Post-Armageddon
Here is what you might term the aftermath.
Stewart got engaged to his lawyer.
Bought her a rock the size of Gibraltar.
The killings stopped.
Ridge stayed married and the business deal evaporated.
Guess they’ll have to sell another horse.
Anthony is Anglo-Irish, they don’t do poverty, not in my sense.
And me, on a whim I just went to London, on an internet all-inclusive package. I sold the Rolex in Camden Lock, the guy screwed me and I said,
‘Devil of a price.’
I met a woman.
An American, in her forties, she liked the sound of me voice and she liked to drink Jay.
She liked nothing better than to breeze about books, movies and music.
She is coming over to stay with me at Easter.
We had us a real fine time.
Prowled the second-hand bookstores and music shops.
I bought
Sexy Beast,
Home for the Holidays (directed by Jodie Foster),
Mad Men, series one.
In the bookstores, I found a rare Aleister Crowley tome. First edition, too.
I’d had enough of the beast.
Sunday, at Heathrow, I was glowing from the night before with my new lady. Thinking,
‘How the fuck did that happen?’
But grateful.
Waiting for my flight to be called, I found a tabloid on the table as I finished my black coffee. Flicking through to see if Chelsea had won, I spotted – almost missed – on page six:
A student at LSE has been found murdered. The details of his death have been withheld. The Metropolitan Police are anxious to interview a Mr K, who was the last person seen with the deceased.
My flight was called.
I put the paper aside, wondered how the UK would deal with the Devil.
Probably figure he was Irish.
A week later, I’d just settled into my sleep when the phone rang.
It was the lady in my life and I was delighted to hear her. Outlined the things we’d be doing in Galway till she said,
‘Jack, strange thing, can I share?’
God bless America, they sure do know how to share. I said,
‘Hon, course you can.’
She said,
‘This is going to sound like I’m a whack job, but I woke late last night and there was a black candle burning on my bedside table. What should I do?’
I took a deep breath, checked where the Sig was, said,
‘Sweetheart, blow it out.’