69 Minutes on a Rainy Night in Limerick

An African in his twenties, two Eastern Europeans, and an old man from

somewhere in Ireland, were the only people in the Burger King on the corner, at

7.14pm that evening.

And what an evening it was. The water hammered out of the sky as if the North

Atlantic itself had risen up out of the earth, and decided to hover over Limerick City

for the night.

At 6.13 he walked across the bridge, cursing himself for not having rang a taxi.

The left side of his body was soaked through. The jeans he bought that day were

clinging to his legs like a second skin, his belly rumbled, and his mind began to tell

him that he couldn’t go into a restaurant like this. Why not he replied, its only water!

Ah for goodness sake, what would people think, and besides you’d be asked to leave

before you even got a chance to sit down. Jesus we’re in the middle of a recession, it’s

hardly a time to be choosy about customers. But, I suppose you never know.

In the centre of town an old man hobbled toward the only place he felt he might

get some shelter. I’ll not be bothered much in there he thought, as he peered across at

the big red neon sign. He had an old sneaker on one foot, a black shoe with the laces

missing on the other. His trousers clung around his crotch, while the urine trickled

unremorsefully down his legs and out on to the street. His bowels had long stopped

cooperating with the rest of his body, and the sticky brown patch around his rear had

been darkening in colour, and gaining in weight all day. He grappled at the right side
of his pants, got a decent grip, and began to drag his bad leg with him slowly across

the street.

Simon Hutso stared out at the rain as he finished his bacon double cheeseburger,

and guzzled at his coke. Fucking country! He thought. Rain, Rain! Always fucking

raining. I come to this country for what – for rain every day. Everyday it rains.

Fucking country!

His mother named him Simon, after the English man she had to abandon for the

husband her grandfather had chosen. Simon left Nigeria in the spring of two thousand

and three.

He was the only the customer in the burger king that night, and that bothered

him too. Not even a few pretty little Irish girls to flirt with. Fucking Weather! He

sucked out the last of his coke, let out a satisfying burp, followed by a carefree sigh,

and lifted his spoon as he lustfully eyed the caramel cheesecake ice cream in front of

him. He loved this stuff and always got one when he went in there. As he began to

coax the soft sweet cream form its container his phone rang. A wide smile formed

across his face and he answered. Ah Mtunzi my friend, how are you he asked, as the

first dollop of the dessert oozed over his tongue and began its slow descent

downward. He spoke loudly and quickly. And precious how is she, you must tell her

she owes me for that ticket. Another spoonful enters his mouth. His head thrusts

backward and releases a loud bellowing laugh as he swallows. Ireland man, no no he

gurgles, as the cheesecake battles its way past his larynx. Better you stay where you

are my friend, you would cry all the time about the weather. No sun here my Muti,

only rain. Everyday it rains.

 Behind the counter Ika Ditrimotrov and Irmantas Kolvechechca, talked about

Christmas and another year away form home. Irmantas stood breastfeeding the mop

just in case the manager appeared. Ika smiled and turned her head to the front door

then quickly back again. In the three months they had worked here they had never

witnessed just one lone customer. She leaned vigilantly against the counter and

resumed her chat with her workmate. At least for now the rain was on their side.

At 6.35pm, with the jeans now utterly saturated, he squelched his way into the

protection of a bus-stop. He considered rolling a smoke, chose against it, and walked

on. His irritable mood was passing as he thought of all the times he had been out in

weather such as this, with no knowing at all of where he would sleep that night. As he

contemplated on the warm comfortable hotel room awaiting his return, and the several

thousand Euros in his hip pocket, his thinking began to change and he looked with

gratitude up into the sky and spoke a silent thank you into the heavens.

