Angels in the Moonlight by Caimh McDonnell

Author:Caimh McDonnell [McDonnell, Caimh]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780995507555
Publisher: McFori Ink
Published: 2017-08-26T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Four

Commissioner Gareth Ferguson stood in his dressing gown and slippers on the balcony, his long cigar clamped in his mouth. He glowered at the traffic below, as if it were personally responsible for all of the inconvenience in his life.

DI Fintan O’Rourke slid the balcony door open and stepped out to join him. Ferguson didn’t turn around.

“Shut the bloody door, Fintan. Doctor Jacoby gets a whiff of cigar in his office and I’ll never hear the end of it.”

As O’Rourke carefully pulled the door closed, Ferguson took the cigar out of his mouth and looked at it. “Honest to Christ, it’s only a bloody cigar. You’d think I was weeing on the man’s carpet. Bloody doctors.” He resumed puffing away.

“Yes, sir,” said O’Rourke.

The hem of Ferguson’s hospital gown flapped in the breeze under his dressing gown.

“I’m . . . Are you sure this is a good time for this, sir?”

Ferguson glanced briefly back at O’Rourke. “Trust me, Fintan, there is no good time for this chat.”

“I know, sir, but, I mean . . . Can I say, I’m very sorry to hear of your . . .”

Ferguson turned to look at him, “My what?”

“Your medical condition, sir.”

“Medical con—? Have you lost your damn mind, Fintan? What exactly do you think is wrong with me?”

“Well, sir, obviously you want to keep it private, which I entirely understand. I’m just sorry that . . .” Fintan flapped a hand in the direction of the office he had just walked through. Ferguson turned his eyes to heaven.

“Christ! One of our country’s finest deductive minds at work. Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair! I am here, Fintan, to get a benign cyst removed from my back. The reason I am standing on the balcony of the office of the country’s premier neurologist is that his other half is my beloved wife’s bridge partner and, having one of only two balconies in this Godforsaken sanctuary for sawbones, he agreed to allow me to use it to have a bloody cigar.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, so don’t go popping your CV in for my job just yet. Do you know what a benign cyst is, Fintan?”

O’Rourke didn’t answer, correctly guessing that it wouldn’t be required.

“It is a lump of fatty, useless flesh that just sits there and does nothing except look unsightly. In that regard it is like the last Minister for Justice, as opposed to the current one, who is a cancerous little pimple that – unless removed – will one day kill us all.”

Another gust of cold wind caused the hem of Ferguson’s hospital gown to flap up again. He pulled his burgundy dressing gown tighter and spat on the floor.

“And why the hell do I have to wear this undignified thing with my arse hanging out the back? I’m not in theatre for another couple of hours. What, in the name of all that is good and holy, is wrong with me wearing my fine silk jimmy-jams in the meantime?” Ferguson stepped suddenly forward and looked down at O’Rourke.

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