Someone who sounded a lot like Patricia was saying, ‘We should get him to a hospital.’
Someone else who didn’t was saying, ‘There’s no broken bones, and I know how to cure him.’
‘You’re not a doctor and he’s not a ham.’
‘I’ve performed more operations than any thirty surgeons in Ulster combined.’
‘On cows.’
‘Pigs, lambs, rabbits, three ostriches and a kangaroo. It’s still surgery.’
‘It’s not surgery when you’re just cutting them to shreds.’
‘There’s an art to it, you know.’
At last Patricia’s lovely face swam into view and she said, ‘Awwww, darling, you awake, how you feeling?’
And I mumbled without anything resembling words coming out.
Another face appeared over her shoulder. ‘Hey, there, you okay?’ asked Joe the butcher.
I grunted. My mouth was dry as bone, and my nose stuffed with blood.
A third face: Bobby Murray. He just looked at me, shook his head and turned away.
I said, ‘Harp . . .’
Patricia smiled and gently set the rim of a bottle of water against my fat lips and tilted; I coughed and spluttered and dribbled.
‘There you go, easy now, babe . . .’
I was on a single bed, in a small, neat room. There was a TV in one corner, a two-ring cooker in another. There was a shower, with an open curtain, a small sofa.
‘Where . . .?’
‘My humble abode,’ said Joe.
‘I . . . how . . . Trish . . .?’
‘Whoever did this to you dumped you outside your office. Lucky Joe was in his shop at the time, came out and got you.’
‘Joe? You live . . .?’
‘Yep, on the premises, all on me ownio.’
I raised my hand. ‘I’m Dan.’
‘I know that.’ He shook it. It hurt. ‘Hope you don’t mind, went through your phone and by a process of elimination found your wife’s number.’
Patricia loomed over me. ‘Who’s Lenny?’
‘What . . . who?’
‘Lenny, there’s a number you’ve been calling repeat—’
‘Trish, I need some painkillers, my head . . .’
‘I’ll get them,’ said Joe.
‘About twenty calls . . .’
‘Trish . . . this isn’t . . .’
‘I met Lenny,’ said Bobby. He was back standing beside her, looking down, unreadable. ‘He came to your apartment. You were working on some case, you wouldn’t tell me about it.’
I nodded. It hurt. ‘Just a case, Trish, just a case . . .’
I pretended to drift away.
Joe came back in with pills. He poured six into my hand.
‘Six?’ said Trish.
‘More,’ I said.
I got up on one elbow, wincing, and swallowed them down, two at a time. I lay back down.
Trish said, ‘What happened?’
‘What always happens?’
‘You said something stupid and you got beaten up.’ I nodded. It hurt. ‘When are you ever going to wise up?’
It was a rhetorical question.
‘Malone Security,’ said Joe. ‘Roared up, tossed you out, sped away. If it wasn’t for their nice cars and pretty uniforms, you’d almost think we were back to the bad old days.’
‘Have you come across them before?’ Trish asked.
‘Sure I have. They call round once in a while trying to interest me in their services. They’re quite insistent. Then I show them my very large collection of butcher’s knives and they reconsider.’
‘Insistent in a Jehovah’s Witness kind of a way?’ Trish asked.
‘No,’ said Joe. He shook his head at me. ‘I’ve only known you a few days, yet I’ve seen you with your eye closed over, your hand up like a bap, and now this. You can annoy some of the people some of the time and get away with it, but you seem to be annoying all of the people all of the time, and clearly not getting away with it.’ He turned to Trish. ‘How do you put up with him?’
‘I don’t,’ she said.
He looked from her to me, and me to her. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I’m sure you two have things to talk about. Hey, Bobby?’ Bobby grunted. ‘Have you ever plunged a knife into a dead body?’
Bobby looked puzzled. ‘Wuh . . . why?’
‘It’s not a trick question,’ said Joe. ‘Come on, I’ll show you how it’s done.’
He shepherded Bobby towards the door. Bobby went, but not before glancing at Trish and giving her a helpless kind of a shrug.
When they were gone, I said, ‘I think you’re bonding with him.’
Trish said, ‘Shut up, you stupid bastard.’
Then she kissed me on my sore lips.
It’s funny how sympathy and concern can turn to sarcasm and misunderstanding in the laboured blink of a swollen eye. She wanted to take me home and nurse me back to health, and I said no, I’d be better off in my own place; I didn’t know what kind of a hornets’ nest I’d stirred up, and why take the chance of attracting more trouble to her place, particularly when she was supposed to be sheltering Bobby from harm. I was trying to do the right thing, but she took it as a personal slight. We got to bickering, and then some yelling, which only stopped when Joe came back in with Bobby.
Joe said, ‘Guess what? This young man has agreed to come in and work as my apprentice. I think he’s a natural. Give it to him.’ Bobby stepped forward. He handed me a large and bloody steak. ‘Perfectly carved. Though if he cuts them that size for my customers, I’ll be out of business in a week.’
‘That’s great,’ I said.
‘It is,’ added Trish.
‘It’ll mean an early start,’ said Joe.
‘I can drop him off on the way to work.’ She grinned at Bobby. She was halfway to ruffling his hair; he took a step back; she hesitated, and then the moment was gone.
Joe looked at our faces and said, ‘So what did you two lovebirds decide?’
‘I want to take him to my place,’ said Trish.
‘I’d rather go home,’ I said. ‘Safer.’
‘He shouldn’t be alone,’ said Trish. ‘But he never listens to anyone but himself.’
‘Then he can stay here,’ said Joe. ‘I can keep an eye on him.’
‘No, really,’ I began, ‘I’ll be fine . . . Anyway, you only have the one . . .’
‘I’m not suggesting we share a bed, you halfwit. There’s another room behind this, perfectly good bed in there. Believe me, you don’t want to be moving around for a while. Besides, I’ve this treatment will help with the bruises, my mum used to swear by it. One part cayenne pepper, five parts Vaseline. I’ll light a few candles, get you relaxed, I can rub it on you later.’ He left it for fully five seconds before saying: ‘You should see your face.’
Patricia burst into laughter. Bobby too.
‘Youse are so funny,’ I said.
When they were gone, Joe came back in and saw that I had Bobby’s steak up against my eye. He asked me what I was doing. I said it helped with the swelling. He said, ‘Don’t be ridiculous. It’s an old wives’ tail. If you press anything cold against the eye, it might do some good, but that steak was until fairly recently part of a live cow. It’s still warm.’
‘Oh.’ I held it out to him. ‘You learn something new every day. Do you want to fry it or something?’
‘Nope. As it happens, I’m a vegetarian.’
‘But you’re a butcher.’
‘Yes. And?’
‘Well . . . don’t vegetarians become vegetarians because . . . you know . . . they don’t like animals being killed for their meat?’
‘Some do. I prefer it because I think it’s healthier, and when you’ve been up to your oxters in blood all day, the last thing you want is more meat.’
‘Hitler was a vegetarian,’ I said.
‘Hitler,’ said Joe, ‘was a dick.’
I had no idea if I could trust him. The facts were the facts: from the Shankill, been to prison, and a vegetarian. Any one of those could tilt you down the wrong path in life. Now he had Patricia’s phone number and from there he or whoever he passed it on to would be able to find out where she lived, and where Bobby was. But sometimes you have to take a chance, go with your instinct.
Joe moved to the bed. He sat on the end of it. He said, ‘Dan Starkey, you’re in trouble. I’m going to make you lentil soup. Then I will crack open a bottle of whiskey, and we will discuss your troubles. Okay?’