Deccie Must Die (MCM Investigations Book 2) by Caimh McDonnell

Author:Caimh McDonnell [McDonnell , Caimh]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: McFori Ink
Published: 2022-08-16T16:00:00+00:00

23

TITLE FIGHT

Brigit looked down at the one-person bench with undisguised distaste. Who the hell came up with such a thing? A bench designed, presumably, to stop people from having a conversation. As it happened, it didn’t have an impact on her – she wasn’t with the person she was talking to. She sat down and shifted her phone to her other ear.

“So where are you now?” asked Paul.

“I’m outside Deccie’s gym. I say gym, but the word really doesn’t give you any kind of picture of the place.”

“How so?”

“It’s like the bridge of the starship Enterprise has been crossed with the inside of a Ferrero Rocher. Apparently, it’s the most expensive gym in Ireland.”

“And Deccie’s in there?” enquired Paul. “Deccie Fadden? The little fat lad who was in charge of minding the bucket for our hurling team when we were kids because he claimed to be allergic to his own sweat?”

“Yes. He was given a membership in exchange for a promotional thing. Between that and the apartment, he’s been comped one hell of a lifestyle.”

“Wonders never cease. Does he stick out like a sore thumb?”

“What do you think? Mind you, so did I. I came outside because I could sense my cellulite was upsetting the staff.”

“Oh, would you shut up. Don’t let that crap in the newspaper bother you.”

“It doesn’t.”

It did. And she was annoyed at herself for letting it. As she’d stepped onto the street she’d considered cracking and buying her first pack of cigarettes in a month, but she’d rung Paul instead. She tried to draw a relaxing lungful of the heady Southside air.

Everywhere she looked were buildings that seemed to be made of ninety percent glass. The entire place was a window cleaner’s wet dream. There were also those trees that looked so identical to each other that the little splash of nature they provided actually made the place feel somehow less natural. As if you were a little figurine trapped in one of those scale models you sometimes see in the foyers of buildings.

Something about the area set Brigit’s teeth on edge. It was all too neat. That was Ballsbridge for you, though. Everything here was too expensive to allow any chaos to enter the equation.

She turned her attention back to her conversation with Paul. “Deccie is in there being shouted at by his personal trainer, Rían, to ‘work for them gains’, which, I believe, is the new ‘feel the burn’. You should see the place, though – it’s got a bar, a snow shower, whatever the hell that is, and you can watch your personal Netflix on the screens. Apparently, the rowing machines are connected to the internet, so you can race some guy in Australia, if you’d like.”

“No, thanks. Australians always grab me as being unacceptably fit. And how much does all this cost?”

“I had a google – three grand a year.”

“Three grand? For that kind of money, you should be able to fall asleep and let the machines do all the work for you.

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