And I hated myself for being weak enough to need it.
“Well, if it isn’t the prodigal prick,” Shane announced, when I walked into his sitting room late Friday night. “Where the fuck have you been hiding, Lynchy? I thought that I was going to have to come break your legs for my money.”
Pillows of smoke wafted in the air, and the stench of alcohol, mixed with sex, piss, weed, and dog was extreme.
Jesus.
“I’ve been busy,” I replied, tossing a wad of notes on his lap, inclining my head to three older men in the corner. “And you know I’m good for it.”
“True that.” Shooing one of his three bullmastiffs off the couch, he gestured for me to take a seat. I wasn’t stupid – or suicidal – enough to say no so I sank down while he counted and then tucked my money into his jeans pocket.
“So, what’s been happening, lad?” He asked. “Why haven’t I seen you around lately? You on the straight and narrow again?”
“Something like that,” I replied, taking the spliff from his outstretched hand. “I’m keeping my head down.”
“I get you, lad,” he replied, nodding as if he understood. “Heard about your sister getting jumped the other week. Sad stuff. Was surprised when you didn’t call for a fix, though.”
“Like I said.” Letting my head fall back, I slowly released the smoke from my lungs. “I’m keeping my head down.”
“But you’re back now.”
I sighed in resignation. “Yeah.”
I’m back.
“Fair play, lad,” he mused, clearly stoned off his head, as he slid a tin out from under the couch and lifted the lid off. “So, what’s new? How’s the family?”
“Same old shit,” I replied, taking another deep drag, as I watched him rummage around in a stash of pills, “different day.”
“You want anything stronger than 512s?” he asked, holding up a bag of brownish powder. Heroin. “Guaranteed to blow your fucking mind.”
“No.” I shook my head. “Just oxy.”
“You know where I am when you need something that hits harder.” Humming in contentment, he separated the pills into a small baggie. “So, I heard from one of the boys that you’ve got yourself some regular pussy.”
Stiffening, I resisted the urge to tell him to go fuck himself.
Like I said before; I wasn’t suicidal.
“Don’t we all, lad.”
Shane laughed. “Don’t be coy, fucker. I heard you’re after setting yourself up nicely with that ride of a barmaid from The Dinniman. The blonde with the legs.”
“And?” I stiffened, not fucking liking where this was going one bit. It unnerved me that he knew about Molloy because it meant that he was keeping tabs on me. “What’s it to you?”
“Is she interested in a making a bit of side cash? I could use a pair of tits like that to help shift some—“
“Leave her out of your plans,” I warned, standing up. “Keep her out of your head, period. She hasn’t got a damn thing to do with anything.”
“Clearly she has,” he taunted, chuckling. “Just ask her,” he tried to coax. “Ask the girl, and see if she’s open to making some easy money by shifting a few—“
“No,” I bit out, seething. “Not fucking happening. She’s not like you.”
“You mean she’s not like us?” he mocked.
“I’m no dealer, Shane,” I said quietly, taking another deep drag, before handing him his spliff. “Never was and never will be.”
“Famous last words,” he chuckled, as he watched me move for the door. “Relax, lad, I won’t look at your girl.”
“She’s a hard limit for me,” I warned. “Look at her and all bets are off, ya hear.”
“Yeah, yeah, it’s all good,” he chuckled, waving the small bag in his hand around. “Have you forgotten something?”
Blowing out a frustrated breath, I snatched it up and quickly shoved it into my pocket. “Thanks.”
“Just remember I’m always here for ya,” he called after me, as I made my exit. “The door’s always open.”
“Yeah, I know.”
That’s the problem.
WEIRD DREAMS AND WANDERING HANDS
APRIL 24TH 2004
AOIFE
“So, I had this strange dream last night.”
“Did you, Aoife, love?” Dad replied.
“Yeah, I did.” Leaning my hip against the side of the jacked-up car that my father was working on, I sighed dramatically. “And when I woke up this morning, I was completely soaked.”
The sound a spanner clattering to the ground and then the words, “Jesus Christ,” filled my ears.
I grinned in victory.
“Are you alright there, Joey, lad?” my dad asked from where he was rummaging under the bonnet of the car with a dipstick in hand. “How’s that undertray coming along, son?”
Joey, whose upper body was hidden beneath the car they were working on, muttered another curse before saying, “Yeah, Tony, it’s nearly on there.”
“Good lad yourself,” Dad said, turning his attention back to me. “You know, Aoife, pet, if you’re sweating that much during the night, it’s a sign that you’re coming down with something.”
“Yeah, I certainly felt like I was coming—“