‘Can you twist my chair around so that it’s facing the TV straight on?’ Ryan asks.
It makes me laugh. Probably because I’m super high. Ryan laughs along with me. This genuinely is some super-hot coke. We both sit in the plush apartment laughing loudly before we realise the ridiculousness of it all.
‘Why not?’ I say, having calmed down. I lift my ass up off the couch and twist at the legs of his kitchen chair so that he can see the TV clearly. ‘Here ya go, boy,’ I say, handing him the TV remote control. ‘Throw on what you want.’
‘You like football?’ he asks me.
‘Ah, I used to,’ I reply. I did. I used to watch a tiny bit of football back in Cork, but I haven’t seen a game in years.
He flashes a TV guide menu onto the screen before scrolling down to some sports channel. When he turns it on I notice the words ‘Man U’ in the score line up on the top left-hand corner.
‘That’s Man United, right?’ I ask him. Ironically that was the team I used to support as a kid. Me old man was mad into them.
‘Yep, they’re playing Bayern Munich. This is the Champions League semi-final.’
‘I know of Man United but that’s about as far as my football knowledge goes, fag,’ I say.
‘Well watch this, you might as well. We have the time. Let me tell you how the game works.’
I look at him, confused, but I’m also aware that a wide smile is starting to spread across my face. It’s the coke. Picking up me phone from the arm of the couch I press at a button just so the face lights up and I can make out the time. 9:16. Fuck it, I’ll watch the game. What else is there to do?
09:10
Jack
I watch a young girl leave the bank and head in the direction of Grafton Street. I don’t find it suspicious in any way but I decide to keep an eye on her from across the street. I feel so relieved since I hung up the phone. I was seriously thinking of implementing my exit strategy and cursing my luck, but Darragh has assured me everything is okay. Vincent should be filling out the paperwork about now. The excitement has returned to my bones. I’m confident once again that we will be millionaires in just three hours’ time. I stay about a hundred feet behind the young girl but she’s walking at a brisk pace and it’s not easy to stay on her tail, given the fact that parked buses are obscuring my view of her. Having followed her along the wall of the college, I notice her turn onto Frederick Street. I figure she’s just doing an errand for the bank and decide I no longer need to follow her. I make my way back to the grey brick wall I had been kicking in frustration just ten minutes ago. I’ll wait there until Vincent leaves. I had thought about going for a stroll around Merrion Square earlier but I turned around when Darragh rang me. I don’t want to miss the look on Vincent’s face when he walks out with those two cases.
Becoming a father changed me dramatically. I would stay awake at night just to watch Frank breathing in his cot. I was overcome with emotion. Karyn spoke to her father on my behalf, asking him to only use me for jobs when it was necessary. He agreed, but I was still required to carry out the odd protection run with my brothers-in-law at least once a week. Harry’s sons were called Leo and Craig. They were both okay to me, but they could be nasty fuckers to other people. My splitting from the group wasn’t solely down to the fact that I had a young son – I genuinely didn’t want to be involved in crime. I was working forty hours a week at the print factory as it was. Harry was happy for me to have an honest job, but it took him a while to get used to it. The Ritchies didn’t do honest labour. Harry was fine with me most of the time. I think he was delighted that his daughter had fallen for a regular guy. I was different to the sort of men she would have grown up with.
As the years went by Harry used me sparingly, as promised, but he would fume at me once or twice after being informed I wasn’t as forceful as I could have been on the job. There were a couple of scary moments but we always seemed to get by. Harry didn’t tell me too much but I’m pretty sure he had some cops on his payroll. He kept insisting we didn’t have to be fearful in that regard. But I was always more fearful that rival gangs would begin some sort of turf war with us. The thought of Frank growing up without a father was just not an option as far as I was concerned. Frank’s youngest years seemed to go by so fast. I’d fill with pride watching him walk off to school. It nearly killed me when, at seven years old, he turned around to me one day and insisted I didn’t walk him to the school gates. Leaving him to his own devices scared me but it was all part of him growing up. It was only a six-minute walk to school anyway, but it was a body blow to me. It’s the simple things that break your heart as a parent.
