinking about Connie, so I add the Triazolam to a shot of Jameson and manage to grab a few hours of sweet dreams, but by eight my crazy neighbour’s piercing tones have ruptured my rest, and I lie in bed listening as Delano lets fly with a few nuggets that wouldn’t sound out of place in The Exorcist.
‘If I ever find you, baby, I will poison your coffee.’
That gets me out of bed sharpish. I’ve lived in this building for five years and for the first couple Mrs Delano seemed like a normal, non-homicidal human. Then, in year three, she starts in with the poisoning coffee spiel. I’m starting to believe that nobody really knows anyone. I’m pretty sure no one knows me.
A hair-obsessed ex-army doorman. What are the odds of those Venn diagram bubbles intersecting?
Venn diagrams? I know. Another nugget from Simon Moriarty.
I jump in the shower thinking about Connie, so the shower is the right place to be. Everything about her stays with me. All the usual suspects. The way she walks like there’s a pendulum inside her. How her Brooklyn accent gets a little stronger when she’s pissed. The sharp strokes of her nose and chin. Wide smile like a slice of heaven.