He was born in England to Irish parents. The youngest of three children and the

hardest one to handle too, his Mother always said. His father had Hurried them all

back to Donegal in the mid-seventies, just in time before the British Taxman awoke

from a ten year slumber. He didn’t know limerick well. He’d passed through it a

couple of times in his days on the road, but all that seemed like another lifetime to

him now. As he passed by a large pub he glanced in the window. He thought of how

in the past he had spent many a night like this, in a pub just like that. Again he looked

upwards through the barrage of spitting pins and needles bombarding the streets, and

smiled, as he reminded himself that he hadn’t had a drink in fifteen months. He

looked at his watch- 6.45- Plenty of time he thought.

 The old man stood outside the burger king and rummaged through his pockets.

He didn’t know the price of a bag of chips in this place, though and he was certain

that if he just went in and sat down he wouldn’t be sitting for long. He held out his

hand, and closing one eye, started to count. Two Euros and eighty five Cent. If this

doesn’t get me a poke of chips, then I don’t know what the country is coming to. He

reached out his arm and took hold of the handle of one of the swinging doors and

pulled it towards himself. A waft of warm air hit him all at once and he stumbled.

Now Jacky boy he told himself. Don’t waver. Stand tall lad and pull up your trousers.

Never mind the smell, you’ve been worse. Never mind that young bucko staring at

you either, besides he’s a foreigner. A darky as well. That fellow would hardly know

much about toilets and stuff out about Africa. Hold your head up boy and act as if

you’re the happiest man alive.

At 6.51pm, five hundred yards from the burger king, Donegal Seamus – as he

was sometimes affectionately called – stopped at a steakhouse and looked in. Jesus

there’s only a few in there he thought. He eyed a lovely little table right in the corner,

and close to the door too. Jesus that’s a grand spot says he to himself. Then he looked

down at his legs and thought again. Ah Christ man, look at the state of you. You cant

go in like this. They’d be gawking at you, and you’d be practically stuck to the seat.

Fuck it I need a smoke anyway. He noticed another joint just across the street. A

young chap in a panama hat stood under a canopy outside it, with glass of something

in his hand. The rain had eased and a young woman came skipped out the door

wrapping a dark woollen shawl around her. As the guy in the Panama hat drained his

glass of its contents she turned to him and asked him for a light. Sorry don’t smoke he

said, but you could ask that fellow coming over the street.. How are ya, Seamus said
mildly, in a Northern brogue that never failed to grab people’s attention. The young

woman hugged herself with her shawl and smiled. Come in out of that rain she said,

the high stool’s the only place to be on a night like this. Seamus thought of how many

a time he taken up similar offers, all of them ending up the same way. Tonight he

didn’t feel the need to, and that was nothing short of a miracle. Thanks, but I’m just

looking for a convenience store that sells coffee. The Chap with the Panama hat

pointed to the top of the street, inviting him to look in that direction. He looked up

through the traffic and could see the green light of a Centra shop about three hundred

yards from where he stood.

He was about to walk away when the woman said, WAIT, have you got a light.

Seamus handed her a lighter. Keep it he said, i have another. I’ll be here until closing

time if your change your mind she stressed. He raised his hand in a gesture of

disinterest and carried on up the street.

Simon Hutso’s smile changed to a repulsive cringe when he noticed the old man

enter the Burger King. The silence confused the caller on the other end. Did you hear

me….. Simon….Hello….Simon. I can’t hear you Simon, can you hear me. Hello?

Hutso returns from his distraction and flings his annoyance down the phone. A man

has come in here and he is all shit. He is completely shit I tell you. This is disgusting

Muti. You would not believe it. What are you talking about Simon…..Shit, he is all

shit…..I need to go, I will you call you later…..Simon I need to know if…..Muti I

need to go, I will call you later.

Ika Ditrimotrov, never noticed old Jacky come in. Iramntas has been telling her

about a party he was planning to have at his place on Saturday night. It was only a rise
in the volume of Simon Hutso’s voice that made her turn around all. At that stage

Jacky boy himself was closing in on the counter. Keep going Jacky, he encouraged

himself. If you make to the counter before she looks down you’ll be grand. Keep

going lad. That’s it keep smiling, keep jingling them coins, and never mind that

bollocks behind you.

