Host of the Unforgiven

by G D Sheehen

  At the turnoff to Sharon’s street, they stopped to chat for a while. Their connection was magnetically charged and he didn’t want to break away whilst this feeling was there.

  “I hope you don’t turn out to be someone different to who you’re showing me. I’ve had enough hassle in my life.”

  “This is me, Sharon. I’m not gonna become anyone else. I’ve run blind away from who I am for too many years. Now it’s time to be real and live life.”

  “Just don’t lie to me and leave me regretting this for years to come.”

  “I promise, meeting you makes me believe life can be sweet again.”

  They kissed on the street corner under the orange glow of a streetlamp. When they broke from the kiss they hugged and Sharon started laughing.

  “What are laughing at?”

  “Wait till I tell my friends I hooked up with a fella from The Joy.”

  Philip snickered. “Hopefully you can tell them something better than that about me.”

  They talked and kissed a little while more until she suggested they not ruin things by going any further tonight. As much as he desired to curl up with her for the night he agreed and sent her on her way down the street. He watched from the corner until she was safely inside her father’s house. Doubling back on the Drumcondra road towards the halfway house, he let out a curse-laden diatribe at himself when he saw a clock in a post office window and realised it was almost eleven o’clock. He was locked out and would have to find somewhere else to spend the night.

  A couple of homeless shelters he used to frequent crossed his mind, but he reconsidered when memories of copious amounts of heroin at some of these establishments flashed through his recollections. He told himself to remain calm, he wasn’t going to let such a small thing ruin his recent good fortune. He remembered that Supermac’s on O’Connell Street was open until 4:30 am and McDonald’s, a few doors down from it, was twenty-four-hour.

  Relieved, he smiled to himself and wasn’t too perturbed by the prospect of spending a few hours drinking coffee and watching drunken people wobble around getting their fix of junk food to soak up their night’s alcohol intake before heading home for a few hours sleep and awaiting the imminent hangover.

  He arrived at Supermac’s at about half-past eleven after picking up a couple of newspapers and ordered his first coffee. He thought back to times he spent on this street begging for money for his next fix, often wrapped up in an old rotten sleeping bag. Countless nights spent in doorways on the side streets nearby. Like a shadow, he’d lurked in a state of suspended consciousness waiting for the next dose that would end it all or simply restart the cruel cycle.

  His reflections were broken by a fight starting outside between two girls who could barely support themselves in their tightly squeezed high heels. Their male companions tussled awkwardly and within a minute of starting two patrol cars pulled up. A crowd gathered and the scene was quickly defused leaving the girls to dramatically protest their innocence.

  Philip found it amusing and at the same time was glad not to be a part of such scenes anymore. His outlook had changed so much he was almost grateful for his time spent in Mountjoy Prison. The medical ward where he spent the first half of his incarceration was far less intimidating than other blocks in the prison and the psychiatric care he received was professional and considerate. He couldn’t remember most of it but was, nonetheless, appeased by its effectiveness.

  Similar scenes happened sporadically through the night. On several occasions, he saw crows land outside and thought it odd to see so many crows late at night. By four o’clock the streets were almost empty and he changed from Supermac’s to McDonald’s. He ordered a large coffee and took a seat upstairs. Struggling to remain awake, he was threatened to get kicked out. Attempts to focus on reading the papers were dashed by seizing eyes.

  He sat by the window looking down on the street below and saw a few homeless people and addicts moping around, lost. He knew their feeling at this time of night. It was time to find a quiet corner to settle down. A place where hopefully they wouldn’t be attacked by gangs of youths or other junkies. This was the ever-present fear of sleeping on the streets. Philip was attacked numerous times when he slept huddled in doorways around the city.

  He set a goal of remaining awake until six o’clock and then he’d walk back to the halfway house. He’d arrive by six forty and maybe have to wait around for twenty minutes or so. Declan was always up by seven. His head bobbed and flinched as he resisted sleep.

