Dead Man's Sins

by Caimh McDonnell

  Once he’d regained control of his breath and his heartbeat no longer sounded like a samba band falling down a steep hill, Bunny pushed through the fire door into the hallway. He heard the music straight away. It took a few seconds longer for him to pick up the distinct smell of weed. The music was rock – spelled R A W K. Not that Bunny considered himself a connoisseur of the genre, but it sounded like that god-awful metal from the eighties, when the bands had dropped Satan and discovered hairspray. The music he could hear now was reminiscent of Whitesnake or Poison knocking out a B-side as quickly as they could because somebody had to get to an STD clinic.

  He came to a stop outside apartment 408 and, sure enough, it appeared to be the source of both the odour and the noise. A door down the corridor opened and a man in his forties emerged carrying a couple of full bin bags. Bunny stepped to one side to let him pass. His genial nod was not returned. The man shot a dirty look first at the door and then at Bunny. Clearly he was being judged guilty by association.

  Bunny knocked on the door. He waited and then knocked again. Finally, when it seemed like no other approach would yield any kind of success, he started to pound on it with his fist. After a particularly egregious guitar solo, the door flew open so fast that Bunny nearly stumbled through. He took a step back as most of the doorway was now occupied by a walking showroom for what he believed was known as body art. The man standing before him had long blonde hair that could do with a wash and was, in no particular order: topless, heavily tattooed and extremely angry. None of these three things particularly bothered Bunny, although he couldn’t help but be distracted by one of them.

  “What the fuck do you want?”

  Bunny stared the man’s torso. “Do you seriously have a tattoo of an arrow pointing down to your lad with the words ‘Where the magic happens’?”

  “What’s it to you?”

  “Well, it’s your body and your choice and all that, and well done on all the muscles, but if you don’t want people commenting then you should maybe get yourself a T-shirt.”

  “Why don’t you piss off before I make you piss off?”

  Bunny shook his head. “I’ll be honest with you, fella, I’m not sure this meet-and-greet job is playing to your strengths. Is Mags in?”

  The man took this as an opportunity to flex his muscles. “Who wants to know?”

  “I have to ask: did you make your boob thingies jiggle there or do they do that on their own?”

  “Are you looking for a smack in the face?”

  “No,” said Bunny. “I’m looking for Mags Walsh. I already said that. Maybe if you turn down the music a little bit, you’ll have an easier time hearing what people are saying to you. Now, could you be a good lad and go and get her, please?”

  “She doesn’t want to see you.”

  “How do you know that? You don’t even know who I am.”

  “She doesn’t do that any more.”

  “Right. I think we’re having a bit of a misunderstanding here. I’m an old friend.”

  “The hell you are.” The man jabbed a finger in Bunny’s face. “I can spot a fucker like you a mile off.”

  “Have you seriously got the word ‘rock’ tattooed on your knuckles? I mean, that is some serious dedication. Do you not worry it will affect your chances of gainful employment?”

  “You are pissing me off now.”

  “Well, to be honest with you, you have not made the greatest first impression either. I imagine that if we met under different circumstances, we’d be getting on like a house on fire. Like, for example, if you were wearing clothes and …” Bunny waggled a finger at the man’s chest, “… if you weren’t jiggling your musclebound boobs at me in such an aggressive manner. Now, for the last time, could I speak to Mags, please?”

  In lieu of an answer, Jiggly Tits drew back his right hand, clenched it into a fist and then made a pained gurgling noise. The noise was the result of Bunny ramming the side of his left hand into the man’s Adam’s apple. Given the fella’s aggressive demeanour, Bunny had expected that reasoning with him was probably not going to work, and his attempt to throw a right hook had been as predictable and tedious as a David Coverdale lyric. God, the more Bunny thought about it, the more he realised how much he hated hair metal.

  Bunny also liked to think that he didn’t enjoy violence. However, if violence was on the cards, he enjoyed it an awful lot less when he found himself on the wrong end of it. That was why he dispensed a firm right hook to the man’s nether regions. He didn’t do it as hard as he could, but it was still hard enough to close down the magic show for a few days.

