Cross by Ken Bruen

rush of panic, you drop some of those beauties and you'll, like, chill.'
    He used the American expression with more than a hint of malice.
    I said, 'You've been pretty damn helpful to me.'
    He shrugged and I had to know, asked, 'Why?'
    He was surprised, took a moment to gain composure then said, 'You proved my sister's death was not some drunken accident, so I
owe you.'
    I didn't want that. 'Hey, pal, you paid me, paid me well. Debt's cleared, done deal, you can move on.'
    He smiled, a tinge of sadness in there, and said, 'You probably won't accept this, you being such a hard arse and all. The front you like to project – nothing gets to ol' Jack Taylor. Me, I see you different. I like you. Sure, you're a pain sometimes and, God knows, you got a mouth on yah. But bottom line, you're that rarity, you're a decent human being.
Flawed, oh fuck, more flawed than most, but you're not cold. And trust me on this, after my time in Mountjoy I'm a goddamn expert in the sheer coldness of the human condition.'
    Some speech.
    I made to go, said, 'You give me more credit than is warranted, but . . . thanks.'
    He handed me a card.
    'My phone numbers. You want to talk, get into some Zen, I'm around.'
    I had to know. 'You still peddling dope?'
    It hurt him and he winced a little. 'Like I
said, you've a mouth on you, but am I dealing?
Sure, but not dope.'
    He wasn't offering any more so I shook his hand, which amused him, and I was out of there.
    The drunk and the dealer, a match made in a moment of surreal tenderness. But what do I
know? Tenderness is not my field.
    I muttered aloud, 'Still . . . ?'
    As Zen as it gets.

14
    And upon this cross . . .
    Next day, I got a call from the nurse I'd befriended at the hospital and she told me the details of the funeral and suggested, with apprehension in her tone, 'Mr Taylor, maybe it would be better if you don't attend.'
    I was lost for a reply, felt like I'd been walloped in the face.
    She rushed on, 'His parents, they . . . er . . .
they are demanding that you be . . . kept away.'
    I tried, 'I understand.'
    I didn't.
    She was a good person and they are as rare as common courtesy. I said, 'Thank you for being so helpful.'
    Her last words were, 'We know you loved the boy. We see patients neglected all the time, but you came every day and you obviously didn't do it out of duty. God bless you, Mr Taylor.'
    Fuck.
    I'd have dealt better with outright antagonism, if she'd read me some warning act, threatened me not to go. Kindness only confused me. And she was wrong, I didn't visit Cody solely out of love. Pure guilt was there too and I hated every moment of it.
    I was in my apartment, the bottle of Stewart's pills in my hand, when a knock came at the door. I put the pills on the table and answered.
    Ridge.
    She looked rough, as if she hadn't slept in days. She was in uniform. I hadn't often seen her in the Ban Gardai rig-out and she cut a poor figure of authority, like a little girl playing at cops. Her eyes were red-rimmed and she – could it be? – she reeked of booze.
    Ridge?
    I said, 'Come in.'
    She did, walking like she was carrying the weight of the world. She sat down on the sofa, sank into it.
    I asked, 'Get you something – a tea, coffee, glass of water?'
    Took her a moment to answer and I thought
she'd nodded off, then she said, 'I need a drink. What you got?'
    The years she'd busted my balls about alcohol. The lectures and rants about my drinking, and now she wanted a drink from me ?
    I couldn't help it, snapped, 'You want a drink from me ?'
    She said sadly, 'Who would understand better?'
    Ridge had said some rough stuff to me over the years, but this, this reached me in ways I didn't even want to analyse. I wasn't sure how to deal with a Ridge who was vulnerable.
    She said, 'The death has thrown me.'
    Now I was, to borrow her word, thrown .
She didn't even know Cody.
    I shouted, 'You didn't even know him.'
    She sat up, turned to look at me, asked, 'Him? What are you talking about?