Guard the House! Page #2

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screaming for his money.

I grab hold of the nearest thing

that came into me hands.

This antique blunderbuss

me granddaddy got me...

Antique what?

Blunderbuss.

I was, er, showing it off, like,

and then the next thing you know,

I was battering him around

the f***in' head with it.

I mean, that is vicious, like, I'll admit.

What are you talking about?

You shot him in the head. You stuffed

pages from the Bible into his mouth.

You put a pot plant on his body

and painted "5" on the wall.

Sweet Jesus on a stick,

you have me under false pretences.

Now, look, I thought this was

about Joey Brennan. Huh?

- What the f***?

- The murder in the holiday home.

Jesus, lads, this was about 9:00pm,

wasn't it?

Aren't I telling ye I was in Hanley's?

I have about 20 witnesses.

Joey Brennan was f***in' alive when

I left him, so you can't get me on that!

Wasn't he roaring at me

with his f***in' broken lip?

You said he lapsed

into unconsciousness.

Yes, he lapsed into unconsciousness

and after that he f***in' woke up.

- And that's the whole story?

- That is the whole story.

- Has he made a complaint?

- No, he hasn't.

He's made a f***in' nuisance call,

it looks like.

Haul in this Joey Brennan,

see what he has to say.

See if we can charge him

with wasting police time.

Then get round

to this gobshite's house,

and charge his grandda

with illegal possession of a firearm.

- No, come on.

- I'm on it, Sarge.

"I'm on it, Sarge."

He thinks he's in f***in' Detroit.

So, your mother...

Six to eight weeks is the prognosis.

- That's what they told me.

- That is how long she has, then.

- She looks fine. Healthy.

- Hmm.

It's not what is on the outside

that counts,

it's what is on the inside...

eating away at you.

I just want her to be comfortable.

That's all.

- What are you reading?

- Oh.

Never got into the Russians.

They take too long

getting to the feckin' point.

Not even Dostoyevsky, no?

Come on, he was the main offender.

Gogol was good.

He went doolally in the end, though.

God love him.

How are you settling in?

Oh, all right, I suppose.

They're all so f***in' boring.

Who?

The inmates.

Including me.

I suppose they've a right

to be gloomy.

There's no need to make such

a f***in' song and dance about it!

'You're gonna die, copper.'

- 'Come on, copper.'

- Little early for a drink.

You're still on duty.

- You've been gone all afternoon.

- 'Flesh wound. Flesh wound.'

Are you going to make

declarative statements

or f***in' tell me something?

The murder over in Lettermore,

the victim's a John Doe.

He's a John Doe, is he?

- Yeah. It means...

- I know what it f***in' means. Go on.

'Good shot! '

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