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    The Guards: A Jack Taylor Novel
    The Guards: A Jack Taylor Novel
    The Guards: A Jack Taylor Novel
    Ebook261 pages2 hours

    The Guards: A Jack Taylor Novel

    By Ken Bruen

    3.5/5

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    About this ebook

    An Edgar Award Nominee for Best Novel.

    Praised by authors and critics around the globe, The Guards is the first novel in the Jack Taylor series and heralded the arrival of prominent Irish writer Ken Bruen as an essential voice in contemporary crime fiction.

    Still stinging from his unceremonious ouster from the Garda Siochana--The Guards, Ireland's police force--and staring at the world through the smoky bottom of his beer mug, Jack Taylor is stuck in Galway with nothing to look forward to. In his sober moments Jack aspires to become Ireland's best private investigator, not to mention its first--Irish history, full of betrayal and espionage, discourages any profession so closely related to informing. But in truth Jack is teetering on the brink of his life's sharpest edges, his memories of the past cutting deep into his soul and his prospects for the future nonexistent.

    Nonexistent, that is, until a dazzling woman walks into the bar with a strange request and a rumor about Jack's talent for finding things. Odds are he won't be able to climb off his barstool long enough to get involved with his radiant new client, but when he surprises himself by getting hired, Jack has little idea of what he's getting into.

    Stark, violent, sharp, and funny, The Guards is an exceptional novel, one that leaves you stunned and breathless, flipping back to the beginning in a mad dash to find Jack Taylor and enter his world all over again. It's an unforgettable story that's gritty, absorbing, and saturated with the rough-edged rhythms of the Galway streets.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherMacmillan Publishers
    Release dateApr 1, 2007
    ISBN9781429902335
    The Guards: A Jack Taylor Novel
    Author

    Ken Bruen

    Ken Bruen is one of the most prominent Irish crime writers of the last two decades. He received a doctorate in metaphysics, taught English in South Africa, and then became a crime novelist. He is the recipient of two Barry Awards, two Shamus Awards and has twice been a finalist for the Edgar Award. He lives in Galway, Ireland.

    Read more from Ken Bruen

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    Reviews for The Guards

    3.5/5

    39 ratings38 reviews

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    • 3/5
      'The Guards' is Ken Bruen's first in his Jack Taylor series. Its setting is Galway, Ireland and 'stars' Jack Taylor, ex-police (Guard or Garda) and current big-time alkie. He claims to be the only private detective in Ireland and supposedly excels in 'finding stuff'. He's approached by a mother to investigate the suicide of her daughter, which she insists was instead a murder. I enjoy Bruen's writing, especially the dialogue and Irish colloquialisms, and the plot is OK. However, a couple things are readily apparent: The stuff Jack excels in finding usually comes in a bottle, and he's not a very good detective, private or otherwise. Until he's forced to clean himself up, he mostly meanders through the days getting more and more wasted, trading quips with various other ne'er do wells, and making glacially slow progress on his case since he has no contacts left in the Guard who'll talk to him and nobody else who can help. He and a fellow waste-oid discover some evidence and take matters into their own hands.This is a mediocre mystery with decent writing and an unrelenting description of how alcoholism can affect a person's psyche. I'll check out later books in this series but I'm not sure I can take much more of the star's antics.
    • 5/5
      I didn't know this was a book series, I saw the cover and it looked intriguing.The author can sure write. It is a little heavy on Irish slang, but the story was so easy to get into.Not really a mystery, but the writing is amazing.I look forward to continuing reading the other books in the series.
    • 4/5
      a top book in its genre, food enough to make you read the rest of his books.
      Sometimes a writer of few, but perfect words.
    • 5/5
      I want to be clear up front. This book is not going to be for everyone. It is bleak. It isn't really much of a mystery. It doesn't follow conventional writing rules. You might not like the main character. You probably shouldn't like the main character. If you find yourself reading it and wondering why. Stop, walk away and find yourself another novel.