It sounds conceited but Frank, Karyn and I were as happy as any family I’ve ever known. There are plenty of days that stand out for me during my son’s childhood, but certainly none more than the day he was set to make his football debut for the school team. He wasn’t as tall as I had been at nine years of age but he was still taller than the rest of his year. The coach had stopped him in the school corridor two months earlier and asked him to trial as a goalkeeper. He impressed the coach so much that not only was he asked to be the team’s number one, but he was also given the captain’s armband. He had Karyn’s personality traits to thank for that. He was as loud and as forthright as his mother. A doctor’s appointment meant Karyn couldn’t attend the game but I brought the family camcorder with me to record the action. I remember following the game up and down the touchline with perfectly steady hands. I felt guilty about wishing the other team to play well for the fact that it would involve Frank more in the game. He didn’t do anything wrong, nor did he do anything outstanding that I could catch on tape to bring home to his mother. The highlight of the footage was the smile he beamed at me before kick-off when he noticed where I was standing. I was out of his mind as soon as the game started though. He was immersed in what was going on in front of him. The game seemed to be petering out to a nil-all draw when an opposition player broke free from the defence and raced towards my son. Frank’s teammate desperately tried to get back at the attacker but when he slid to deny him the ball, he missed and brought the player crashing down instead. The referee pointed to the penalty spot to roars of disappointment from parents beside me. I closed my eyes in a deep squint of disappointment before I realised this could be Frank’s big moment. I managed to creep around to behind Frank’s goal to get myself a good shot of the penalty kick. When we watched that footage back I could be heard whispering, ‘Save it, save it, save it!’ And he did. Frank dived to his right, guessing where the penalty taker would kick the ball, and stuck out his hand to tip it around the post. His teammates reacted by bear-hugging him. The referee blew the final whistle there and then. He had literally saved his team from a loss in the dying moment. I knew he was looking over at me while he was being smothered in celebration, but I couldn’t look back at him. I was in tears. The pride I felt that day has never been matched. By the time Frank had dressed and joined me in the car for the trip home I had composed myself. We must have spoken about the penalty save for the full duration of our drive, stopping twice to view the footage on the camcorder. Karyn smiled solemnly at us as we both chanted Frank’s name on returning to the house.
‘You have to see this, you have to see this,’ I said to her, turning the camcorder back on. The three of us sat around our kitchen table and replayed the save at least a dozen times. Tears welled up in Karyn’s eyes but I was able to hold mine in in front of Frank.
‘I’m so proud of you,’ she told him before asking him to go and take a shower. ‘You stink of sweat and effort.’
I watched his tiny ass make his way upstairs before turning to my wife. Tears continued to roll down her face.
‘I’m dying, Jack,’ she said, staring into my eyes. ‘Cancer. It’s gone right through me.’
09:15
Ryan
I thought he’d laugh at such a request so I’m surprised when he reaches towards the two legs of my chair to spin me around to face the TV. If
I look sharply right I can still make out the clock on the microwave. He then hands me the remote control and tells me to watch what I want. He must be very grateful for that cocaine. I know I should have a lot going through my mind right now but I still want to watch that Champions League match. That’s why I giggled at his shit joke earlier. This guy’s a sucker.
‘You like football?’ I ask, hoping to spark up some conversation with him now that I don’t have the tape wrapped around my mouth. Let’s see how gullible he really is. Suddenly I’m teaching him about the sport he says he used to like when he was a kid. This exchange makes me wonder whether I should aim for his heart or for his mind in my attempts to get free. I could get personal with him and bring him to a level where he sees me as a human being and not as a pawn in his game. Maybe I could pull on his heartstrings to get out of this mess. Or maybe I should start playing mind games with him. I could just tell him out straight that he’s already fucked. That the cum he tried to wipe from the TV screen earlier this morning hasn’t really covered his tracks. I should inform him that cleaning the TV and the carpet beneath it a hundred times still wouldn’t ensure that his DNA was not left behind. If I tell him all this and get him to realise he’s so fucking dumb that he’s already tripped himself up, he might decide to abandon the operation. But I decide playing to his heart is probably my best option. For now, anyway. If I confront him over the cum he may react aggressively. And he’s so stupid I’m not sure what actions he would take. The TV screen is smudged slightly but it’s not interfering with my watching of the game.
