He’d never been alone with Kathy before. Not like this. Remember, this wasn’t a date, he told himself. They were mates, that’s all, and all he’d done was ring her up earlier this evening, like he had when they’d been in school together. Cian was a whizz at maths, after all, and Kathy a whizz at anything to do with the creative right side of the brain. Together, they complimented each other perfectly. But he’d always wanted more, just never had the courage to try to get it, to ask her out. Tonight, for some reason, an adrenaline rush maybe, call it what you will, something to do with his kickboxing class in Galway, a skewered sense of confidence gleaned from driving his mother’s Golf around town perhaps, he’d rung her up. He didn’t know why exactly, he’d just, well, rung her up…

  But he could tell right away that Kathy was glad to hear from him. Because sometimes she didn’t answer his calls; she was too busy at work or whatever, he didn’t know. This evening, Kathy had told him she was stuck at work, but she’d be off sometime after midnight. She wasn’t sure the time, but she’d let him know, and did he want to drop by and give her a lift home? Something went through him when she said that. Like that time on the rollercoaster ride at Tayto Park, when it suddenly pitched and seemed like it was about to fall off the face of the earth: He’d never told anyone this, but it had had a strange effect on him, given him an erection; he’d almost ejaculated into his pants. He blushed whenever he thought about it now.

  As he drove, with Kathy beside him, he reminded himself she only wanted a lift home. That’s all. Nothing more. He took a long, slow, deep breath, calming himself down – right down. But then when they were passing the Town Park, she had asked him, did he want to go in? And he was back there again, on that rollercoaster ride, a stiffy in his pants.

  She opened her window now and rummaged about in her little pink handbag, took out what Cian thought was a cigarette. But when she lit it up, he realised it wasn’t a cigarette, it was a spliff.

  ‘You don’t mind, do you?’ she asked.

  He shook his head. ‘N-no, of course not.’ He was glad to see she held it out the window, the smoke curling into the night air. Cian didn’t want his mother smelling marijuana in the Golf the following morning. That would be more than his life was worth.

  Kathy blew out a long stream of smoke. ‘Want a drag?’

  Cian shook his head. One time, he’d worried that others might make fun of him because he didn’t smoke weed, or anything else, for that matter. But they never had. He was surprised when they actually seemed to respect him for it, and also for his commitment to his sports, whether it be kickboxing, football, or swimming. Cian loved them all. In fact, it was rumoured he might make the next Ireland Olympics swimming team.

  Kathy took another long draw, rested her head back against the seat. ‘I needed that. Long day, you know. Tighe was doing his nut, the shaggin’ beer cooler broke down – again. That’s why I was delayed. Thanks for giving me a lift home, Cian. Really, I mean it.’

  ‘Don’t mention it, Kathy. Anytime, you know that, right?’

  She nodded. ‘You’re such a sweetie pie. Not like Tighe. He’s such an asshole. I wouldn’t have him driving me home. No way. I’m beginning to hate working in that place. Y’know, I catch him sometimes, just standing there, staring at me, perving, you know? Dirty bastard.’ She turned and gave him the most dazzling smile he had ever seen, her face catching a shaft of light that seemed to make her face literally glow. God, she was gorgeous. In that moment, Cian thought he was in love. ‘But I don’t want to talk about that now,’ she said.

  ‘That’s alright,’ he said, ‘no problem.’ His voice quivered like a tuning fork as he thought of a dream he’d had about Kathy, when he had woken up in the middle of the night and had to finish himself off. He could feel himself blushing, but knew it was OK. Kathy couldn’t see it in the dark.

  ‘It’s really nice and peaceful here, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘And…Cian?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘You want to kiss me?’

  He froze. Had she really asked him that? Like, really? Yes, she had, really. And yet, and yet, he couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. Because he knew, just knew, by the way she’d said it that this wasn’t her first time. His erection began to wane. She’d been here before, different car, different fella. He knew it was absurd, but he was jealous.

  ‘Um,’ he began, ‘yes, of course.’ Because he definitely did want to kiss her.

  She took a last draw on her spliff, opened the door and dropped the stub onto the ground, closed the door again and raised the window.