  “Take me to the hiding place.” The voice was loud and deep and frightening in its desperation. Yet no one was there again. I must be starting to dream.

  He could take no more and left at just before five o’clock. He went down O’Connell Street and thought about which route he could take that would likely avoid junkies, but figured at this time in the city centre he was likely to bump into them anywhere. At the end of O’Connell Street, he proceeded straight onto Parnell Street and continued up Frederick Street on to Dorset Street. He passed several homeless people on the way. One woman slept in a doorway with two small children. They were fast asleep but Philip left a ten euro note under her sleeping bag. At the corner of Frederick and Dorset Street, he heard his name called in a hoarse Dublin accent he recognised at once. He tried to speed up his pace but was soon blocked off.

  “Jayzus, is that really you, Philly?”

  “How are ya, Dessie? Long time.”

  “Fuckin right, long time. Did yous escape from The Joyhole or somethin’?”

  Dessie was a Dublin junkie who lived on the streets for as long as Philip lived in the city. He was known by everyone, and whilst harmless, was difficult to shake off. He somehow avoided doing jail time and rumours swirled in the underworld community that he did so by giving the gardaí information about the city’s undesirables. Philip was sceptical about this, however, as anyone who was that much of a rat would surely have met a violent end by now. He assumed Dessie was just one of those junkies that defied all odds and always seemed to find his fix and would probably live into his seventies.

  “Na man. I got out a few weeks ago.”

  “Serious. They let a mad bastard like yous back on my beloved streets.” Dessie laughed and the laugh broke into a hoarse cough. “What are yous up to now? Ya looking for a fix?”

  “No. I’m not looking for a fix. I’m just headin’ home after a night out.”

  “Home? Woo, ya fancy bastard with your home. Are ya holdin’ anything? I could do with a little relaxant, ya know how it is?”

  “I’m clean Dessie. They drowned it out of me in The Joy. Not an experience I want to go through again.”

  “Jayzus. Maybe I should get banged up in The Joy. Although, god knows I’ve tried enough. But ya know me, Philly. I’m blessed by the hand of the divil himself.”

  “I don’t doubt that, Dessie. No one does. I best be off anyway. I need to get a bit of kip.”

  Philip sidestepped to get away from him but Dessie mirrored his every step. His gaunt expressionless features took on the image of a mass murderer Philip had never seen an image of but read details of in a book.

  He pressed in closer to Philip and the stench made him want to spew.

  “What’s up Dessie?”

  “Yous are hardly gonna leave me here freezin’ without sortin’ me out with a few bob for a fix?”

  Philip dipped his hand into his pocket never taking his eye off Dessie.

  “Here’s a ten-spot for old time’s sake.”

  Dessie snapped it out of his hand.

  “You're a star, Philly. I owe yous one.”

  You owe me a lot more than one you piece of shit. It was you the cops were looking for, for mugging someone when they found me shooting up, one time.

  Dorset Street was brightly lit with many shop fronts beaming extra blankets of light onto the footpaths. Philip was reeling from his encounter with Dessie. Rarely did he experience violent notions but the thought of all the double-crossing and railroading
by Dessie over the years made him grit his teeth and clench his fists, his nails digging into his palms, breaking the skin.

  It was a straight run most of the way, across the canal onto Drumcondra Road and then one more turn off. Just before reaching the North Circular Road, however, his frustrated stride was broken by a ruckus outside a pub on the corner of Synnott Place. He vaguely recognised the pub as one that often served after hours to some of the city’s criminal underworld and had a reputation as a staunch republican establishment.

  He couldn’t see where the noise was coming from at first. It sounded like a scuffle between a drunken couple. He considered crossing the road to steer clear of it, but put his head down instead and hastened his pace. On reaching the corner, he could see the side entrance of the pub where a man had a woman caught by the hair punching the back of her head. His first inclination was to not get involved and keep his head down. Then the man swung her around by the hair, sending her toppling to the ground. He wound up for a soccer-style kick, released with great exertion, and struck her with his boot on the top of the head. She went limp on the ground. The attacker left out a triumphant ‘whoop’ and turned on his heel, sensing he was being watched.

