Colm Brady

Identity Parade

Horace came around the corner preoccupied. Would he have enough paint for the downstairs bathroom? He needed brushes, white spirits and maybe….
"Can I have a minute of your time sir"
Horace looked up to see a Garda sergeant complete with hat appraising his appearance. The sergeant looked at the old hooded sweatshirt; jeans and paint spattered runners and obviously liked what he saw.
"I am looking for someone to take part in an identity parade, you know a Line Up like. I can promise if you get picked out we will bail you straight away"
Horace desperately scrambled to find a reason not to have to go into the garda station "I cant go in cos my car will get clamped" he blurted out neglecting to mention the lack of some window decorations like an NCT or Tax disc on the same vehicle.
"You cannot be clamped while on Garda Business" replied the sergeant with a smile that spoke of many hours on business on the double yellow outside the Canton Village in Salthill.
The levity of the policeman was infectious and as Horace couldn’t think of a viable excuse he allowed himself to be led by the elbow into the station.
"Well it will be a different sort of a Saturday morning anyway" he said with the false assurance of the already condemned man. As they crossed the carpark the mental list became longer….Shoplifting , Affray, Impersonating a police officer in a nightclub and being in possession of a stolen walkman (briefly) in 1985.Maybe this was a sting operation dating back to that walkman he got off McGuinness at school, the start of a life of crime and it had only played the tapes backward before mangling them.
The sergeant and Horace walked up to the grey edifice of Millstreet Station and strolled past the dour officer on the counter.
"Last one for the line-up in 3F John" announced the ranking officer as he typed a code into a keypad at the green door. The area was festooned with public notices regarding drink-driving, drugs and domestic violence. As the door opened they heard talk coming from the end of the hall.
They passed cramped offices with overflowing wire trays of paper and notices on the walls headed with the Garda masthead. The atmosphere was half frustration and half boredom.
The source of the chat became apparent then; there were five tall blocky individuals in various stages of tattoo and piercing heaven. They had northern accents and their bearing and clothes screamed "Stag Party".Three other nondescript men stood at the near end of the line. They were being prepared by a smaller guard with thinning red hair. He spoke breathlessly as if from a script after completing a hundred-meter sprint.
"Right lads we have the nine of ye here now so this is the story. Each of you will stand in front of a number on the ground here"
They were in a locker room, which had a steel door for each guard. A pretty ban garda sat at a desk and the walls were decorated with different posters; the GRA and Garda Credit Union.
Nine A4 sheets containing numerals from one to nine were laid along the back wall. The Stag boys who jostled and laughed as they picked a number.
Breathless Mahoney ,as Horace had dubbed him mentally, spoke again.
"No more talking until we are finished here lads – we are bringing in the witness now"
Horace found himself at number nine at the end and he began to obsess that this was too prominent a position for an intenational crime baron such as himself. Nothing for it but to grit his teeth and try to look innocent.
The sound of footsteps in the hall stopped all fidgeting in the room.A slight youth in an expensive tracksuit was led by Breathless into the middle of the room .
It was easy to see that this was the part most enjoyed by Breathless as he did not consult his script once.
"Right I want you to take a good look at each man before indicating to me that you can identify the defendant – do you understand?"
The young man nodded and started his way up the line from number one .The first suspect was a Bullet Headed blocky man in his early thirties. He had the prominent forehead and flattened nose of a boxer. Benny and his brother Ger had come down from Monaghan for the Stag Party of their cousin last night and due to bad behaviour had been thrown out of their Hostel this morning. The guards had arrived supposedly to collect innocent passers by for a line up. Benny didn’t trust guards on principal and with sobriety came the realisation that a garda station was probably not the ideal place for his gang of northern ambassadors. He avoided the gaze of the witness as he pictured the diesel laundering outfit on his land near the border. The walls appeared to be closing in on him when finally the gaze moved onto Ger , his brother, in the number eight position.
Ger was practically chewing through his lip at being in the spotlight. He was not as tall or well built as Benny but was just as much trouble as many had found out at home. He eyed the breathless guard and witness and wholeheartedly regretted slapping that bouncer outside the gentlemans club last night. Initially the regret was because he had hurt his hand on the Neanderthals head and secondly the legal ramifications were becoming clear. The guards at home were probably onto the cattle tagging operation to claim subsidies both sides of the border and some of these little fuckers on the stag knew a little too much about his business. Benny was solid but the young lads might not know the protocol of "Say nothing and keep saying it " when dealing with the authorities.
The witness gave no reaction and moved onto number seven, Warren MacAree.
Warren was the best man for the upcoming nuptials and was feeling confident about last night.He had after all been asleep most of the evening after the shots of Sambuca were served up and therefore could not have been guilty of any crime. A beatified grin arose to greet the witness only to disappear instantly as the truth hit him.Up until six months ago his silver BMW had been Green and in the legal possession of a doctor in Louth. Warren was 24 but still feared reprisals from the Mother if he cocked up his duty to keep the groom at liberty for the wedding.
The next in line was the groom Enda MacAree , the quietest and smallest of the party.He shared his brothers fear of the implications on the wedding.Most of the lavish ceremony had been financed by the bootleg DVDs he sold on the markets each weekend.If he was missing on the appointed day for whatever reason he stood to lose more than the deposit at the country club hotel.He thought of Yvonne and the beating she and her family would inflict on him as the witness’ gaze moved to number five in line.
The last of the stag party present was known as Burger because he ate an inordinate amount of them.All that was on his mind was to get this over with so they could indulge in a massive fried breakfast.The witness did not tarry long with his image as his body did not match the profile he had described.
The next two were a different breed maybe unique to Galway.Thin and gaunt they were in their early twenties but both had left three college courses already to further their advanced studies in oversleeping and amateur pharmaceuticals. Gonzo , the taller one , was guilty of having an unlicenced greyhound while Silent Bob, the quiet one, had bought a chest freezer on their landlords ESB bill.The fact that the freezer was to be repossessed imminently was only half the problem. Gonzo and silent Bob had filled it with the years bumper crop of magic mushrooms and had no way of getting rid of the lot.This weighed heavily on their cloudy minds and they had but the slightest interest in whatever crime was being investigated here. Breathless had been responsible for hand picking these two specimens and was justifiably proud of his skills.
The attention came on number eight who was in a black shirt and next to Horace.The youth showed no reaction which was a good sign number eight surmised. He had a full clean driving licence , no criminal record ,paid his taxes and worked hard.The only spot on his conscience was getting involved in a fight in Oranmore over a taxi.Some little Gurrier had tried to skip the queue and a minor scuffle had ensued.He looked up the line at the pantheon of the wicked and reckoned with his neat appearance he was a good bet.The youth moved onto Horace who by now was obsessing about stealing apples twenty odd years previously.
"This is a line up to identify the person who assaulted you in Oranmore on the night of the sixth of August 2005.Please look at the line carefully and if you can identify your assailant please say that you can do so."
The tracksuit turned to Breathless and nodded.
"Place your hand on the shoulder of your assailant to identify him"
The youth placed his hand on the right shoulder of the black shirt and turned to the Seargeant.He was led away immediately. Breathless took black shirt by the arm and either arrested him or said a rapid decade of the rosary depending on your position in the line.
"Do you have any complaints about the composition of the line-up?"
"Yeah, none of them look like me."
Black shirt showed no reaction and followed Breathless out into the corridor.A palpable weight lifted off the eight remaining in the room and mentally promises were made to mend their ways in future. The seargeant put on his hat, winked at the ban –garda and lead them out to the outside world, all ordinary decent criminals.

posted by Colm Brady @ 10:00 PM