Seamus Galvin slid of his gloves and shook the water of his gortex jacket. The

doors of the Centra retreated with a swish, and he stepped inside. Ahh! He let out a

glad sigh of relief and looked around. At the far end of the shop he could just make

out the top of a coffee machine peeking over the heads of cereal boxes. He walked his

way down the isle adjacent to the service counter appreciating the warmth on his face

and the free movement of his hands. He stopped briefly allowing his attention to be

captured by the headline of an Irish examiner on a newspaper stand to his left.

“Floods leave forty thousand in Cork without water” it read. His head trembled as

a teenage memory flew in form nowhere. What was that guy’s name he thought, as he

tried to follow the picture, back down, through the corridor of time. He closed his

eyes and found himself standing in the drawing room of an American friend of his

fathers. Bright morning sunlight falling through the massive windows, hitting the

wooden floor in front him, then bouncing back up and splashing into his face. A face

spellbound, utterly possessed and dragged quite willingly, into another world by the

words of poem in a book, randomly plucked form a ladder of shelves that reached all

the way to the ceiling. He looks at the dark red cover, searching for the name. He

watches his finger sail over the dusty cover and land on the silver writing, speckled by

the morning sun. “Samuel L Coleridge the rhyme of the Ancient Marnier”. That’s it!

A loud siren outside has him back staring at the Irish Examiner. A childlike giggle
dances in his throat as he mutters under his breath, “Water water everywhere, though

not a drop to drink”. What a world we live in, he wonders, and carries on to the coffee

machine.

Can I help you sir. A bag of chips please young lady. Excuse me, says Ikea, a

what? A bag of chips, you know, a bag of chips. Ika feels the spark of a small fire in

her stomach. It shoots up through her body, and just in time, with gritted teeth, she

stops it from escaping out her mouth. Yes chips. I know. But what will you want with

your chips sir. Do we sell chips on their own she wonders? No, no, just chips love,

I’m not hungry enough for this stuff as he points up at the value meals displayed

above their heads. Ika automatically looks behind her as if something were there that

she was not aware of before. She tightens her jaw and swings back around to face

Jacko. His grip on the counter is starting to weaken and he can hear his right leg

.yelling to him that enough is enough. He coughs to try to distract her impatience, and

the fact that he is on verge of hitting the white tiled floor.

Simon Hutso is on the phone again and more that halfway through his dessert.

If it were me my friend, I would not have even been allowed in to the place. She

is talking she says Simon, trying to keep one eye on the spoon as it dives under the

surface of the ice cream yet again. I cannot believe that she is standing there talking to

him. I tell you man I can smell him form here. It is not funny Muti. You are not trying

to eat with the smell of shit everywhere. And he is all wet, and it is making him

worse. The man is coming over now. Wait a minute. The man is coming over.
 Standing outside the Centra Seamus galvin draws deeply on his cigarette, feels

the gentle calmness hit the floor of his belly and blows the smoke out onto the streets

of limerick. He rests his coffee on the makeshift lotto booth clinging to the wall and

goes to put back on his gloves when his phone rings. Where are you, the voice asks.

Just having coffee at the moment replies Seamus and reaches for the plastic cup. Is

everything all right. Do you know where it is. I thought you’d be there by now. I’m

very close. I’ll ring you when its time. He hung up, took another mouthful of the

coffee and discarded it into the bin next to him.

Irmantas Kolvechea walked with mop in hand form behind the service racks

towards Ika and Jacko. Is everything ok he asked in half a whisper, as if he wasn’t

even sure why he asked the question. We’ll lad, how are you doing said Jacky, with a

smile that was beginning to betray him. Irmantas looked bemusedly at jack and turned

back to Ika, in baffelment. Ika felt the fire recede a little, and looked pleadingly at

Irmantas. Do we sell chips on their own here?