  The big fella crumpled to his knees. Bunny was about to deliver a knee to the lad’s face – one of his other fundamental beliefs about violence being that the best route to minimising it is to win the fight as quickly as possible – but he held off when a woman appeared in the hallway behind the now-kneeling jiggly-titted twat. While she looked very different to what he had been expecting, there was no mistaking who she was.

  Bunny put down his foot and stepped back. “Mags, how are ye?”

  Up on the Roof

  Bunny shook his head in disbelief as he watched a young man with his whole life ahead of him go tumbling headfirst towards concrete at high speed.

  “I just don’t get it.”

  Mags laughed. “You must’ve seen skateboarders before, Bunny? It’s not like it’s a new thing. We had them when I was a kid.”

  “Yeah, I know.” He waved a hand at the quartet of men in their early twenties who were taking turns at trying to hop a skateboard onto a metal handrail that bisected half a dozen stone steps five storeys below them. They were passing round a camcorder, which they were using to record their failures for posterity. “That’s precisely my point. You have skateboards when you’re a kid. Those lads are old enough to go to war, although given the survival instincts on display over there, I’m not sure any of them would make it past minute two in Saving Private Ryan. I mean, none of them are even wearing a helmet. It’s like watching the qualifying rounds for the Darwin Awards.”

  Mags slapped him playfully on the shoulder. “I’m surprised you’re not down there trying to sign them up for a boxing club.”

  “Oh no,” said Bunny. “Been a while since I’ve been involved with the boxing. Besides, I’m not sure it would be ethical to recruit those lads. They seem way too keen on incurring head injuries. No, would you believe I’ve got my own hurling team these days?”

  “Is that right? Fair play to ye.”

  “Yeah. The St Jude’s Under-12s. We are creating quite a stir.”

  “Under-12s? Same old Bunny McGarry. Always keen to make sure the kids are OK. God,” she said with a smile, “you have not changed a bit.”

  “Well, may I say, Mags – you have!”

  She had too. Blonde hair streaked with pink and red flopped over sparkling eyes that heavy eyeliner accentuated, but not enough to take away from her dimpled girlish smile.

  “Thanks very much,” she said with a giggle. “Way to make me feel old.”

  “You know what I mean. Last time I saw you, you were a slip of a girl. You and Angelina, the terrible twins. Inseparable and almost indistinguishable.”

  She gave a rueful smile. “Jesus, yeah. I do remember us wearing the same outfits a lot. To be fair, it was me copying her. I was so shy as a kid – far too nervous to decide on a look of my own. I got there eventually.”

  “Indeed you did,” said Bunny. “You’re looking very stylish.”

  She blushed a little. “Same old McGarry. Always a charmer.” Then her smile dropped. “Sorry again about the misunderstanding earlier.”

  Bunny waved away her apology. “Not at all. Don’t worry about it. I was as much at fault as he was.”

  They both knew that wasn’t the case. The shirtless tattoo exhibit – apparently called Bobby – had received exactly what he’d been asking for. Mags had intervened before things got too out of hand, although the lad had learned a valuable lesson in etique
tte. She’d explained that Bunny really was an old friend as they’d both picked him up and assisted him to a sofa, where he could be alone with his tattoos and traumatised testicles.

  The apartment was nice, although it could certainly have done with a clean – not that Bunny was in any position to judge. While the ashtray was overflowing with roaches, he’d been relieved to see there was no evidence of anything heavier – apart from the weights in the corner. Bobby didn’t get those jiggling boobies without putting in some serious work. The front room had been particularly messy, but Bunny had caught sight of one of the bedrooms on his way out, which, surprisingly, looked five-star-hotel immaculate.

  “Look,” Mags said. “I know Bobby made a fool of himself, but honestly, he’s a good guy. Bit overprotective, but to be honest with you, there’s a lot worse things a boyfriend can be.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “You just got him on a bad day. His band were in the running for this big showcase in London, but they didn’t get it.”

