‘You’re a fucking idiot,’ he said.
‘Because I like this place?’ Kevin asked.
‘No, that’s just tonight’s confirmation.’
‘What, then?’
‘I got you a lawyer,’ Eamonn said. ‘One of the best. And you don’t even use him? You give him attitude? I don’t need this shite, you understand, boy?’
Kevin folded his arms defiantly. ‘He wants me to take a plea that would put me in jail,’ he said. ‘I’m not going in.’
Eamonn McDougal sighed heavily. ‘You really are stupid, boy. You think I’d let you go to jail?’ He shook his head. ‘It might be the best thing for you – show you
what real life is – but you wouldn’t survive. I know that.’
‘But that’s what the lawyer said,’ the son protested.
‘Shut the fuck up, and do as I say. The lawyer isn’t going to let you go to jail, no matter what he tells you right now, you understand? He’s gonna get you off.
Period.’
‘That’s not what he told me.’
‘Yeah, well, he’ll change his mind.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Because I can be very persuasive.’ He looked at the outfit his son was wearing and shook his head. He grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him in close so that he could look into
his eyes. They were red and watery, and they betrayed his recreational inclinations. If they hadn’t been in public, Eamonn probably would have thrown his son through the wall. ‘Get off
the shit,’ he growled.
‘I don’t understand,’ Kevin said. ‘What shit?’
Eamonn squeezed his son’s shoulders with his massive hands until he grunted in pain. ‘I’m deadly serious, boy,’ he said. ‘It’s time for you to get right, you
understand? If it doesn’t happen now, it won’t happen at all, and I’m not going to watch you put your mother through that. If it comes to that, I’ll make it quick and
painless, for you and for her, you understand? I shit you not.’ He squeezed the boy’s shoulders even harder. ‘You understand?’
‘Aaargh!’ Kevin grunted, writhing out of his father’s grip. ‘Okay,’ he protested. ‘Okay.’
‘Now, you get your ass back to the lawyer, and you tell him you’re in. Tomorrow. You understand?’
‘Yeah, okay.’ Kevin rubbed his shoulders.
Eamonn nodded, turned on his heels and walked to the front door. As he passed the bar, he looked at the bartender. He was wearing tight-fitting black pants, a white T-shirt two sizes too small,
and a black leather vest. He had three earrings in both earlobes. ‘Tell your boss to make sure his insurance is paid up,’ Eamonn said. The bartender frowned in confusion. He started to
say something, but Eamonn held his hand up. He was in no mood. ‘Just tell him.’ With that, he pushed the door open and headed back out to his waiting car and driver.
Long sat in his car, scribbling notes into the small pad he kept with him. There wasn’t a lot to write, but he worked hard to cram as much detail as he could onto the
tiny pages. The key to his work was in following the details, keeping track of them, herding them into paddocks to let them feed and interact and mate. Every once in a while, if you let yourself
get to really know the details, you saw the patterns you were looking for, the inconsistencies that were the hallmarks of guilt.
So far, he’d seen none of those hallmarks in his brief conversation with Scott Finn. The man had been nervous, but the nervousness seemed born of the sheer scale of Long’s revelation
to him. Long could discern no prevarication. The only aspect of the lawyer’s life that seemed out of place was the girl. Long would look into her situation, but his hunch was that it would
lead nowhere.
When he was done scribbling in his notebook, he slid it back into the breast pocket of his raincoat. He reached down and felt for the bottle under the car seat. It was there, but when he brought
it up to his lips, it was empty. He shook his head. It was a bad sign – he had no recollection of finishing
‘Because I like this place?’ Kevin asked.
‘No, that’s just tonight’s confirmation.’
‘What, then?’
‘I got you a lawyer,’ Eamonn said. ‘One of the best. And you don’t even use him? You give him attitude? I don’t need this shite, you understand, boy?’
Kevin folded his arms defiantly. ‘He wants me to take a plea that would put me in jail,’ he said. ‘I’m not going in.’
Eamonn McDougal sighed heavily. ‘You really are stupid, boy. You think I’d let you go to jail?’ He shook his head. ‘It might be the best thing for you – show you
what real life is – but you wouldn’t survive. I know that.’
‘But that’s what the lawyer said,’ the son protested.
‘Shut the fuck up, and do as I say. The lawyer isn’t going to let you go to jail, no matter what he tells you right now, you understand? He’s gonna get you off.
Period.’
‘That’s not what he told me.’
‘Yeah, well, he’ll change his mind.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Because I can be very persuasive.’ He looked at the outfit his son was wearing and shook his head. He grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him in close so that he could look into
his eyes. They were red and watery, and they betrayed his recreational inclinations. If they hadn’t been in public, Eamonn probably would have thrown his son through the wall. ‘Get off
the shit,’ he growled.
‘I don’t understand,’ Kevin said. ‘What shit?’
Eamonn squeezed his son’s shoulders with his massive hands until he grunted in pain. ‘I’m deadly serious, boy,’ he said. ‘It’s time for you to get right, you
understand? If it doesn’t happen now, it won’t happen at all, and I’m not going to watch you put your mother through that. If it comes to that, I’ll make it quick and
painless, for you and for her, you understand? I shit you not.’ He squeezed the boy’s shoulders even harder. ‘You understand?’
‘Aaargh!’ Kevin grunted, writhing out of his father’s grip. ‘Okay,’ he protested. ‘Okay.’
‘Now, you get your ass back to the lawyer, and you tell him you’re in. Tomorrow. You understand?’
‘Yeah, okay.’ Kevin rubbed his shoulders.
Eamonn nodded, turned on his heels and walked to the front door. As he passed the bar, he looked at the bartender. He was wearing tight-fitting black pants, a white T-shirt two sizes too small,
and a black leather vest. He had three earrings in both earlobes. ‘Tell your boss to make sure his insurance is paid up,’ Eamonn said. The bartender frowned in confusion. He started to
say something, but Eamonn held his hand up. He was in no mood. ‘Just tell him.’ With that, he pushed the door open and headed back out to his waiting car and driver.
Long sat in his car, scribbling notes into the small pad he kept with him. There wasn’t a lot to write, but he worked hard to cram as much detail as he could onto the
tiny pages. The key to his work was in following the details, keeping track of them, herding them into paddocks to let them feed and interact and mate. Every once in a while, if you let yourself
get to really know the details, you saw the patterns you were looking for, the inconsistencies that were the hallmarks of guilt.
So far, he’d seen none of those hallmarks in his brief conversation with Scott Finn. The man had been nervous, but the nervousness seemed born of the sheer scale of Long’s revelation
to him. Long could discern no prevarication. The only aspect of the lawyer’s life that seemed out of place was the girl. Long would look into her situation, but his hunch was that it would
lead nowhere.
When he was done scribbling in his notebook, he slid it back into the breast pocket of his raincoat. He reached down and felt for the bottle under the car seat. It was there, but when he brought
it up to his lips, it was empty. He shook his head. It was a bad sign – he had no recollection of finishing
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