  She looked at him, that look. He leaned over but realised his seat belt was holding him back. He fumbled with the lever and freed himself. He stretched over, twisting his body. It was awkward, but he ignored it. And when he kissed her, he forgot about everything, aware only of how soft her lips were. He had never, ever, kissed lips as soft as these. Granted, he hadn’t kissed a lot of lips, but still… And they were warm and moist, carrying the taste of marijuana, surprisingly pleasant, like a dip. And then, as he pressed the tip of his tongue against hers, he felt something dart through his body, like a surge of electricity, going straight to his groin, making it seem like he was about to explode.

  Kathy nudged her head away slightly, just enough of a distraction to stop him from detonating. He heard her hand running along the side of the seat.

  ‘These things go back, don’t they? I’m not comfortable.’

  ‘Sorry. Of course. Yes, they do. Here, that’s my job. Let me look after it, Kathy.’

  But before he could, she’d found the lever, and the seat had shot back. She laughed, turning onto her side, the leather making a squelching sound, her skirt riding up one leg, revealing a long, luscious flash of white thigh. Cian pulled his seat lever, too, and soon they were both lying on their sides, facing each other.

  ‘There, that’s better, isn’t it?’ She laughed again, but softer this time.

  He shimmied to the edge of the seat, stretching out his neck, manoeuvring his mouth, the squelching of the leather suddenly so very loud it was like a tearing noise that seemed to fill the car. His mouth found hers, and they connected again. The rollercoaster ride began to pitch as their tongues fizzed together in what he felt was a spasm of ecstasy. Conscious he didn’t have much time, his hand rose and began fumbling for her breast through the fabric of her jumper. She didn’t object. But when he tried to put his hand underneath, she quickly squeezed him out with her elbow, giggling softly. Yet he wasn’t disappointed. He felt elated, in fact, as now he felt her hand touching his, moving to his upper arm, to his shoulder, squeezing gently.

  ‘Fit,’ she said, her thumb and index fingers pressing his flesh like tweezers, moving down to his arm again. ‘And great upper body, Cian, have to say.’

  ‘Um…’

  ‘Come on, like you don’t know.’

  ‘Know what?’

  ‘Here, let me.’ She pushed him gently, turning him and nudging so that he was lying on his back, staring at the roof of the car. The rollercoaster ride pitched wildly. Christ, does this mean what I think it does? He’d never had a blow job before. He closed his eyes, waiting for her to open his zipper. Or should I do that myself?

  Instead, the tweezers began moving along his left leg. He heard Kathy expel air through her mouth with a fluttering sound. ‘Bit skinny, though,’ she said, ‘aren’t they? To be honest, Cian, they are, aren’t they?’

  His eyes snapped open as he turned his head to look at her. ‘What? My legs, you mean?’

  ‘Yes, your legs.’

  An invisible bucket doused his erection with freezing water.

  ‘But upper body you said was great. And what, I’ve got skinny legs?’

  Kathy laughed. ‘Come on, Cian, you can’t have everything, now can you? All the rest is grand, really, just grand…’

  ‘’Cept for my legs, that is, you mean.’

  She looked at him and gave a vague smile, ‘Well, yeah.’

  Cian laughed, a nervous laugh. He was disappointed. But he didn’t want to show it. His body was his obsession. Skinny legs.

  ‘Aw, Cian,’ Kathy said, catching his look, ‘like seriously, don’t sulk. I shouldn’t have said anything. Sorry. Just there’s nothing you can do about legs, now is there? You can have the perfect upper body – and you have, believe me – but the legs, they are what they are, my man, nothing you can do about them. Mine aren’t that hot either, to be honest. Look.’

  She hitched up her skirt. ‘See.’

  Cian looked, and as he did, his erection started returning.

  ‘And I have to wear skirts all day long,’ she whined, ‘with dirty auld Tighe giving me the eye, leering at me.’ Then she laughed.

  ‘Your legs,’ he said, with great solemnity. ‘No way. Kathy, your legs are perfect.’

  ‘Aw, thanks, Cian, that’s really sweet.’