  “Oh, he’s a musician?”

  “Lead singer. They’re good. A lot of people reckon all the grunge stuff has had its day. There’s going to be a return to good time showmanship rock ’n’ roll, though – like Kiss and all that.”

  “I’ll have to look out for them. What’s their name?”

  “Spandex Bullet,” she said, sounding rueful. “I know. Believe me, there have been an awful lot of discussions about that.”

  “Right.”

  Bunny pulled his coat tightly around him as a chill gust of wind whipped past them. Mags had sensibly decided that leaving Bobby to recover in peace from his run-in with Bunny was the best option. With the lift out of order, she’d led him up to the roof, where someone had left some worn plastic garden furniture. It was probably great up there in the summer, but in early March the wind cut through any enjoyment of watching the sunset in the distance.

  Mags lit another cigarette off the butt of the last one and gave Bunny an appraising look. “So, lovely though it is to see you, I’m going to guess this isn’t a social visit.”

  Bunny shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”

  “I’m glad it’s you who came over, though. I got a call from a Detective McGrath earlier. I guess because I saw Angelina last night when,” she paused momentarily, “y’know, it happened – they just need to confirm her alibi.” Her face blanched. “Jesus, when you say it like that.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about it. It’s just routine.” He shifted in his chair. “Although, to be completely honest with you, Mags, I’m not here as a guard. I’m actually on sabbatical at the minute.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  “This is a personal thing. I saw Angelina a couple of nights ago, while I was dropping in to see her husband.” He tried to find the best way of putting it. “I’d no idea she was back in Dublin.”

  “Yeah, she sort of snuck back in, to be honest with you. Didn’t want a lot of people knowing. Things ended up going badly over in Milan. And her dad was taking a turn for the worse by then.”

  “Sorry to hear that. She did mention he wasn’t great.”

  Mags sighed and looked at the ground. “Yeah, it’s pretty brutal. I mean, you know he always had issues, but he’s got a lot worse. It’s shocking to see. Poor man’s mind is almost gone. Sometimes he doesn’t know who he is or where he is.”

  “Have you seen much of him?”

  She looked up, as if surprised by the question, and then turned her head away. “Oh no. No. Just what Angelina tells me. She goes to see him once or twice a week, and she normally drops over here on the way back and we go for a drink. She doesn’t get to see many people.”

  “It’s good that you’re both still so close.”

  “Yeah,” agreed Mags. “She’s been a very good friend to me. Helped me out with this place and with college.” She raised her chin with a look of brittle pride. “Would you believe I’m studying make-up now? Doing it at night. I’ve got a gig on a movie over the summer. Getting my foot in the door.”

  “That’s fantastic. You were always a very smart girl.”

  “I don’t know about that. Fuck knows I made enough stupid decisions over the years, but thanks to Angelina, I’m getting myself back on track now.”

  Bunny had his suspicions about what Bobby had presumed he had turned up at the apartment for, but it wasn’t his place to ask. Thankfully, it seemed to be in the past now.

  “Even as kids, the two of you were always good for each other.”

  She laughed. “Oh, I don’t know. We had some bad ideas too. I could show you a few haircuts.”

  Bunny smiled. “I guess I’m just lucky. I hit on the perfect hairdo early and I know a bloke who does it for a fiver.”

  “A fiver?” she said with a mock gasp. “And they wonder why men have all the money.”

  They both looked down as a particularly large ohhhh attracted their attention to the steps five storeys below, where a grown man had bestraddled a railing.

  “Jesus!” said Bunny.

  As the guy managed to walk off gingerly, other members of the skateboard crew applauded.

  “They should send the tape of that one into one of those TV programmes,” said Mags. “You’ve Been Framed, or something like that. It’d be worth a fair few quid.”

  “Take it from me, nothing is worth that.”

  The rotation of dodos jumping off the cliff resumed below.

  Bunny couldn’t think of a segue, so he decided to be direct. “Have you spoken to Angelina since it happened?”

