Page 10 of The Last Bench

Anne moved closer and said tersely, ‘No one can hear your screams here. You’d do well to remember that.’

John glanced at his wife, who was sneering at Hinges with a look of such loathing it should have frightened him. But the thing was he understood that look. He felt the same way, and seeing the man who’d caused them all their heartache sparked anger through his body. But he had to find a way to park that fury. He needed his wits, sharp and calm, to get through this.

John moved forward, and Hinges began to writhe and shake so much inside the barrow that it looked as if it might topple.

‘Easy,’ John commanded, and to his surprise the man stilled and allowed John to ungag him.

‘You’ve made the biggest mistake of your lives,’ Hinges said raspily. ‘You better untie me now, before I fucking kill you both.’

John had expected as much from Hinges. ‘No shouting or threats, or I’ll gag you again.’ He held up the rag again, which was damp with Hinge’s saliva.

‘What do you want?’ Hinges replied.

‘What do you think we want?’ Anne said, her voice tight as she moved closer.

‘Drugs, I assume.’ His eyes flicked between them both. ‘But you don’t look the type. Mind you, I see all sorts. Don’t judge – that’s my motto.’ He grinned at them both, as if he expected them to laugh at his intended joke. Shrugging when they didn’t smile back, he continued, ‘What do you want? If it’s cannabis, I’m not your man, but I can sort it for you.’

‘We don’t want cannabis.’ John replied, keeping his voice calm, as Anne’s list had advised.

‘Oh, something stronger, is it?’ Hinges replied. ‘Listen, man, let me out of this barrow and I’ll hook you up. On the house.’

‘What can you hook us up with?’ John asked.

‘E. Ketamine. Coke. You name it.’

John felt his temples throb as his mind raced through questions he needed to ask, to guide Hinges to where they were supposed to go. ‘Where do you sell your drugs?’

Hinges’s eyes narrowed. ‘What is this? A shakedown from the shades?’

John had not heard that old nickname, used for the Irish Gardaí, for many years. Before he had a chance to refute the allegation, Hinges shook his head, answering his question. ‘No way you are the guards.’ He looked around the kitchen and smirked. ‘From what I can see, you are nothing more than housewife of the year and a pen pusher. Am I right?’ He laughed out loud when he clearly saw a flicker of confirmation on their faces. ‘When you’re right, you’re right! So that begs a question: what do you really want?’

‘Just answer our questions,’ Anne shouted at him. ‘Starting with, where do you sell your drugs?’

Hinges coughed and then said, ‘Throat feels like it’s been cut. I need a drink.’

‘Nothing until you answer our questions,’ Anne said, matching his smirk with one of her own.

John walked to the kitchen cupboard above the sink and pulled out a glass, then reconsidered, thinking it could be used as a weapon of some sort. He opened one of the lower cupboards, nicknamed the party drawer by them all, because it held decorations and paper plates for family celebrations. He found a stack of pink paper cups, pulled one out, filled it with water, held it up and said, ‘Answer and it’s yours.’

‘I meet my regulars in different spots, at different times.’ He scoffed, then asked sarcastically, ‘You are looking for a slot, after all?’

John ignored him and continued to probe, ‘What about the pubs and clubs scene? Which of them are you selling in?’

Hinges frowned. ‘What’s it to you?’

‘Answer!’ Anne yelled.

‘Jesus, chill, lady. I don’t go near pubs, but there are a couple of clubs I hit.’ He grinned, then added in a decent mimic of Scooby Doo, ‘nothing beats a Scooby snack for all the little Freds, Daphnes, Velmas and Shaggys!’

John clenched his fist into a ball, wanting to reach back and, with all his might, knock Hinges’s head straight off his skinny little neck. He turned his back on Hinges and looked at Anne, seeing recognition and sympathy in her green eyes. He took several deep breaths then he turned his attention back to Hinges. ‘You ever think about how young your customers might be?’

‘If they are old enough to be out clubbing, that ain’t my business.’

‘If they have money, you’ll sell to them,’ John reaffirmed.

‘If I don’t, someone else will.’ Hinges lifted his chin slightly, daring them to contradict him.

‘You must be preparing for a big night tomorrow,’ Anne said, her voice low and her face shadowed with hatred. ‘With the Leaving Cert results out. New prey for you to sink your teeth into.’