  ‘But you don’t think so, do you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Which means you might be wrong about my legs too, mightn’t you?’

  She giggled, play punched him on the arm. ‘You’re such a girl, Cian Ruane, you really are. I’d never have known it, like really…’ She paused, and then, her tone turning serious: ‘I think we’d better get going. What do you think? It’s late. We can do this another time if you’d like. If you’re not too mad at me about what I said about your legs, that is?’

  He wasn’t. Not now. Now that she was saying she might see him again. Anyway, she was wrong about his legs. Because she was wrong about her own. He was certain of it. But she was right about one thing, though: It was getting late. He imagined his mother waking up, and his mobile ringing, and she was on the other end, telling him she’d rang the guards and reported her car stolen…She wouldn’t, would she?

  ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘You’re probably right, we’d better get going.’

  She pulled the lever and brought her seat into the upright position. He did the same. He reached for the key in the ignition and turned it. But instead of the familiar sound of the engine firing to life, he heard something else instead – a scream.

  He swung his head in its direction, confused. It was Kathy. Her mouth was open. And like a lightning bolt burning into his senses, he realised the sound was coming from her. And then, as if in slow motion, he watched the window in the door next to her head disintegrate into a thousand fragments, showering her face with glass. Kathy screamed louder than ever. He rammed the car into gear and lifted his foot from the clutch – but too fast. The car jerked, and the engine died. A momentary silence followed, an eerie, heavy silence that seemed to have a sound all of its own, like a feral scream.

  Kathy had stopped screaming. But there was a new sound, a banging from somewhere outside. And then he noticed… How the hell did she get like that? Kathy was no longer in her seat. Instead, she was half hanging out of the car, an arm around her neck, trying to force her, yank her through the narrow space. He grabbed the door handle and shouldered it open. But it wouldn’t budge. He tried again, realised the doors were locked. Kathy must have locked them, which would explain why she was being dragged out the window. Cian fumbled with the door handle and released the lock, heard the reassuring click as it did so, then pulled the lever again and pushed the door open, jumped out, ran around to the other side of the car. And froze. There was no one there. No one but Kathy, that was, who was dangling from the window, using one hand to steady herself against the ground, her other pointing off to the side, a finger stabbing into the night air. He followed it and saw a figure running, nothing more than a tall, black outline. For a split second, he considered staying and helping Kathy, but then took off. She was almost out of the car anyway.

  Cian was young and super fit, and immediately he was gaining on the runner. Ahead he could make out another vehicle parked at the other end of the carpark. The runner was heading towards it and within seconds had reached it and was pulling the door open. It was a person dressed in a black boiler suit, his head concealed inside a black balaclava. A his because Cian had no doubt, by the stature and gait, that this was a man. But the man seemed to hesitate. He didn’t immediately get into the vehicle. Instead, he stood by the door, his back to Cian, just as Cian crossed the final short distance to him. Without stopping, he used his forward momentum to swivel onto the ball of his right foot, rising into the air in a spinning Thai kick, converting the kinetic energy of his left foot, making it as lethal as a sledgehammer, swinging towards the side of the head that was turning to face him now, just about to make contact with it –

  A sensation, like a warm and wet eruption from the side of his neck, sharp yet only slightly painful. Cian dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes, and a moment later watched as the vehicle sped away. A blue van, on it a sign – his attention strangely drawn to it – of an antenna, the words above, No To 5G. He lay there for what seemed an eternity until eventually he was aware of someone beside him. ‘Cian, Jesus, Cian, Cian.’ It was Kathy. Cian pointed a finger; he wanted her to see that sign.

  And then the moonlight was gone, the shafts of light from the street outside, everything gone, the whole world nothing but a deep, solid black.

  23

  Brody heard about it at breakfast. The young waitress – her name was Rose, and she worked part-time the early shift – told him as she took his order. She looked like she’d been crying. ‘He’s in the hospital. Cian Ruane’s his name.’ She choked up again. ‘A lovely lad, heard he’s going to pull through, thank God. Kathy is really shook up. They released her a little while ago. She’s at home.’

  Brody was already on his feet. ‘Forget breakfast,’ he said, striding out of the dining room.