The rain was upping the ante as Galvin walked back down the street. He crossed

swiftly to the other side and continued. He looked up when he heard the rumble of a

jet, rising up into the darkness and felt a crankiness creeping back over him. Did you

get your coffee, a giddy voice shouted form behind a newly inspired deluge making

its way Earthbound. Without breaking pace he turned his head to source the

interruption. The guy in the Panama hat stepped out of a small kebab house cradling a

large brown paper bag, blotched with grease. You wanna chip. No thanks answered

Seamus. Theres a Mc Donald’s around here somewhere though isn’t there. Yea, yea,

sure man. His free hand rises and points to the corner. Down that way to your right. A
couple of minutes walk. Directly across form burger king, you cant miss it. Thanks

shouts Seamus. Are you sure you wont have a chip. Seamus dissmises him with a

wave, as the friendly local scurries madly to save his hat form a puddle the size of a

small swimming pool.

Irmantas Kolvechca shrugs his shoulders as the mop rises an inch or two stay

with him. Just chips he says in his own language. Ika rolls her eyes skyward and lets

out a long well earned breath. Yes she replies, again in Lithuanian, Just chips, in

English this time. Just a bag of chips, that’s it, says old jacko trying to hide the rolling

gravel in his voice. The music of a phone travelling form the staff cloakroom releases

the mop back into a resting position and Irmantas says, yeah, I suppose, why not.

Jacko opens a hand and the coins disembark onto the counter in front of Ika. She

looks again at Irmantas about to make a dart for the cloakroom and asks him in their

language how much. He backtracks, shrugs his shoulders again and says, I don’t

know, mabey two fifty.

In the middle of the floor Simon hutso rises in disbelief when he sees the lady

behind the counter head towards the fryer and sling a basket of chips onto the scoop

tray. He throws his arms in the air but words wont come out. He keeps them

suspended in the hope that they draw her attention. Ah this is shit he growls to

himself. Fucking shit. His phone rings again, and he reaches down just in time before

it vibrates off the table.

Seamus Galvin can see the big M staring down the street at him. He lifts his arm

to check the time. 7.09. His slows his pace down, angry with himself for hurrying in
the first place. As Mc Donalds gets closer he fires his vison across the street to be

sure, then gets angry again for second guessing himself. Slow down and gather

yourself for fuck sake Seamus. This is not like you. Not like you at all. Besides its

him that owes you. Seamus moves in under the cover of the Mc Donalds Entrance. He

peels back his hood, slips off his gloves, delves into his inside pocket, takes our his

golden virgina and as quick you like rolls himself a smoke. Gently he slides it

between his lips and sparks it up. As the first hit of nicotine courses through him he

fixes his sights on the burger king, staring at him from across the street.

Back inside Old Jacko thanks Ika for the chips and tells her to put the change in

the poor box. Fucking freak, he hears her mumble as he moves away, but pays no

attention. Keep away from that fellow over there now Jacky boy he reminds himself,

as moves slowly in the direction of the toilets. I’ll go down to that corner by the

window. Give him feck all to complain about. Jacky knew he was a mess, but he also

knew that there was bugger all he could now about it. Not right now anyway. And

behind all his apparent insanity, deep down he knew, that too long outside on a night

like this would probally kill him. Jacky accepted he had little to live for. But he didn’t

want to die either.

Seamus Galvins phone rings just as green man lights up. He looks at the screen

and sends a silent fuck into himself. Micheal I’m just on my way in the door, what is

it. Your there! Ahh great Seamus!. Is everthing ok? What do you mean Micheal.

Nothing Seamus….its just….just what Micheal….well you seem to be taking all this

very well Seamus. How do mean Micheal. Well, I don’t know, I mean. Well you

know. No I don’t Micheal. What do you mean. Nothing Seamus, Nothing. I just want

everything to work out, you know. Like I said Micheal ill ring you when its time.
Galvin reaches the other side of the street, puts his phone on silent, takes a final drag

from his fag and stamps it to the ground. As he walks up to the swinging doors he

spots a line of taxis 50 metres down the adjoining street and makes a deal with

himself that he wont be getting wet again tonight. The hood gets pulled back again,

the jacket gets shaken out, the gloves come off, and he walks into the burger king.

