Absolute Zero Cool by Declan Burke Page B

trying to be difficult,’ I say. ‘I’m co-operating. Anyway, how would mentioning my rights be making things difficult?’
    Salty Pepper says, ‘How long have you worked here?’
    ‘That’s in the file, along with the disciplinary stuff.’
    ‘Do you like your job?’
    ‘It’s a job. And I like meeting new people.’
    ‘You get to see many people die during the course of your duties?’
    ‘Some. You?’
    He sucks on a discoloured front tooth. ‘How does that make you feel, watching people die? I mean, are you comfortable with seeing people in pain?’
    ‘Not especially. But you get used to anything if you stick at it long enough.’
    ‘That’s not what I asked.’
    Florid Jowls cuts in. ‘Say someone begs you to end their life, to do them a favour and put them out of their misery – what do you do?’
    ‘I call a nurse. They’re obviously in need of a shot of morphine, something along those lines.’
    ‘Did Mrs McCaffrey ever talk about wanting to die?’
    ‘Not that I remember. But I don’t think she had a lot to live for.’
    ‘Why’s that?’
    ‘She talked about how no one ever came to visit her. She said her husband died four years ago.’ They already know this. ‘People can die of a broken heart,’ I say. ‘That’s a medical fact. Hearts can actually break.’
    ‘So you did talk to her.’
    ‘She talked to me. I listened. Old people who are dying only want one thing, the chance to tell their story. To pass their lives on. All they want to believe is that life hasn’t been a stupid waste of time.’
    Florid Jowls says, ‘And you told her that?’
    ‘Sure. What’s it cost to tell a dying person a lie?’
    ‘When’s the last time you saw Mrs McCaffrey?’ Salty Pepper says.
    ‘About three nights ago.’
    ‘You’re sure about that?’
    ‘Certain, yeah.’
    ‘Okay,’ Florid Jowls says, ‘you can go. But we might want to talk to you again.’
    I head for the door. ‘A word to the wise,’ Salty Pepper says. ‘No one likes a smart-arse.’
    ‘Not everyone needs to be liked,’ I say.
    I can tell, by the way his eyes narrow, that he is not unaccustomed to considering this concept. I close the door behind me and breathe quick, shallow breaths. Blood roars in my ears. Tomorrow I bomb Nagasaki, etc.
     
     
    My supervisor takes the cigarette butt hint and finds a new parking space. This time it takes me a whole hour to find his Opel Corsa, out back of the ambulance station to the rear of the hospital.
    Strictly speaking, this is illegal. No non-essential vehicles of any description are allowed in this area. A kid propping his bike against the wall is looking at a hefty fine for interfering with an emergency service. A badly parked car could obstruct an ambulance on its way to resuscitate a coronary victim. Each minute that elapses before an ambulance reaches a coronary victim reduces his chances of survival by 10 percent, give or take.
    There was a time when Sirens lured and seduced; today they alert and alarm. Ambulances are the all-wailing, all-blaring placebos of our generation. A flashing blue siren has replaced the Sacred Heart flame. The stench of burning rubber has become our incense. In CPR we trust.
    My supervisor has violated this covenant. He has parked his non-essential Opel Corsa in a restricted zone. It is my duty to reprimand him.
    I wear a ring fashioned into an Ouroborous, an ancient symbol of intertwined snakes, one depicting imminent annihilation, the other rising hope. In Asian cultures, the snakes become dragons. I have sawn through this ring so that one jagged edge overlaps the other. I dig this jagged edge into the paintwork of my supervisor’s Opel Corsa and gouge a line the length of the passenger side. In theory, this means he will not discover the gouging until long after he has left the hospital grounds.
    My line for today is, Why stop now, just when I’m hating it? (Douglas Adams, The Restaurant at the End of the Universe)
     
     
    Cassie is a beautiful