  It was just gone 07:30 when he got to the station. Wallace was sitting at the desk in the Public Office, drinking, Brody guessed at this time, his second mug of tea of the shift. He stood in the doorway, didn’t say a word.

  ‘Is it yourself?’ Wallace said.

  He shook his head. ‘Jeeze, cut the shit, will ya. What happened? I heard.’

  Wallace looked at him with a blank, stupid expression. ‘What? You mean that business down the park? What about it?’

  ‘What about it? What about it? That’s my question to you. What about it?’

  ‘Haven’t you enough to be doing, looking after what you’ve come down here to look after, without worrying about anything else?’

  ‘I am looking after it,’ Brody said. He glanced about the room. They were the only ones present. Then: ‘Forget it, drink your bloody tea.’ He walked quickly back out of the station, got into his car again. The Town Park couldn’t be too hard to find.

  It wasn’t, especially with a marked patrol car double-parked on the roadway outside, traffic forced into going around it. He saw crime scene tape fluttering in the breeze, tied between two trees just inside the entrance. He pushed his car onto the kerb, too, and cut the engine. A couple of plainclothes officers, a male and female, were getting into a white panel van as he walked to the end of a long, narrow carpark. Sergeant Jackson was standing just before it, his back turned to Brody. It would have been a long night for him.

  Brody strode over. ‘Would someone fill me in on exactly what happened?’

  Jackson quickly did and pointed to the van. ‘Forensics. They’re just about to leave.’

  ‘Wait,’ Brody said, raising a hand, ‘a blue van. That’s what you just said.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Anything else? Just a blue van?’

  ‘Small, something on the back, a sticker. The girl glimpsed it, one of those No to 5G things; everyone seems to have one…’

  ‘That man, what’s his name?’ Brody interrupted. ‘Harry Macken, you know Harry Macken, do you? I met him yesterday. You know how to get to his place?’

  Jackson gave a slow nod of his head, like he hardly had the energy for it.

  ‘Can you last long enough to show me?’

  ‘What? Why?’

  ‘The van. Macken’s van is the same colour. It’s got the same sign on the back.’

  ‘Same colour? Same sign?’

  If Jackson had read the Pulse report, he’d already have known that.

  ‘I can last,’ he said.

  ‘Thank you.’ Brody heard the sound of the panel van’s engine coming to life. He went quickly over to it and knocked on the window. It came down. ‘Wait. You can’t go anywhere. We need you.’

  ‘What?’ the female driver said, poking her head out.

  ‘I need you to process a vehicle. I believe it was involved in this incident.’

  ‘Well, we can’t wait,’ she said, revving the engine. ‘We have another call; we’ve been assigned. Sorry.’

  ‘I guarantee if you leave now,’ Brody said, ‘you will be. Understand? I don’t like to pull heavy, but leave now, and the commissioner himself will get to hear about it. I guarantee you.’ He glared at her.

  ‘Now you…’ she began, like she was soothing an unruly child, but her colleague leaned over from the passenger seat and tapped her on the arm.

  ‘Hold on there, Maura.’ He looked at Brody. ‘If you’re wrong, you’ll be the one who’s sorry. Understand that yourself? Now, we’re busy, so get a move on, fella, and we’ll follow.’

  The townland of Glánoose was further than Brody had expected. They drove for half an hour before they reached Harry Macken’s place. Jackson told him to take a right into what seemed nothing but a wall of bushes. ‘Trust me,’ he said. Brody turned the car in, the bushes parting before him, nothing but soft, overgrown, gangly branches. They emerged on the other side onto a potholed stripe of muck, at the end something that may have met the definition of a house – it had four walls and a roof – but that was about it. A better word would have been shack for the small, stone building, with its corrugated iron roof and a single small window on either side of its door. A small pane of glass was missing from one window, a rectangle of cardboard in its place.

  Brody counted seven old rusted hulks of vans and cars scattered about the place. The front end of a tractor was raised on a couple of breeze blocks in a lean-to by the gable wall to Brody’s left. Parked next to the other gable end…there it was, the blue van.

 

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