      If, however, you are like me and the writing catches you immediately. If Taylor despite all his flaws and heartbreak speaks to you. If the writing style seems to crackle in your brain. Keep reading because you are in for a treat.

      I actually found Bruen's writing style a little off putting in The White Trilogy. Enough that I had never gone back but I decided I was going to watch the TV show this summer and before I did I should give the book a shot. I am glad I did. I have immediately moved onto the next in the series.
    • 4/5
      More about being an alcoholic than being a detective. About the fringe life in Ireland--those sleeping under the bridges, drinking cheap, and hassled by cops. Breun does not waste words, but borrows from others. You get a review of the century's detective fiction thrown in. And some poetry. With murders scattered about. Not too gory or nasty, but cleanly depressing.
    • 3/5
      [The Guards] by Ken BruenJack Taylor series Book #13 ★’sFrom the Book:Still stinging from his unceremonious ouster from the Garda Siochana--The Guards, Ireland's police force--and staring at the world through the smoky bottom of his beer mug, Jack Taylor is stuck in Galway with nothing to look forward to. In his sober moments Jack aspires to become Ireland's best private investigator, not to mention its first--Irish history, full of betrayal and espionage, discourages any profession so closely related to informing. But in truth Jack is teetering on the brink of his life's sharpest edges, his memories of the past cutting deep into his soul and his prospects for the future nonexistent. Nonexistent, that is, until a dazzling woman walks into the bar with a strange request and a rumor about Jack's talent for finding things. Odds are he won't be able to climb off his barstool long enough to get involved with his radiant new client, but when he surprises himself by getting hired, Jack has little idea of what he's getting into.My Thoughts:Jack Taylor is the tough cop who loves books; the beating victim who insists on checking himself out of a hospital too soon…everyone’s and no one ones friend. The Irish seaside city of Galway is the setting for all of these books. Sometimes you can’t figure out if Bruen loves the town or hates it…but he has certainly put it on the literary map. His character of Jack Taylor is Galway born and bred and is such an unusual character. Taylor is a former member of the Garda Síochána, the Guards, Ireland's shadowy police force. Drink…not an unusual thing in Ireland… and general attitude has gotten Jack removed from their ranks and this has not made him exactly a bosom pal to the rest of the Guards. To support himself and also if the truth is told…his habit…Jack takes on the role of a private detective. I have read several of the other books in this series and found them to be much better than this first attempt which is often the case. If I had not ROO (read out of order) and this had been the first one that I had read…I fear it would have also been the last one. It’s full of very predictable, standard crime novel cop cliques and several very nasty characters. Jack Taylor goes from a drunken cop to a drunken P.I. that meets his clients in a bar and laces his morning breakfast…also in the bar… with coffee. The one thing this book served to do was build the character of Jack Taylor…a man tormented by his demons and searching for something that seems to have evaded him his entire life. Believe me when I say that the series does get better and even Jack shows some promise.
    • 3/5
      Been a while. Computer problems. Anyhow, still looking for my next Michael Connelly. Bruen's first Jack Taylor certainly was an interesting start to a series. An awful lot of this one was about being an alcoholic. In sum I think he paints it as heroic personal drama for those afflicted. As many drinkers do. It will be interesting to see if Bruen can fill a book with anything else. Meanwhile, his detective appears about as ineffective as can be. What's to like about him? Bruen is otherwise a really good writer. Inventive. Excellent prose. Enjoy the Irish slant.
    • 5/5
      Excellent book. A real page turner. Sucks you in and it hits you hard when you reach the last page. Will definitely be reading the next book in this Jack Taylor series.
    • 3/5
      Jack Taylor is a rather depressing character and everything you don’t want in a police officer, although he’s not with the police anymore. He drinks a lot, takes drugs and is violent. The longest he’s sober in this novel are 13 days, twelve of them in a rehab centre.

      Even if you disregard all this things, his life is still pretty bad. All the people he cares about are either dead or die during the novel or leave him for someone else.

      Although the character is less than ideal, the writing is good. Ken Bruen manages to get the reader to see everything without extremely long descriptions. He uses enough words to make you understand how all the places are (city, pubs, streets...), but nothing is long enough to be boring.

