3

Noelie had the upstairs flat at 78b Douglas Street. It had been his home for nearly twelve years, since his return from New York in ’98. There was a decent-sized bedroom, a large sitting room with a kitchenette to one side and a small bathroom. He had made it cosy, fitting a better kitchen and repainting it fully. An entire wall was dedicated to bookshelves, very overstocked.

Ani DiFranco was playing when the downstairs front-door bell sounded. Noelie was expecting a visit and figured it would be either Cronin or his goons. In the event of trouble his plan was to exit by a landing window outside his flat door. But it was only Ajax.

Noelie lifted the sash. ‘What’s up?’

Ajax was spitting. ‘You’ve fucked up, that’s what’s up. Open the door.’

Noelie took the precaution of putting his father’s old poker under a newspaper by the sofa and went to open the door. Ajax barged through, fuming. ‘Even at my age I’m still surprised at how stupid some people are.’

Checking there was no one else outside Noelie followed his visitor upstairs. He guided Ajax to his best armchair and asked if he wanted tea.

‘Fuck tea. What’s with you? Do you have any sense?’

Noelie was bemused. ‘What’s up?’

‘He’s gone apeshit, that’s what’s up. You don’t realise who he is, do you?’

‘Cronin Security.’

‘You fuckwit. A couple of hours after your visit, he’s out to me. Wouldn’t give me the time of day before that. Now suddenly he’s sitting in my kitchen. There’s cash on the table for everything he owes me, plus two more years in advance at my new rate.’

‘You’re laughing so.’

‘Do I look like I’m laughing?’ Ajax half stood. ‘If I was a few years younger I’d break your fuckin’ front teeth.’

Noelie wrinkled his forehead. He didn’t mind Ajax letting off steam but dangerous talk could get out of hand.

‘I shouldn’t have got rid of those records. It was a mistake. A rash act. I need them back.’

Noelie shook his head. He filled the kettle and clicked it on.

‘I’m not asking, Noel or Noelie or whatever it is you’re called, I’m telling you.’

Noelie spoke slowly. ‘First thing, they’re not your records, they’re mine. You off-loaded them to Mrs MacCarthaigh and I purchased them from her. Second, the records were mine in the first place, from way back. Like I said, there’s even a garda report.’

Ajax stood. Placing a hand on his bad leg, he winced and approached Noelie. ‘Cronin called me again just now. Asked if I had the records back yet. I said I was planning on calling to see you. A few minutes later, two cunts arrive out to me in a fuckin’ Land Cruiser no less. Walk right in the back door and stand looking. The younger one’s holding a crowbar. Didn’t scare me but scared the life out of the missus. Understand now what we’re dealing with. I have until midnight.’

Noelie figured that Ajax was telling the truth; he certainly looked bothered. But what was up? Why did Cronin want the records back?

‘Play along please. Hand over the records. I’ll even pay you.’

‘You’re not curious?’

‘I couldn’t give a flying fuck. I just want the records back. How much?’

Noelie wandered over to the front window and looked out. There was no one down on the road other than his neighbour from across the way. She had her digital camera out and was snapping the regs of a few parked cars. She was in a one-woman war with City Hall over disputed disability parking rights.

‘Well, how much?’ pressed Ajax.

‘Make me an offer.’

‘Two hundred.’

Noelie guffawed.

‘You cunt.’

‘My dear man, those records are valuable. Some are first issues. A few are even signed. There’s an actual Nun Attax EP in that lot. Can’t be got nowadays, not for any amount of money.’

‘You tell me then.’

‘Two grand. But that price is a favour to you. If I went on eBay …’

‘Deal.’

‘Deal?’ repeated Noelie alarmed. ‘Serious, you’d pay me that much?’

‘I don’t have it on me but I can be back in an hour with the full amount.’ He limped over to Noelie with his hand outstretched. ‘Deal?’

Noelie shook his head reluctantly. ‘Actually no, I was codding. I’m not interested. I told you the records are of sentimental value.’

Ajax didn’t appear to hear what Noelie said. ‘I need to see them, okay, if I’m to shell out so much.’ He went over to Noelie’s CD collection. He looked around and under the counter. ‘Where are they?’

‘Did you hear me? I’m not selling.’

Suddenly Ajax lunged towards the bedroom door but Noelie got there ahead of him. ‘Out of bounds, if you don’t mind.’

Ajax tried to push through but Noelie easily held him off. The older man glared. He pointed at a framed poster on the wall. It was given to Noelie by an ex, a long time back. The subject was an elderly woman clouting a fascist skinhead with her handbag. The text was in Swedish but the graphic underneath was unmistakable: it showed a clenched fist shattering a swastika.

‘What are you anyway? Some sort of nut?’

‘You telling or asking?’

Ajax cursed again. Noelie shepherded him towards the armchair but he wouldn’t sit.

‘Tell you what,’ said Noelie. ‘I’m curious, I really am. You tell Cronin I’ll speak to him. Tell him I’ll meet him somewhere in public. I’ll deal with him and that’ll take you out of the picture. Okay?’

‘That’s not okay.’ Ajax went over to the flat door. ‘You thick fuck, you’ll learn.’