The ghosts of Galway

Up a shabby set of stairs then knocked on 201. It opened almost immediately. Not sure what I was expecting, probably a whiskey refugee and old. Neither. Young guy, in his early thirties, long brown hair, bland face, dressed in gray track suit. Then I was falling backward from a punch. He was about to follow through with a kick but I grabbed that and flipped him, then, getting up, I dragged him by his hair into the room, kicked the door shut, said, "Stay down or I will break your fucking neck." The introductions out of the way, I looked round the room. Bare. Thomas Merton would have been comfortable with it. I asked, "Where is the book?" Up close he didn't seem as young though maybe being dragged by the hair ages you. He picked himself up, slowly, watching my boots carefully, asked, "Are you working for the church?" I nearly laughed but went, "I represent the private sector." He measured me, definitely found me wanting, but decided further tussle was wasted. Said, "The book is gone." So I did what you do with a stubborn priest; I walloped him. Twice. Excerpted from The Ghosts of Galway by Ken Bruen All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.