Shorts: A Bunny McGarry Short Fiction Collection (The Dublin Trilogy) by Caimh McDonnell

Author:Caimh McDonnell [McDonnell, Caimh]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: McFori Ink
Published: 2024-04-16T00:00:00+00:00

THE WATCHER’S WATCH

Detective Sergeant Gar O’Keefe took the proffered cup of takeaway coffee from Detective Sinead Bonner. He took a sip and nodded appreciatively. “Thanks Sinead, hits the spot.”

“That’s your fifth one today. You’ll never get to sleep for Santa tonight.”

“I won’t be allowed to sleep. After we’re done, I’ve to go home and build a table football thing for the boys and a doll’s house for Keira. You would not believe how many pieces there are in a fecking doll’s house. It’s ridiculous. Ye pay a fortune for the thing and then you do most of the work assembling it yourself.”

Bonner leaned back against the wall, keeping an eye on the queue through the throng of passing shoppers. “I’m sure the kids will appreciate all your hard work, Sarge.”

O’Keefe gave a harsh laugh. “I don’t share your confidence. Last year was a disaster. If you ever consider popping out sprogs in later life, know that there’s every chance you’ll spend six months saving for the perfect Christmas and there’s still a strong chance that everything is going to be ‘lame’ – wherever the hell the kids got that from. Well, the boys got it from their sister, but heaven knows where she picked it up. Ye can’t be right for being wrong sometimes as a parent.”

Bonner smiled. “Are you going to tell me next how when you were a kid you only got an orange for Christmas, Sarge?”

O’Keefe took a sip on his coffee to hide a smile. “Cheeky bitch, I’m not that old.”

“Or that fond of fruit.”

O’Keefe rolled his eyes. “Let’s not take this lull in the action as an opportunity for you to give me another reading from your bible of healthy living please, Detective Bonner.”

She held her hands up. “Alright boss. I just want to see you live long enough that you become a burden on your kids at Christmas instead of the other way round.”

“Ha,” said O’Keefe. “That’s the dream.”

Bonner nodded over to the queue in front of Santa’s grotto. “How much do you think Mr Donavan has spent on Christmas presents so far today?”

Marty Donavan stood in the queue, holding his daughter’s hand. From a distance, he looked just like any other parent in the queue, laden down with bags and trying to keep a six-year-old girl interested as they waited to meet Santa.

O’Keefe whistled. “Got to be north of a grand, including the stuff he dropped back to the car earlier.”

“She’s going to be quite the spoiled brat.”

“Well Sinead, buying a child’s affection isn’t cheap. Especially when daddy dumped mammy while she was eight months pregnant with you.”

“He’s a class act our Marty.”

As if on cue, Donavan waved over at them. O’Keefe and Bonner offered no response. He knew they were there. The idea of covertly following him was pointless. Never mind what you saw in the movies, doing that to someone who was expecting it was virtually impossible, unless you had drones or some such science fiction stuff. While the guards had a little bit of that kind of kit, they didn’t go flying it around Grafton Street.

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