      The story is interesting enough to be read even if you don’t like the character too much... until you find out how it ends. The main problem I had with the ending is that the case solves itself. Jack doesn’t really do much, other than nagging a few people. The case is great and the progress Jack makes is very good, considering that he has close to no resources, but the ending was disappointing.
    • 4/5
      Well-narrated, very grim story about an alcoholic, Irish ex policeman who looks into the death/suicide of a young girl and uncovers some rather nasty secrets at the same time.
      Jack Taylor is a very interesting character who gets under your skin as you alternate between hope and despair with the things that happen in his life.
    • 4/5
      If you like noir private eye stories, you're sure to like The Guards by Ken Bruen. The story focuses on Jack Taylor, an ex-Garda Siochana officer (Ireland's National Police Service) who was kicked out of the service after he punched a member of parliament in the mouth. He spends his time, when he's not sitting drunk in his local pub, working as a finder (private detective). He has many elements in common with other noir detectives: he's intelligent but addicted to drink and tough but sensitive (loves poetry). What sets this book apart is that it takes place in Ireland and most of the noir I've read is usually New York or LA. The only other Irish books I've read are the Logan McRae novels by Stuart MacBride and this is a much different character. Bruen seems to capture Jack Taylor as the dark, brooding, somewhat violent but sardonic character. The writing style is fast moving, sparse but draws you in and Taylor is very appealing.

      I would like to try the next book in the series because this one is less mystery than an introduction of Jack Taylor himself. The writing seems minimalist but it's rich with characterization. What stands out is the setting: the coastal Irish city of Galway. Bruen gives us Galway: the city streets, the old hotels, the ancient barrooms, the cemeteries, and the undercurrent of Catholicism.
    • 3/5
      Stylishly written mystery with a touch of poetry. Like no other detective of crime fiction, Jack Taylor sneaks up on you, making you like him against your (and his) will. An Irishman with a drinking problem and anger management issues, he's oddly endearing in his own way. He's also brave and has a knack for deduction. I look forward to reading more in the Jack Taylor series!
    • 5/5
      Hard-boiled, poetic, fierce, heart-wrenching, heart-warming, tender: ex-Garda Jack Taylor can make you laugh and cry on the same page. The mystery is secondary; the primary story is about Jack Taylor. This is the first of the series set in Galway. Some authors don't hit their stride until later in a series but Bruen hit the ground running. He has certainly won a fan in me.
    • 2/5
      The Guards by Ken Bruen; (2*)A Jack Taylor mystery with few props. I won't be hanging around for the rest of them.
    • 1/5
      Loved the TV show. Hated the book. Disjointed. Hard to follow. Many of Jack's musings just didn't make sense. And after thoroughly enjoying the TV show, the book was seriously disappointing. Only got through the first two chapters.
    • 2/5
      I pushed my little-used mystery button too hard and ended up reading a book that will keep me away from the genre for some time. There were some points where I found myself somewhat interested in where the plot was taking me, but still not enough. When it comes to mysteries, let's all just agree that I just don't get them. I'm not driven to FIND WHO DID IT. It was a nice hit of Irish characters and the writing was interesting and clever many times, yet it was not satisfying. Next book.
    • 4/5
      This is the first book in the Jack Taylor series. I had seen the television series earlier this year, and I wanted to read this book to see if I enjoyed it as much as the TV series. The answer is a resounding yes. Jack Taylor knows Galway, Ireland like John Rebus knows his Edinburgh. And Jack Taylor thinks he does his best work while he's blind-drunk, until he decides to sober up when it comes to crunch time when solving a case. Then he solves the case in Jack Taylor style. Bruen's writing style is so spare and bare-bones it's almost poetic. And yes these books are hard-boiled crime. You need to know that going in, or else the seedy and sometimes vulgar language and action will put you off. In this book Jack is asked by a very attractive woman (the femme fatale) to prove that her daughter was killed and did not commit suicide. After some rather gruesome run-ins with some of Jack's ex-Guarda colleagues (Irish National Police Force), he knows that there is more to Sarah Henderson's death than what meets the eye, and certainly more than the scant attention that the police paid to it when it happened. This is hard-boiled crime at its best. Never have I read a book in this genre that so thrillingly portrays this style. You bet I'm going to read the other books in this series. I wouldn't miss it for the world.
    • 4/5
      Bruen's been in my radar for a while but this was my first. I loved it. Jack Taylor's an alcoholic but he loves to read and that's good enough for me. Riddled with psychos and corrupt cops and pedophiles and random acts of brutality, this was a treat. I'll look for the next couple in the series just to see where he can go from here.
    • 3/5
      Jack Taylor has been kicked out the Gardia and submerged himself into a non-stop series of drinking binges. Making some kind of living as a “person who finds things” -- private eyes being too tinged in Ireland with the suspicion of being an informant, he is approached by Anne Henderson who wants Jack to investigate her daughter Sarah’s ostensible suicide. (“They say you’re good because you have nothing else in your life.”)