  “Philly is that you, ya scagged out fuckin’ junkie. I knew it wouldn’t take long. Welcome back to the streets of Babylon,” he said outstretching his arms.

  Dan the Man Bresnan sidled over to Philip leaving him no choice now but to stay.

  “See what that fuckin’ whore tried to do to me? Attacked me she did, with a fuckin’ blade trying to get cash for a fix.”

  He took out a long switchblade and flicked it open with a sharp metal rasp. He waved it around, a foot back from Philip’s face and neck.

  “You’ll back me up to the cops, won’t yous?”

  “It’s nothing to do with me, Dan. I didn’t see a thing. I’ll be off now.”

  “Ah, so it’s like that now, is it? All I’ve done for you in the past and you’d leave me to hang if yous got the chance.”

  “What the fuck did you ever do for me?” Philip growled, his anger growing.

  “Get rid of him. He can’t even be salvaged for his blood,” came that familiar voice from nowhere.

  He wasn’t fazed by it and almost felt akin with it for once. Dan stared at him, his rat face snarling, breathing heavily and snorting.

  “Think you’re tough after spending a few months in The Joy? I’ll cut your AIDS infested balls off right here and now if you speak to me like that again. I’ll give you this one pass beca-”

  Out of nowhere the girl jumped on Dan’s back and dug her long varnished nails deep into his face. He shrieked in agony and stumbled backwards, dropping the knife, then collapsing and landing on top of her.

  They struggled on the ground for a few seconds but it didn’t take long for Dan to gain the upper hand. He got to his feet and held her down, striking her with another kick. It didn’t connect like the first one and she continued to fight back. Dan pushed her down hard and wound up another kick that would have done serious damage if connected accurately.

  Philip threw his arms around Dan, lifted him up and spun around to put space between him and the girl. Surprised by how strong he had gotten in just a few weeks, he laid Dan down and extended his hands to hold him back.

  “Dan, she’s had enough. You’re goin’ to kill her, for Christ’s sake.”

  Dan roared and charged at Philip. They tussled and Philip got the better of him and threw him to the ground.

  “C’mon Dan. We don’t have to do this. Let’s just be on our way.”

  Dan fumbled around the ground and got back to his feet with the knife in his hand.

  “You’re fuckin’ dead, Philly boy.”

  Dan swiped twice at Philip and he just about got out of the way. Knowing now he was in serious danger he swung a left hook at him, landing it squarely on Dan’s jaw. Dan’s knees went wobbly but he didn’t go down. He raised the knife again and brought it down, less coordinated this time, but managed to slice Philip on the palm of his right hand.

  “Ah! You fuck.”

  He began throwing punches like his life depended on it, landing some of them and causing Dan to drop the knife and defend himself with his arms up. He finally connected with a crunching thump on the bridge of his nose. Dan fell straight back, his head hit the ground like a hollow coconut.

  He lay motionless on the footpath. The adrenalin dumped from Philip’s body and panic took over. Before he could think what to do next the girl staggered back to her feet, picked up the knife approached her prone attacker and stabbed him multiple times in the side.

  “What are you doing for fuck sake?”

  She took a small package that looked like a couple of ounces of heroin, from inside his jacket and spat blood in his face.

  “Are you coming or what?” she said the Philip.

  12

  Light was beginning to infuse the sky, a light which brought the reality of what had just happened into focus. Riotous crowds of voices jostled for space in Philip’s scattered thoughts. He was beyond panic and experiencing a sensation of rational paralysis. He tried to reason with himself to go back to the halfway house and hide out for a few days but he continued to follow the girl through the odorous Sunday morning streets.