In a multi-storey car park across the street a pitch black range rover, registration

number 08-D-2412 comes to a stop overlooking the traffic below. The rolling stones

sing out, “you cant always get what you want” as the driver grunts to himself and

stabs at the on/off button to kill it.

Back in the burger king Seamus Galvin is putting his gloves into his coat pocket

as he walks toward Simon Hutso’s Table. Hutso sucks his teeth and reaches for his

phone to dial a number. Across to his left, right in the coner, Seamus notices old

Jacky and feels a tight grip in his gut. His eyes close in a flicker a the voice inside him

tells him to count his blessings. As he passes Simon hutso he senses a penetrating

stare fly straight at him, but he allows it to whistle around and over him like an

unwelcome gust of cold air Its too short a day and this night is too wet he tells

himself.

Irmantas Kolvechecha walks out form behind the serving racks when he see

Seamus Galvin approach the counter. Can I help you he says as he take a quick peek

behind him at the cloakroom door. Seamus looks up at the menu board and points to

the big bright picture of a flame grilled Angus with cheese and bacon, and says one

of those. I’ll have one those. And chips as well. What drink, Irmantas asks. Do you do
coffee asks Seamus. Coffee? Of course answers Irmantas, with an – are you stupid

look - that seamus lets whistle over his head. Coffee then, I’ll have coffee says

Seamus. If that’s ok. Oh and one of those as well. Irmantas turns his head to look at

what the customer is pointing at. They look good says Seamus, I’ll have one of those

as well. Irmantas turns back to the till and starts poking at the digital screen. Angus

meal, with coffee and cheesecake ice cream. Is it for here, Irmantas asks. What says

Seamus. Your meal sir, are you having it here or are you taking it away. Seamus grins

amusingly and looks down at the small pool emerging around him. He trurns around

toward the huge windows and back again to Irmantas and says with a smile, now,

what do you think. Irmantas raises his hand to cover his mouth, and coughs, hoping to

suppress a loud laugh now lodged in his throat. That will be eight euro and seventy

cents please. Where are your toilets asks Seamus. Irmantas points in direction of

where old Jacky is sitting. Seamus turns around and sees a green and red door next to

each other indicating male and female restrooms. He takes out his wallet, rests a 20

euro note on the counter, and makes his way to the jacks.

From the highground of the parking lot the driver of the range rover scans the

interior of the burger king. Though a highpowered telescopic lens he follows Seamus

Galvin all the way to toilets. He swings now all along the front windows and catches

old Jacky, holding him there for a few seconds. He takes flight again, now in a low

semi-circular motion and stops at the counter. Homing in through gaps in the empty

service racks, he rests a yard in front of Irmantas kolvechca, standing chatting at the

cloakroom door. The elevated watcher turns the zoom wheel on his sights a notch and

swoops at speed right up to Irmantas’s shoulder. He can see a small fool exposing

itself just inside the door. Satisfied, he draws back and hovers for a second around the

centre of the floor. Off again he follows through on his scout and hits the spot of
space occupied by Simon Hutso. He dives right in, close enough to see the small red

hairline cracks on the whites of his eye. He stays with Simon for a few seconds, then

retreats back ouside. He glides up and down the street once or twice, and then, like a

faithful falcon, returns in a flash to his hiding place, high above the heedless city.