  Mags nodded. “Yeah. Briefly.” She turned to look directly at him. “She’s very upset, obviously.”

  “I’m sure she is. I believe she found the body.”

  “Yeah.” Mags stood up and took a drag on her cigarette. “Are we allowed to talk about this?”

  He looked up at her. “Absolutely. Why wouldn’t we be?”

  “It’s just … If you don’t mind me asking, Bunny – what’s your interest here?”

  “’Tis a fair question. I’ll be honest – I’m worried about Angelina, and I’m worried about myself.”

  “Yourself?” she sounded shocked. “Why would you be worried about yourself?”

  Bunny watched the red sun setting over the flats in the distance for a moment before he spoke again. “I went to see Coop the night before last and now he’s dead. Doesn’t look great.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Bunny. Coop Hannity had more enemies than anybody else on the planet. The man was a pure bastard.” There was a real venom in her voice now.

  “I know they say you’re not supposed to speak ill of the dead,” said Bunny, “but it’s hard to disagree with that. How was he with Angelina?”

  Mags shifted her gaze away. “Oh, you know – marriages. None of them are ideal.”

  Bunny said nothing, giving the last statement some air.

  “Yeah, OK,” she conceded eventually. “It wasn’t great.”

  “How exactly?”

  Mags flicked away her cigarette and folded her arms. “Who am I talking to here?”

  Bunny got her meaning. “Just me, Mags. Just me. I’m not sharing anything with anybody else – I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on. You know I’d never do anything to make life awkward for either of you. You have my word.”

  Mags bit her lower lip nervously and, for a moment, it was like the fourteen-year-old girl was standing in front of him again. She closed her eyes and sighed. “I know. I’m sorry. You’ve never been anything but good to me.”

  He was alarmed to see tears forming in the corners of her eyes. “Here now,” he said in a soft voice, “there’s no need for that.”

  “Sorry,” she mumbled as she turned away and took a tissue from the pocket of her coat. “It’s just been such a weird day with all this horribleness.”

  She dabbed at her eyes for a moment before surprising Bunny by turning around and moving her chair to face him directly. She sat down with a look of determination in her eyes.
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  “OK,” she began. “I don’t know what’s going on, but just in case Angelina is in trouble, I wouldn’t trust anybody else to help. Here’s the truth: when Angelina came back to Dublin she was in all kinds of shite. She owed some bad people a lot of money. She’d been living a lifestyle she couldn’t afford, some things had gone badly, she was coming out of a disastrous relationship and, like I said, her dad, God love him, really is in a bad way. In answer to the question everybody asked when they saw her and Hannity: how does a man like him end up with a woman like her? Well, she was desperate, and the one thing Coop Hannity knew how to do is take advantage of that.”

  She pulled a packet of cigarettes out of her pocket and instinctively offered Bunny one. He waved it away. It was just as well, as the packet only contained the one, which she lit in a fluid motion. After taking a drag she continued. “Hannity decided he wanted a son. Not a kid, mind you, but a son to take over his empire.” She stretched out her hands to emphasise the grandiosity of the statement. “I don’t know. Maybe it dawned on him that one day he might die too. Although I’m guessing he was an atheist – as, if he wasn’t, he should have been a lot more concerned about where he was headed after his death.”

  “You don’t seem to be the man’s biggest fan?”

  She gave a caustic huff. “He was awful. Not just in the ways you already know he was awful, but the way he treated her. Like she was a horse he’d purchased just to breed. She had to have a fertility check before they got married. Very romantic.” Mags took another drag on her cigarette. “Although that turned out to be bitterly ironic.”

  Bunny tilted his head. “You mean …”

  “Yeah. Turned out the prick had chronically lazy swimmers.”

  “Oh.”

  “And then he treated Angelina like it was somehow her fault. Much to her relief, they stopped trying. On the downside, though, he became insanely jealous instead. Had her followed. His own wife. It’s not like she was able to go out much, anyway. He didn’t like her having friends.”