      A cursory look around has Jack convinced it’s no more than that until he gets beaten up and warned off the case. Classic bad guy dumb move, right?

      Bruen has a unique style of writing that reeks of Ireland, an almost poetic style that after a bit I found quite appealing. So you get scenes like this: He has just been turned down for a date by the hot girl upstairs because she doesn’t break her golden rule which is to never date drunkards.

      “Time later, her car had a flat and I changed the tyre. She said,
      “Listen, that other time--I was outa line.”
      Outa line!
      Everyone is quasi-American in the worst way.
      I stood up, grease covering my hands, waited. She continued,
      “I shouldn’t have said, you know. . .the awful thing.”
      “Hey, forget it.”
      Forgiveness is a heady fix. It makes you stupid. I said,
      “So you want to go out, grab a bite?”
      “Oh, I couldn’t.”
      “What?”
      “You’re too old.”
      That evening, under darkness, I crept out, punctured her tyre again.”

      While there is an investigation, the book is more about Jack’s soul. Very dark, lots of illusions to Irish poetry and bands, but very lyrical, too. As Jack is addicted to drink, so you will become addicted to the prose.
    • 2/5
      I found Ken Bruen's novel Priest on the new book display at the library and was interested in reading it, but I figured I should start at the beginning of the series that features ex-Guard member and Irish PI Jack Taylor. I really, really wanted to like it due to all the crazy praise Bruen has received and the fact that the synopses for later books sound excellent. However, Bruen and I were not meant to be.My main problem with The Guards is the style. It's like an exercise in minimalism. Most chapters last two pages, if that. No one speaks more than a sentence at a time, and each sentence is woefully short. There isn't even much sentence variety; it felt like the novel was chock-full of simple sentences. Paragraphs are unusual - there's so much white space in the book because each line only runs halfway across the page. Despite not liking it, this brevity let me read the 300-page book in one sitting. I suppose some people might find this writing style unique and enjoyable, but it made my head hurt and I longed for some depth.I really wanted to like Bruen, but I just couldn't talk myself into it. I mused over reading his later Jack Taylor novels to just try to ignore the style and enjoy the plot, but I was so relieved when The Guards was over that I put this idea out of my mind pretty quickly. I wouldn't necessarily call this a bad book, and I'd recommend it to someone looking for something different, but it's just not for me.
    • 5/5
      Beautiful, just beautiful!
    • 1/5
      Just

      couldn't

      finish it.