On his way out of the toilets Seamus gets the whiff of old Jacky boy, as he sings

aloud the boys of Wexford. Ika Ditrimotrov glares down at him from behind the

counter, as Galvin moves towards him. Irmantas she says, we will have ask him to

leave. How are ya lad, it’s a tight station says Jacky as he raises his thumb to the

stranger. Seamus throws him a trusting wink, gives him a thumbs up back, and says it

is boy, it is indeed. Where’s that accent from asks jacky. Before Seamus can answer a

voice from behind them says, “these seats are for customers sir” Old Jacky looks up

at Ika and says, aye, aye girl, I’m just finishing my chips. But there is nothing there

sir, they are gone. Aye says Jacky, I’m just finishing them now. Seamus stands there

without a word. Ika feels a tightness pervade her whole body, swings round with force

and trounces back towards the counter. Jacky starts to sing again, and Seamus Galvin

goes up to pay collect his food.

Simon Hutso bangs his phone on the table, as Seamus sits two tables in front of

him. Galvin looks to the window in front. It faithfully offers him an accurate

reflection of the man behind him. He quickly files it to the back of his mind and bites

cravingly into his burger.

 Back up in the parking lot the driver of the range rover is distracted by the blue

lights of a police car, easing its way past the taxi rank directly across from him. He

stiffens himself and keeps vigil.

Up in the high rise the driver of the range rover receives a text message. It

reads…all ok? He replies promptly….all ok!

The sound system in the burger king is singing along with old jacky, as the

police car pulls up outside. The driver of the range rover watches down curiously as

the two Gardai walk into the burger king. As their enter the restaurant Simon Hutso’s

jaw drops. He tells a friend on his phone that he will call him later. Seamus galvin

looks across at both men talking off their hats and walking toward the counter. Old

Jacky boy has stooped singing and shifts awakwardly in his seat. Seamus takes

another bite out of his burger, as Jacky hoists himself out of his seat and begins to

make his way to the door. The policemen are at the counter. Ika Ditrimtrov points

towards the old man now exiting the building. The coppers look round but Jacky has

dissapeard into shelter of the streets.

Simon hutso watches them both put back on their hats, as they walk toward their

car, still flashing next to the pavement. Both Seamus Galvin and the driver of the

range rover observe the blue lights until they they are swallowed by the city.

Immediately, and without warning ,Simon Hutso jumps up and throws his hands

in the air, and begins to hurl his anger, out into the empty space everywhere. I don’t

belieive you let this man into this place. It stinks in here, cant you smell it he shouts

and looks in Galvins Direction. He was about to turn his maddening appeal toward
the counter when the bullet entered his temple. Seamus Galvins heart raced towards

his throat as Simon Hutsos Brains Scattered across the white tiled floor behind him

and his lifless body dropped like a sand-bag.

As Ika Ditrimitrovs screams reverberated off the walls and floor, Seamus

galvins phone rings. His mind goes into overdrive as he holds the phone in his hand

wondering what the fuck is going on. On instinct he switches it off, and grabs his

gloves and walks door. Outside he quickens his pace as the driver of the range rover

starts his machine and shifts the gears into reverse. Thirty seconds later Seamus is

opening the door of the first Taxi in a line of four. Where too. says a big sullen

looking limerick man, sitting behind the wheel. Seamus sits in and clears his throat.

Just across the wota, to the strand hotel he says, in his best English accent. He releases

himself into the seat and lets out a slow heavy breath, as the driver swings the car

around and heads towards the Shannon.

Scuttling up the steps of the hotel, Seamus turns on his phone. It beeps several

times. Messages, three of them, all in the last five minutes. Fuck them they can wait.

Up in his room Seamus tears of his wet clothes and wraps himself in large white bath

towel. He picks his phone up and dials a number. A young woman answers. Your

early she says. Never mind that says Seamus. You know where I am says Seamus,

more a statement than a question. She pulls her shawl around her and take the black

lighter from her pocket. The one with the STRAND HOTEL advertised in white

across it Of course, she says. Half an hour then, Seamus tells her. Half an hour then

she replies.

Seamus Galvin stands by the window, takes a long draw on a freshly made

ciggeratte, and exhales mirad of confusion against the glass. He looks out at the
relentless barrage of water now smothering the city, and wonders will there ever be an

end to it.