Free The Rage by Gene Kerrigan Page A

though wondering if it was worth trying to explain. ‘Oliver’s death – it’s not about the little shits who did it. It’s about what Oliver lost. All the time he didn’t have, the things he didn’t get to do. Switched off like a light, and no sense to it. Nothing will fill that hole. I know you’re doing your best, but knowing the name of the creep who killed him, that won’t do it, not even if he goes to jail. There’s nothing positive to be got out of any of this – it’s all shit.’
    James was leaning back in an armchair, his long legs straight out in front, the bottle within reach, the glass sitting in the palm of his upturned hand.
    ‘You take it seriously, this policing lark?’
    ‘You were a good builder, or so you’ve told me. People ought to take pride in their work.’
    ‘Runs in the family, does it?’
    ‘My father was a die operator in a plastics extrusion factory – small place, non-union. Only time you got to open your mouth was to say “yes, sir”. What he said to me – you get the habit of bowing and scraping, it becomes part of your nature. Don’t get the habit, he said.’
    ‘Why the police?’
    ‘It was the 1980s,’ Tidey said. ‘I was just out of school, you know the state the country was in – queues at the American Embassy, kids begging for visas. So, a job’s a job.’
    ‘I don’t believe that.’
    ‘That was part of it. I had notions, in those days – I was young, I wanted to do something that meant something. If I wasn’t an atheist I might have joined the Legion of Mary and delivered meals on wheels. What I did was hook up with the Simon Community – soup runs, that kind of thing. One day, I walked into my local station and asked how I could become a Garda. Know what I really liked about the job?’
    ‘The overtime?’
    ‘When trouble happens, most people turn and run. It’s the people who run towards the trouble – medics, firefighters, the police – they’re the ones I wanted to be with.’
    James nodded. ‘I can see the attraction in that. But there were times – on the picket lines – trying to protect the little we had, our backs were to the wall, and sometimes it got a bit technicolour. Your lot – the batons would come out, or they’d link arms and come at us like a tank. A lot of those fuckers were enthusiastic about their work.’
    ‘Wherever there are uniforms, you’ll find little corporals – people who get their kicks barking orders. But there’s all sorts in the force.’
    ‘No doubt – but back in the day, it was the little corporals I always seemed to come across.’
    They were well into the bottle when Bob Tidey went to the flat’s claustrophobic kitchen. He found some Cheddar in the fridge and half a sliced pan and made a couple of sandwiches. James accepted his and said, ‘You still living the bachelor life?’
    ‘Wouldn’t have it any other way.’
    ‘The women are flocking, no doubt?’
    Tidey grunted. ‘Have to beat them off with a stick.’
    ‘Life’s grand when it’s grand, right enough.’
    Tidey leaned forward, his voice gentle. ‘You’ve given up, then, body and soul? Or does anything matter?’
    ‘I’m mildly curious about how they’re going to fix this mess – broken banks, queues for food parcels,’ James said. ‘When I was young, I waved my fist around. The workers’ flag is deepest red, all that shit. Trade unions are out of fashion now, but everything we ever got we had to fight for it – money, hours, conditions. Today, it’s like everyone’s grateful to be a unit of labour, to be plugged in or pulled out according to their master’s will.’
    Tidey said, ‘People are scared. They just want this to be over, whatever it takes.’
    ‘After all the bullshit about the fight for freedom, about throwing off the foreign yoke – they gave the country away. The politicians fell in love with the smart fellas – gave them any law they wanted. The smart fellas made speeches and gave interviews about