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mouth was numb but not hurting. Numb I could hack. Asked,
    “Who put me to bed?”
    Half smile then.
    “We found you on the floor. You were in bad shape, my friend. Got a doctor and he worked on you. That was two days ago.”
    “Jesus.”
    “The clan have guarded you in shifts. You will, of course, need a dentist.”
    “I need tea.”
    He got up, and I nodded at the gun. He said,
    “If you’d been carrying this, you wouldn’t be toothless.”
    “I was carrying chips. If I’d had that, they’d have made me eat it.”
    “They surprised you?”
    “They bloody amazed me.”
    He went to do tea things, and I got cautiously out of bed. Woozy but functional, I moved slowly towards the bathroom, avoiding the mirror. I’ve never been an oil painting, but without teeth, I was the total descent into ugliness. Told myself,
    “Gives character to your face.”
    Sure. That and a 9mm, maybe people wouldn’t fuck with me. When I finally got downstairs, I had on an NUI sweatshirt, faded 501s. My balls were black and blue and swollen. Managed to drink some tepid tea, skipped the toast. Sweeper passed over some red and grey capsules, said,
    “Keep the pain at a distance.”
    I was thinking coke, possible with a broken nose? He said,
    “I removed the cocaine lest the guards come.”
    When I didn’t answer, he said,
    “Tiernans.”
    “What?”
    “Brothers, the ones who did you. They hate tinkers. They’ve gone to ground, but when they surface…I’ll let you know.”

The end, for all anyone could tell,

Was a conversation; polite, civilised

Almost banal; you had coffee with milk

No sugar. That was your

Customary choice. Nothing strange in that.

But, I had tea…

An unaccustomed choice;

Appropriate for an upheaval.
    Jeff O’Connell
    Apart from a visit to the dentist, I didn’t venture out much over the next few weeks. Stayed home, stayed semi-pissed. The dentist went,
    “Argh…”
    This wasn’t good. He asked,
    “What happened?”
    “Rugby scrum.”
    He gave me the look but let it slide. An hour and a half in the chair as he did horrendous things. My mouth was so full of instruments, I could have started a DIY. When we took a break, I said,
    “Don’t tell me any of the procedures.”
    “I’ve gotten most of the fragments out and…”
    “Whoa, Doc…trust me, I truly do not want to know.”
    Back in the chair, more excavation. Finally he did the impressions, said,
    “Should be able to fit you in a fortnight.”
    “Can’t you dance something temporary in there?”
    Shaking his head, he said,
    “Trust me, Mr Taylor, when the anaesthetic wears off, even your tongue is going to seem too much.”
    As I prepared to leave, he asked,
    “Have you medical insurance?”
    “Nope, that and no teeth: the Irish male in all his glory.”
    “Well, at least you’ve kept your sense of humour. I think you’re going to need it.”
    “Thanks, Doc, I wish I could say it’s been a pleasure.”
    “I’d ease up on the rugby for a bit.”
    During my last case, I’d been involved with a guard named Brendan Flood. He’d kicked the bejaysus out of me, broken the fingers of my left hand. That was the first time I met him. Then he got religion and a massive change of allegiance. Actually solved the case and led me to killing my best friend. What they call a colourful relationship. I’d kept his number and rang him that evening.
    “Hello?”
    “Brendan, it’s Jack Taylor.”
    Long pause, then deep intake of breath.
    “You’re back.”
    “I am.”
    “They never found your friend.”
    “No, no, they didn’t.”
    “What can I do for you, Jack?”
    “Your information was gold before: I wonder if I might prevail on you further?”
    “As long as it concurs with the Lord.”
    “Still a believer, eh?”
    “Yes, Jack, the Lord believes in you, too.”
    “Glad to hear it.”
    I told him about the killing of the tinkers. He asked,
    “The guards are not actively pursuing this?”
    “That’s why I’m calling you. Can