Twisting the Rope by MacAvoy R. A.;

Author:MacAvoy, R. A.;
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Open Road Media Sci-Fi & Fantasy
Published: 1994-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

The liquor bottles behind the bar at the Riva glowed with a fantastic play of light, bounced from the sun to the sea to the slanted windows of the building and hence inward. It also glanced off the round face of Pádraig Ó Súilleabháin and put corrugations around his blue eyes. Had Detective Anderson been there, he might have recanted his estimation of the man’s age, for Pádraig, this afternoon, had a terrible squint which added years to him.

Mayland Long sat beside him at the bar, and perhaps because of the affinity of color, his yellowish eyes were fixed on the tumbler half full of Glenlivet Scotch in his hand. Pádraig, too, had a double Scotch, because Long was buying.

Elen Evans, seated at Pádraig’s other hand, propped her chin on her hand heel and drank coffee. It seemed to have no power over her.

“Did I show you this?” Pádraig reached his many scarred hand into his shirt and pulled out the limp leather cross.

“Yes, you did,” replied Long politely.

“Yes, you did,” said Elen.

He let the memento slip back under his shirt. There was an uncomfortable silence.

Perhaps we should have gone someplace else,” Long whispered. “For us to parade up and down the pier today shows a certain lack of feeling.”

Pádraig lifted his eyes out of the bar of sunlight. “I don’t know any other places in this city. Not on the water.”

Elen gave a yawn which dwarfed her face and left her almost unable to sit up. “Excuse me,” she said. “This daytime wake is a bit too much for me.” She picked up her purse and headed toward the back of the restaurant.

Long rubbed his face with both hands. His suit rustled like dry moth wings. He gave a chuckle.

“My, but three Macnamaras can fill a room. One would think they were much bigger women.”

Pádraig nodded sagaciously. “Women. That is the important word in what you said. Myself I have five sisters. And they wonder why I love to go out in small boats!” He took a long sip of the drink before him and made a face. “Smells like a smoking stove! Whisky can kill a man,” he said.

“You say that frequently.”

“It is what my mother says. She brought us all up as Pioneers.”

“Then why are you drinking alcohol?” asked Long in simple curiosity. Pádraig did not answer.

Long drank his Scotch without grimacing.

“Many things can kill a man, Fear Uí Súilleabháin. Sickness, for one. A rope, for another.”

Pádraig whined.

“I want the truth,” said Long. He blew his nose on a cocktail napkin and slapped his big hand down on the bar. The bartender glanced over casually and then went back to cutting lemons. “I’m old and I’m tired and my nose hurts abominably! I want to have the truth now!”

“I didn’t kill him,” said Pádraig, daunted. “And I don’t think that knowing who did will help you with your cold.”

Long grunted. “You don’t understand.”

Pádraig drank the drink Long had bought for him and agreed that he didn’t understand.

“You’re too young,” Long said.

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