We only bought that TV about five months ago. I say we; I mean Vincent. He owns practically everything in here. I used to love this apartment so much. It was great to leave it in the mornings to earn a crust because coming home was always a fulfilling experience. To take the elevator up this building and to walk through the front door of the penthouse used to be a thrill. But waking up in this place and remaining here until I go back to bed at night has dimmed my fascination with it. Sometimes it feels a bit like a prison. It certainly does today. Vincent and I have fucked in every corner of this place.
We were both on such a high when we first moved in and the high didn’t seem to waver for the first four years or so. I think I started to feel down once I got my promotion at work. The thrill of PR seemed to end for me once I gained a decent bit of responsibility. It also didn’t help that I hated most of the guys I had to deal with on a daily basis now that I was a senior member of the team. The higher up in PR you go, the more wankers you have to endure. I found a soul mate in Ruairi though. He seemed to share my opinions on the egos of our fellow employees. He noticed it as soon as he walked in the door, despite being just a kid. He was an intern the company signed up for a year. I liked him. We used to bitch about the place on a regular basis and became good pals because of it. Bitching is such a great way to bond with somebody. Ruairi was content with his job but he didn’t feel married to PR. He thought bigger and brighter things were out there waiting for him. Despite the fact he was thirteen years younger than me, he was the only person in the office I felt comfortable around. He was a likeable chap and no doubt always in great form because he was engaged to a girl who, I have to admit, was the most perfect-looking bird I have ever seen – and that includes celebrities. Her skin was flawless. Ruairi was happy that his position at Wow was bringing in a steady, albeit tiny, income for the two of them.
A junior account manager is the best position to be in. You get the perks that come along with the job without much of the responsibility and pressure. I used to stare at Ruairi at work with envy. He and I would sneak to the toilets at least twice a day to shoot a line of coke up our noses. I’m guilty of getting him hooked. But like me, he was disciplined with it, despite the fact he was only twenty-one. Neither of us got so high that we couldn’t function through our working day. We saw it as a recreational drug and it helped us get through the monotony of rehashing shite press releases some famous sports star had their personal assistant type up. Sports stars are so fucking drab due to the media training they endure these days. They are afraid to say anything that doesn’t toe the professional line.
If it hadn’t been for Ruairi’s friendship I would have given up my job at Wow sooner. In the end, he was the reason I left. One night, when he was staying back to wait for some golf tournament to finish before getting a quote for a press release, I decided to hang back with him. We could watch the end of the tournament in the company of a few lines of coke. It was unusual that we’d get this high in the office. Everybody else was long gone and we knew Ruairi only had one small paragraph of text to waffle through. I’m not a huge golf fan and can’t even remember how the play unfolded but it was a memorable evening for me for a very different reason. As I sat perched on Ruairi’s desk, laughing at something he tried to say that came out wrong, he leapt up and kissed me. Never in a billion years did I see that coming. I wasn’t even sure if Ruairi knew that I was gay. We took advantage of the deserted office and fooled around all night on his desk, only stopping so that he could write up the last bit of copy and email it on to some newspaper editors. We didn’t fuck, but we did everything else we could think of. Ruairi was a seriously handsome young man. Any guilt I felt was overridden by the excitement of it all. Whenever Vincent popped into my mind I would dive down to the desk and sniff another line of coke.
I’ve already done two lines, but I must keep a level head if I’m to somehow talk my way out of this situation.
‘So how come you like Manchester United then if you’re not a big footie fan?’ I ask, looking at him.