  She looked back at him on several occasions, the blood drying into her face, having made no attempt to wipe any of it off. She had only one thing on her mind and Philip was starting to find comfort in the prospect of what was ahead. A momentary blanking out of the deep shit he had just put himself in. Best case scenario was that he would be sent back to Mountjoy, worst case was that Razor Ray would get to him first. Either way, he knew he was fucked. All his plans to make a go of things this time, his relationship with Sharon and his plan to get back into Julie and Rodge’s lives evaporated in that few minutes of madness.

  He wondered if it was simply his destiny. He was foolish to think he belonged anywhere but in the gutter with Dan, Dessie and the battered and bruised heroin addict he was now following. She led him through a series of narrow streets and lanes and he lost all sense of where they were. Cars were beginning to wake up the streets.

  Down a lane scattered with rubbish, she stopped at a blue wooden door. She shimmied with the lock knowingly and the door popped open and brought them into a small yard at the back of an abandoned shop. She secured the door shut behind them with an iron bar. One look at the things discarded around the ground and he knew it was a regular junkie hangout. Just the kind of place he would have found himself in the old days. And where he found himself again after a cruel turn of fortune. The part of him that believed maybe he could get away with what happened to Dan and get back to things the way they were, urged him to turn around and go home, call Sharon and tell her everything about what had happened.

  “Do it. It will set you free.” The voice again, this time more menacing.

  The girl pushed open a battered door to a small shed that was strewn with drug paraphernalia. It surprisingly had a working light and she sat down and carefully sliced open the package she’d taken from Dan. She dumped some of the powder onto a spoon and began cooking and wrapping her arm with a rubber band at the same time.

  Philip looked at her closely for the first time. She couldn’t have been more than twenty years old. Behind the blotchy and bruised face was a former beauty that blew it all for the sake of trying something once. She wore designer jeans and shoes and an expensive hooded top but had probably worn them for so long it made her look like she was dragged through the streets for years.

  “Thanks,” she said looking at Philip just before she injected herself, a smile that spoke of a deep inner sadness, on her young face. She flailed on the wooden box she was sitting on, dropping the needle and package as she slid down the wall onto the floor.

  “It’s all ours. We can rediscover paradise together,” came the voice.

  Philip cooked up with military precision, eased the needle into a vein in his arm and left out a groan wh
en the heroin rushed through his blood and took away his worries. He resisted the urge to lay on the ground but sat on the box and drifted to the place of softness and comfort he knew so well. His mind cleared of all earthly thoughts, the thing he craved most about the high from heroin. His body tingled and floated.

  When thoughts began forming again, with no idea of how much time had passed, minutes or hours, he looked at his situation more evenly. I could go now and no one would ever know I was involved. This girl has no idea who I am. Dan is more than likely dead, so won’t be able to tell anyone what I did. I don’t think any of my blood was left at the scene.

  He had completely forgotten about the cut on his hand and held it up to find it drenched and dripping. He took some tissues out of his pocket and pressed them against the cut to slow down the bleeding. Things could go on with Sharon. She never needs to find out what happened here. I would continue my counselling with Walsh and get even better. Work hard. Start my own small construction crew. Everything will be fine. I just need to go home and sleep it off.

  A bottle clanked and rolled along the ground outside and footsteps echoed through the yard. His visualisation of a stable future was cut short and fear regained control. The initial high had already subsided and he held his breath. Shadows appeared at the bottom crack of the shed door. He leaned down slowly, trying not to make a sound and picked up the package and hid it behind the wooden box on which he was sitting. The shadow remained for an unusually long time without moving and he wondered if he’d imagined the changing of the light. Maybe there was nothing there after all.

  He stared at the door, his pupils dilated and susceptible to shadows and figures. He decided that nothing was there and looked down to see if the girl was alright. Then a shushing noise broke in from the cracks in the door. He turned his head to see what was there when the door exploded open and in the same movement, in stretched a long, disfigured bony arm and grabbed him by the throat.