      May have been

      brilliant,

      but too e.e.cummings

      for me.
    • 4/5
      Trying to get enough money to leave Galway after his dismissal from the Garda Síochána, Jack Taylor works as a private investigator and is hired to prove a series of suicides are in fact murders. This story is mainly about alcohol and violence and only a little bit about murder detection - it's almost a pastiche of the noir genre with all its hard-man accoutrements, but stops short of being silly. It certainly isn't the mystery that is at the forefront here, but rather Jack Taylor's addiction, his turbulent past, his current - somewhat mad - relationships, his propensity for violence, and his quite hilarious voice. There are some discussions on music, books, and pop culture that are interesting - and quite a few reading suggestions for the noir fan - but it's really the alcohol-induced events that get the most space, along with numerous complaints about the Gardaí's lack of ethics. I enjoyed spending time getting to know Taylor and his sarky voice, but I hope that he gets to be more hands-on in the crime-resolution portion of the next installment in the series.
    • 2/5
      My first Irish crime novel. Not a good choice. More like the autobiography of an alcoholic.
    • 4/5
      I read this book because it was recommended in a Book Blog I frequent. Crime novels are not my first choice but I was interested enough to try this one and I was pleasantly surprised. Alcoholic ex-cop Jack Taylor is hired by a beautiful woman to find out who really killed her daughter (her death has been deemed suicide). Very little of the story ends up being about the crime but it is rather a book which looks into Jack's life. Other reviewers have thrown around the terms 'noir'and 'hard-boiled'and I guess this is what this story is - I like what the Sunday Tribune said about the book "an acute and compassionate study of rage and loneliness". I think I will look for other books in this series.
    • 4/5
      This is hard-boiled private detective with an Irish lilt--and alcoholic slur. Jack Taylor was once in the Garda Siochana--the Irish police--but self-destructed with the aid of drink. As he himself describes his life and behavior, "I could say it was the booze, but that's not true. There's a self-destruct button in me. I keep returning to it." He does--throughout the book, and the novel is as much about that--in fact more about that--than his investigation of a young teen who seemingly committed suicide. The book is set in Galway, where, kicked off the force, Jack works intermittently as a "finder." As he puts it: There are no private eyes in Ireland. The Irish wouldn't wear it. The concept brushes perilously close to the hated "informer"... What I began to do was find things. This is written first person with great style and voice. Somehow it kept me sympathetic and rooting for Jack despite him being a screwup. And the ending involves a frequent, even cliche element in hard-boiled detective fiction that usually is a deal breaker, and in a strange way it's because Jack is so damaged, it comes off less cold-blooded than it usually would. Jack's voice, the overall pacing and short chapters full of snappy dialogue made this a fast read at one sitting and left me feeling I wouldn't mind more, despite this being that dark and cynical blend you find in hard-boiled fiction that usually leaves me cold. But there's a wit and humor in the narrator that somehow made that darkness bearable.
    • 5/5
      The Guards by Ken Bruen is the first entry in his original series featuring Jack Taylor. Jack, currently living in Galway has the dubious record of having been expelled from the Irish police force, the Guardia for excessive drunkenness. He does the work of a PI but doesn’t like to refer to himself in that term as, in Ireland, it can be confused with the word “informer” which is mightily frowned upon.This book is so much more than a crime story. In fact the crime is very much a secondary story, given to us in small doses. Instead it reads more like a diary, filled with Jack’s personal references, thoughts on life and on being Irish. With his unique writing style, Bruen has produced a intelligent, character driven story that has left me hungry for more.A lot of books give you flawed heroes, but Jack Taylor stands heads and shoulders above them all. Stumbling through life, addicted to alcohol , prone to blackouts, creating one mess after another, Jack still has the ability to make you root for him. No matter how down and out he gets (and he seems to get pretty low), he manages to pick himself up and carry on. Jack is a book lover, or as he would say, “a hoor for books” and always has the appropriate quote for whatever situation he finds himself in.I think this is the type of book one either loves or hates. It has a strong, hard-boiled style than may not appeal to everyone. As for me, Jack Taylor is a character I’m looking forward to reading more about. Irreverent and gritty, funny and wise, The Guards has just whetted my appetite.
    • 5/5
      SPOILERS, BUT NOT REALLY. Jack Taylor has been thrown out of The Guard in this first of a series of eight books, and I intend to read them all. This is a short book, about 300 pages, but then all of the books in the series are about this length. Jack is now a finder, and he is a drinker. He has very few friends and one of them is, guess what, a bartender. Jack is hired by a gorgeous single mom to prove that her deceased daughter was not a suicide. By the time the story is finished, a child abuser has been identified and dealt with, JT has quit drinking twice, he's bedded the mom, his two friends are dead, he's gone to London for a year, and he has just returned to Dublin, and sits at his new pub. I'm not sure about the daughter - was she real? was she a suicide? if she was murdered who did it? is mom a cop? (I have to re-reread the last 20 pages which I thought I understood, but in writing this review it is abundantly clear to me that's not the case). Really like the whole Irish thing in this book, done very well, feel like I'm there.
    • 3/5
      Not nearly as good as the reviews would have you believe. Just ok
    • 1/5
      I'm amazed by all the high ratings and positive reviews for this book. This one definitely received the "Dorothy Parker rating" from me as I did, quite literally, throw it across the room when I was done. A very rare occurence from me, especially with a library book!The fault could, of course, be entirely mine. Maybe I just don't care for a main character who is an uber_alcoholic; maybe I'm just not that fond of esoteric poetry; maybe I hated it because there was no freaking mystery! Whatever the reason, I can't for the life of me understand why this is on some short-list for Best Mystery of the Decade and I will definitely NOT be looking for the sequel.Despite the few chuckles I got along the way -- and I admit there were a few -- I won't be looking for either a sequel or a backlist. If it were possible, this book would get a negative 1 rating for me. Can't remember the last time I let a book land on the floor.

