Read Online Ride On by Stephen J. Martin - Free Book Online Page B

didn’t trust himself to hang onto an actual decent piece of music in his head for more than one day at a time any more. He’d only been able to finish out their own album with ‘More Than Me’ because he’d started the song months before, when Marco had asked him to be his best man.
    He rounded the corner and started making his way up the street to the front door of Sin Bin, not even noticing the cop car that was parked on the kerb right outside.
    He opened up the door and stepped into the warmth of the studio with a big sigh of relief, taking off his coat and slapping his hands together to get some blood back into them. Another fucking cracking Irish winter so it was, the stinging wind outside whipping your nipples into points you could use to cut glass.
    â€˜Jesus,’ he said, opening the control room door. ‘Poxy cold out there again …’
    He stopped. No one was there. He looked through the window into the main room and gasped, feeling something like a smack in his chest. Dónal, Sparky and Aesop were out there with two cops. Aesop. Jimmy hadn’t seen him all week. Oh … fuck, no. What was the gobshite after doing? Was he after getting snared with gange? The dopey bastard. I’ll fucking kill him. Hang on, Jimmy. Hang on. He’s never been caught before. They’ll only give him a bollocking. Right? They only gave you a bollocking the first time, didn’t they? But … why would they send two cops around to the studio just for that? Didn’t sound right. Something was up. Fuck, please let it only have been gange. Please, please, please. Jimmy was pretty sure that Aesop didn’t mess around with other stuff, but there were a lot of new people hanging around them these days after gigs and all. Sparky had already given them a pointed and carefully rehearsed speech about it. ‘Keep an eye out for cunts’, he’d said.
    Jimmy watched his hand go out to the handle of the door and push it open. He heart was hammering like it was about to give out on him.
    â€˜Wh … wha …’ he stammered, stepping inside and looking at everyone.
    Garda Number One turned around to him. He was a big bloke. Big as Norman and made even bigger by the huge yellow shiny anoraks they have to wear.
    â€˜Who are you?’ he said. Culchie.
    â€˜I’m Jimmy. What did he do?’ He looked at Aesop. ‘What are you after doing?’
    â€˜Jaysis, Jimmy,’ said Aesop, laughing. ‘You’re some best friend, you know that? The boys in blue call around … “The man we’re holding says that you can attest to his whereabouts yesterday afternoon. Is this true?” “Yes Garda, he was out robbing the post office.”’
    â€˜Jimmy,’ said Dónal. ‘I tried calling you earlier but you weren’t picking up.’
    â€˜I was at Ma’s all morning. I left me phone at home and haven’t been back. What’s going on?’
    â€˜I’m afraid we have a bit of a problem. The two Gardaí here are helping us out with it.’
    â€˜What did he do?’
    â€˜He didn’t do anything. It’s okay Jimmy. He’s not in trouble. Well, not like that …’
    â€˜What? What’s happening then?’
    â€˜Well, we’re just trying to find out.’
    â€˜Garda Egan,’ said the big one, from behind a moustache he could have used to grow cabbage.
    â€˜I’m Garda Ní Mhurchú,’ said his mate, who was a girl copper. Fairly short for a copper, and a bit pudgy. Very short hair and a not a whole lot of soft feminine vibes. A bit of a bulldog head on her. ‘We’re just asking Mr. Murray a few questions to help us in connection with an incident that’s been reported. You’re Jimmy Collins, right? I’ve seen you guys play. Last October it was, in the Town Hall in Galway. It was a great night.’
    â€˜Oh. Eh … okay. Thanks. And … so … and