‘Me da was a fan, back in the day,’ he replies.
‘Are you from Kerry originally? There’s a lot of United fans down in the Kingdom.’
‘I’m not from fuckin’ Kerry,’ he replies like only a Cork man would. ‘Stop fuckin’ askin’ me questions about meself or I’ll tape your gob back up, do ye hear me?’
I nod as a reply and stare back at the TV. I thought he’d be dumb enough to give me more details about himself.
Out of the corner of my eye, I can tell he’s glued to the football. Because I’m adjacent to him, he would have to twist his neck to see what I am doing with my right hand. While still maintaining a posture that suggests I’m watching the match I can reach down to pick at the tape around my right ankle. For fear of making a noise while trying to release some of the tape, I increase the volume on the television. It doesn’t raise any suspicion.
‘Great atmosphere at Old Trafford,’ I say, looking at him. When he turns to me I can tell his eyes are glazed over from the coke. He just glares at my face before turning his attention back to the screen. His high is helping him to get engrossed in the game. I’m glad I’m such a lazy bastard that I don’t cut my fingernails regularly enough. My scratching at the tape is certainly working. I feel my ankle release somewhat and an adrenaline rush hits me. I take a moment to reassess. His gun is on the glass table in front of him. If I could free this leg before turning my attention to my left side, I’m certain I could get to it before him. I take another peek at my captor before slowly reaching back down. I’m gonna be the hero for once in my life.
09:15
Vincent
Chelle’s office would be quite roomy if it wasn’t for the enormous oak desk she placed in the middle of it. I drum my fingers against it in anticipation of Janice returning with the ink. Chelle doesn’t know what to do with herself. She’s fuming. I’m not sure if it’s the noise I am making with my fingers or the fact that I haven’t said a word to her for five whole minutes that’s niggling her mind the most. I’ve rarely been upset with her. I’ve never really had a professional reason to be upset with her. She’s such a great employee. The printer’s run out of ink and she doesn’t have any spare in the supply room – big deal. It happens. It’s not even Chelle’s fault. If she was worried about the ink gauges on her printers then I’d be worried about her priorities.
I stare at the family portrait on her desk as
I continue to tap my fingers. The photograph must have been taken about four years ago. Her twin sons are only babies in it. Jake looks as handsome as ever; Chelle’s husband is an estate agent and possesses both the charm and the smile required for such a cheesy career. They met travelling through Europe. Chelle and I actually share a mutual fascination with Rome. That’s where she met Jake. Aesthetically, it’s such a stunning city, but only a small part of the magic of that city lies in its architecture. The pace of life is totally different there. There’s a deep understanding away from the tourist traps that life is about contentment. The Romans don’t get too high, and as a result, they don’t get too low either. Their mentality towards life is in total contrast to the rest of Europe. Probably the rest of the world. Both Chelle and Jake were actually married to other people when they first met. Intrigued by the coincidence of hearing a fellow Irish accent on a tiny rooftop bar in a different country, Chelle couldn’t help flirting with the handsome man sipping on a whisky cocktail. Before the end of the trip, they had shared a kiss and were plotting to meet up when they arrived home. I christened him Jake the Snake and giggled when Chelle filled me in on the story for the first time. Having got to know him well since then, I’d have to admit that he’s no snake. He is a genuinely charming man. His jokes are a bit shit, but he’s easy to like. Ryan and I would often go on double dates with them but we haven’t hung out in a couple of years. Ryan and Jake used to obsess about sports over dinner while Chelle and I would roll our eyes at each other. There are a few reasons why the four of us don’t socialise as much these days. Part of it is to do with the fact that Ryan seemed to get himself into a state of depression having left Wow PR and rarely has the inclination to go out anymore. And part of it has to do with me getting pissed off with Chelle’s fascination with my sexuality. We all remain on good terms, but we just don’t see each other as often as we used to.
The Tick-Tock Trilogy Box Set Page 9