    Book preview

    The Guards - Ken Bruen

    It’s almost impossible to be thrown out of the Garda Síochána. You have to really put your mind to it. Unless you become a public disgrace, they’ll tolerate most anything.

    I’d been to the wire. Numerous

    Cautions

    Warnings

    Last chances

    Reprieves

    And still I didn’t shape up.

    Or rather sober up. Don’t get me wrong. The gardaí and drink have a long, almost loving relationship. Indeed, a teetotal garda is viewed with suspicion, if not downright derision, inside and outside the force.

    My supervisor at the training barracks said,

    We all like a pint.

    Nods and grunts from trainees.

    And the public likes us to like a pint.

    Better and better.

    What they don’t like is a blackguard.

    He paused to let us taste the pun. He pronounced it, in the Louth fashion, blaggard.

    Ten years later I was on my third warning. Called before a supervisor, it was suggested I get help.

    Times have changed, sonny. Nowadays there’s treatment programmes, twelve-step centres, all kinds of help. A spell in John O’ God’s is no shame any more. You’ll rub shoulders with the clergy and politicians.

    I wanted to say,

    That’s supposed to be an incentive!

    But I went. On release, I stayed dry for a while, but gradually, I drank again.

    It’s rare for a garda to get a home posting, but it was felt my home town would be a benefit.

    An assignment on a bitter cold February evening. Dark as bejaysus. Operating a speed trap on the outskirts of the city. The duty sergeant had stipulated,

    I want results, no exceptions.

    My partner was a Roscommon man named Clancy. He’d an easygoing manner and appeared to ignore my drinking. I had a thermos of coffee, near bulletproof with brandy. It was going down easy.

    Too easy.

    We were having a slow duty. Word was out on our location. Drivers were suspiciously within the limit. Clancy sighed, said,

    They’re on to us.

    Sure are.

    Then a Mercedes blasted by. The clock hit thermo. Clancy shouted,

    Jaysus!

    I had the car in gear and we were off. Clancy, in the passenger seat, said,

    Jack, slow down, I think we might forget this one.

    What?

    The plate … see the plate?

    Yeah, so what.

    It’s government.

    It’s a bloody scandal.

    I had the siren wailing, but it was a good ten minutes before the Merc pulled over. As I opened my door, Clancy grabbed my arm, said,

    Bit o’ discretion, Jack.

    Yeah, right.

    I rapped on the driver’s window. Took his time letting it down. The driver, a smirk in place, asked,

    Where’s the fire?

    Get out.

    Before he could respond, a man leaned over from the back, said,

    What’s going on?

    I recognised him. A high profile TD. I said,

    Your driver was behaving like a lunatic.

