Cross by Ken Bruen Page B

'Why are you stuck in my face? You deaf or what?'
    I decided this was not the time to share my latest cross with her.
    She was up now. As she buttoned her tunic she said, 'I'm going to get right on this.'
    I cautioned, 'Shouldn't you get some sleep?
I mean, they see vodka on your breath, not good.'
    She had that face of pure ferocity, said, 'Fuck them.'
    I liked her a whole lot better.
    I indicated the booze. 'What am I going to do with this?'
    Her eyes were like coal. 'You'll think of some use.'
    I liked her less.

15
    'Cross me, and I'll kill you.'
    Old Galway threat
    The girl was fingering the small silver cross she wore round her neck. She knew neither her father nor brother understood the significance the cross had held for her and her mother.
    Her mother had been a fervent Irish Catholic, and marrying an Englishman only intensified her passion. Over and over she'd told the girl, 'Christ died on the cross for our sins, and the world will try to crucify you if you allow it.'
    Logic didn't play a large part in this. If you have the Irish faith, massive guilt and a personality disorder, you're ripe for symbols.
Her mother had fixated on the crucifix, her home ablaze with writhing Christs of every shape and size. Only the girl truly knew where this obsession had originated. She'd never told before and she wasn't about to
share now. They were men, they'd never understand.
    The girl stood up. She'd been kneeling, praying, not to a Catholic God but to this new dark power that so energized her. She moved to the mirror, saw the silver cross shine around her neck, and from the corner of her eye saw the now familiar flame light up the corner of the room.
    Whoosh.
    When she turned to look directly at it, it was gone.
    She smiled.
    The cross was Celtic, given to her on her sixteenth birthday by her mother, who had said, 'Never forget the cross.'
    Her mother's secret, the whole reason for the cross, came vividly into her mind. She could see it like a scene from a movie. She'd been twelve, always hanging out of her mother's arms, and one evening, home early from school, she'd found her mother sobbing in the kitchen, an empty bottle of sweet sherry on the sink. Her mother never drank and in that state she'd hugged her daughter, told her how before she'd met the girl's father she'd had an abortion, said it was like being crucified, the sheer agony of the procedure.
    Then she'd added, 'I pay every day of my life for that sin.' And she'd grabbed her daughter's wrist harshly, hurting her, and warned, 'If anyone ever does real damage to you, there's only one way to atone. Do you know what it is?'
    The girl, terrified, had shaken her head, tears running down her face. Her mother had said, in a voice of pure ice, 'You nail them to the cross, as Our Lord was, and drive the nails in with all the passion that Our Saviour decreed to us.'
    Thursday evening, I killed a man.
    Least I think I did.
    Certainly gave it my best shot.
    I'd gone to the pictures – sorry, I just can't say movies. Sideways had been getting tremendous reviews – Paul Giamatti had that hangdog expression I so identify with, a Woody Allen for the new despair. But all the wine drinking got to me. I was never a wine buff, I liked me booze fast and lethal. I was starting to taste Merlot in me mouth, and of course with my dodgy hearing, despite the Dolby digital stereo, I had difficulty catching all the dialogue. So I baled.
    As I left, the ticket guy asked, 'Didn't like it, huh?'
    He had one of those Irish faces that are boiled – red cheeks, lobster lips, pale skin, and still the American accent.
    'I liked it too much.'
    He gave me a look, the one that says, 'Old dude, already safoid (Irish for mental).' And said, like he'd been born in Kentucky, 'Whatever stirs your mojo.'
    Fuck.
    A light drizzle was coming now. Nothing major, just enough to remind you that you were in the land of baiste (rain). I was wearing item 8234, me old Garda coat. Like me own self, it had been