    He asked,

    Have you any idea who you’re talking to?

    Yeah, the gobshite who screwed the nurses.

    Clancy tried to run block, whispered,

    Jeez, Jack, back off.

    The TD was outa the car, coming at me. Indignation writ huge, he was shouting,

    Yah brazen pup, I’ll have your job. Do you have any idea of what’s going to happen?

    I said,

    I know exactly what’s going to happen.

    And punched him in the mouth.

    UNGUARDED

    There are no private eyes in Ireland. The Irish wouldn’t wear it. The concept brushes perilously close to the hated informer. You can get away with most anything except telling.

    What I began to do was find things. Not a difficult task, it requires only patience and pig stubbornness. The latter was my strongest point.

    I didn’t come to one morning and shout, God wants me to be a finder! He could care less.

    There’s God and there’s the Irish version. This allows Him to be feckless. Not that he doesn’t take an interest, but He couldn’t be bothered.

    Because of my previous career, it was believed I had an inside track. That I knew how things worked. Over a period of time, people sought me out, asked for my help.

    I hit lucky and found resolutions. A minor reputation began to build on a false premise. Most important of all, I was cheap.

    Grogan’s is not the oldest pub in Galway. It’s the oldest unchanged pub in Galway.

    While all the rest go

    Uni-sex

    Low-fat

    Karaoke

    Over-the-top

    it remains true to the format of fifty or more years ago. Beyond basic. Spit and sawdust floor, hard seats, no-frills stock. The taste for

    Hooches

    Mixers

    Breezers

    hasn’t yet been acknowledged.

    It’s a serious place for serious drinking. No bouncers with intercoms on the door. Not an easy pub to find. You head up Shop Street, skip Garavan’s, turn into a tiny alley and you’re home. If not free, at least unfettered.

    I like it because it’s the only pub that never barred me. Not once, not ever.

    The bar is free of ornamentation. Two hurleys are crisscrossed over a blotched mirror. Above them is a triple frame. It shows a pope, St Patrick, and John F. Kennedy. JFK is in the centre.

    The Irish saints.

    Once the pope held centre field, but after the Vatican Council he got bounced. He clings to an outside left.

    Precarious the pose.

    I dunno which pope he is, but he has the look of them all. It’s unlikely he’ll regain mid-field any time soon.

    Sean, the owner, who can recall Cliff Richard being young, said to me,

    Cliff was the English Elvis.

    A horrendous concept.

    Grogan’s was my office. I sat there most mornings and waited for the world to come knocking. Sean would bring me coffee. A measure of brandy poured in—to kill the bitterness.

    Some days, he seems so frail I fear he’ll never make the few steps to my table.

    The cup rattles on the saucer like the worst of bad news. I’d say,

    Use a mug.

    He’d be horrified, say,

    There are standards!

    Once I asked, as he shook in unison with the cup,

    Will you ever retire?

    Will you ever stop drinking?

    Fair enough.

    A few days on from Cheltenham, I was at my usual table. I’d won a few quid on the Champion Hurdle and hadn’t yet squandered it. I was reading Time Out. Most every week I’d buy it. The London guide, listing nigh on every event in the capital.

    My plan.

    Oh yeah, I had one. Few things more lethal than a drinker with a plan. Here was mine.

    I’d gather up every penny I had, borrow more, then head for London.

    Rent a fine flat in Bayswater and wait.

    That was it. Just wait.

    This dream got me through many’s the awful Monday.

    Sean rattled over, put my coffee down, asked,

    Any sign of you going?

    Soon.

    He muttered some benediction.

    Took a sip of my coffee and it burned the roof of my mouth.

    Perfect.

    The brandy after-hit lit among my gums, battering my teeth. Those moments before the fall.

    Paradise encapsulated.

    J.M. O’Neill in Duffy is Dead wrote that brandy gives you breath, then takes it away. More, you had to get up earlier and earlier to drink yourself sober enough for opening time.

    Try explaining that to the non-afflicted.

    A woman came in, looked round, then moved to the counter. I wished I was more than I was. Putting my head down, I tried out my detection skills. Or rather, my power of observation. Had only glanced at her; how much could I recall? A fawn medium-length coat, expensive cut. Brown hair to her shoulders. Make-up but no lipstick. Deep-set eyes over a button nose, strong mouth. Pretty, but not overly so. Sensible shoes of good brown leather.

    Conclusion: out of my zone. She spoke to Sean, and he pointed at me. I looked up as she approached. She asked,

    Mr Taylor?

    Yeah.

    May I have a few words?

    Sure, sit down.

    Up close, she was prettier than I’d seen. The lines around her eyes were deep. Her age I’d put at late thirties. I asked,

    Can I get you a drink?

    The man is getting me coffee.

    While we waited, she examined me. Not in a discreet fashion, openly without subterfuge. Sean came with the coffee … and behold, a plate of biscuits. I eyed him and he said,

    Mind yer business.

    After he’d gone, she said,

    He’s so fragile.

    Without thinking, I said the worst thing,

    Him? He’ll bury the both of us.

    She flinched as if to duck. I stormed on,

    What do you want?

    Composing herself, she said,

    I need your help.

    How?

    I was told you help people.

    If I can.

    My daughter … Sarah … she … she committed suicide in January. She was only sixteen.

    I made appropriate noises of sympathy. She continued,

    I don’t believe she’d … kill herself … she … just wouldn’t.

    I tried not to sigh. She gave a brief bitter smile, said,

    It’s what a parent would say … isn’t it? But, something happened after.

    After?

    Yes, a man rang, said, ‘She was drowned.’

    That threw me. I fumbled to get in gear, asked,

    What?

    That’s what he said. Nothing else, just those three words.

    I realised I didn’t even know her name.

    Ann … Ann Henderson.

    How far behind was I lagging? Time to crank up. I bolted my laced coffee. Did something, said,

    Mrs Henderson … I…

    It’s not Mrs—I’m not married. Sarah’s father lit out on us a long time ago. We only had each other … that’s why she’d never … leave me … alone.

    Annie, when a tragedy like this happens, weirdos and cranks come out of the woodwork. It’s a beacon to them. They ghoul-in on pain.

    She bit her lower lip, then raised her head, said,

    "He knew."

    Rummaging in her bag, she produced a fat envelope, said,

    I hope there’s enough there. It’s the savings for our trip to America. Sarah had it all planned.

    Next she laid a photograph beside the cash. I pretended to look. She said,

    Will you try?

    I can’t promise anything.

    I know there were a lot of things I should, could, have said. But I said nothing. She asked,

    Why are you a drunk?

    Caught me blindside. I said,

    What makes you think I have a choice?

    Ah, that’s nonsense.

    I was halfway angry, not all out but circling, asked,

    "How come you want … a drunk … to help you?"

    She stood up, gave me a hard look, said,

    They say you’re good because you’ve nothing else in your life.

    And she was gone.

    … responds quickly to the task at hand.

    Assessment Report

    I live by the canal. But a scarf away from the university. At night I like to sit, listen to the students roar.

    And they do.

    It’s a small house, the old two-up, two-down. The landlord has converted it to two flats. I have the ground floor. A bank clerk named Linda is above. A country girl, she has adopted all the worst aspects of urban life. A sort of knowing cunning.

    She’s a looker, in her early twenties. Once, when she forgot her key, I picked the lock. Emboldened, I asked,

    Fancy an evening out?

    Oh, I never break my golden rule.

    What’s that?

    Don’t date drunkards.

    Time later, her car had a flat and I changed the tyre. She said,

    Listen, that other time—I was outa line.

    Outa line!

    Everyone is quasi-American in the worst way.

    I stood up, grease covering my hands, waited. She continued,

    I shouldn’t have said, you know … the awful thing.

    Hey, forget it.

    Forgiveness is a heady fix. It makes you stupid. I said,

    So, you want to go out, grab a bite?

    Oh, I couldn’t.

    What?

    You’re too old.

    That evening, under darkness, I crept out, punctured her tyre

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