Dublin Noir (9 page)

She stirred for a couple of hours and then got up, not sure if she had slept or not. She still had a bad headache and felt out of it, and a shower and a whole small bottle of Killarney sparkling from the minibar didn’t help. But she was excited to go out exploring and she figured a good cup of coffee would perk her up.

She picked up a tourist map and went down Chatham Street to a pleasant-looking café and sat at one of the tables outside. A waitress came out and asked her what she was having.

“Just a coffee,” Kathy said.

The waitress left and Kathy opened the map and was very confused. Dublin was a maze of streets with Irish names and she had no idea where she was. It didn’t help that she had a lousy sense of direction. Normally when she traveled she relied on Jim to take her from place to place. Jim was one of those guys who seemed to have a compass implanted in his brain and always got a handle on a city instantly, even if he’d never been there before. The last trip they’d taken together was to Paris, two years ago, and she never looked at a map the entire ten days. Jim whisked her around the city, from
arrondissement
to
arrondissement
—walking to some places, taking the Metro to others—and she never had to worry about anything.

The waitress brought the coffee. Kathy had a sip, then noticed a guy at the table next to hers smiling at her. She hadn’t noticed him before and she figured he must’ve sat down while she was looking at the map. He was working on a laptop and was kind of cute.

She smiled back at him and then he said, “You’re American, are you?”

Kathy felt a wave of guilt she experienced whenever she was traveling and was outed for being American, as if her nationality was something to be ashamed of and kept hidden when abroad.

“I guess that’s pretty obvious, huh?”

“The map and the accent were sort of giveaways, I suppose. Hi, I’m Patrick, by the way.”

“Hi, I’m Kathy.”

He asked her if it was her first time in Dublin. She told him it was, and that she’d come because her father was born here and she’d always wanted to see it. When she told him she was from New York he said, “Ah, love New York. I was there once when I was at university, but I want to go again. I’m a playwright, you see.”

“Really?”

“Well, aspiring. Had one play produced last year, at a small theater here in Dublin.”

“That’s great.”

“Believe me—it sounds more impressive than it is. The theater’s a twenty-five-seater and it was empty half the run … Are you on holiday with your husband?”

Kathy saw Patrick looking at her engagement ring.

“Oh, no,” Kathy said. “I’m not married … I’m not even sure I’m engaged anymore, actually.”

“So you’re here with friends, are you?”

“No, I’m here by myself, actually.”

“Oh, that’s very nice. If you need any suggestions on places to go, I’d be delighted to help out.”

“Actually, if you could tell me how to get to the O’Connell Street area that would be great.”

Patrick came over and circled O’Connell on Kathy’s map, and marked several other spots, writing in the names of his favorite restaurants and pubs. Kathy liked smelling Patrick’s cologne and it felt good with him close to her.

After a few more minutes of pleasant small talk, Kathy looked at her watch and said, “I better ask for my check and get going.”

“Would you mind doing me a small favor?” Patrick said. “Could you watch my laptop for just one minute?”

“Oh, yeah,” Kathy said. “Sure.”

Patrick smiled—he had nice dimples—then went into the café. Kathy caught the waitress’ attention and made a scribbling motion with her hand. The waitress nodded but was busy taking another order.

Kathy looked at the map, at the markings Patrick had made, thinking how nice he was for doing that. He was kind of cute and he had a sexy accent. Too bad he was too young for her—he seemed to be about twenty-two or twenty-three— and she never really liked artsy-type guys.

She was looking closely at the map, at the location of a good produce market which Patrick had circled, when it happened. She was aware of someone moving quickly next to her and then she looked back and saw the guy with dark wavy hair sprinting away down the block. Instinctively, she grabbed her purse, relieved that it was still there. Then she looked back at the guy who was running away and realized he was holding Patrick’s laptop.

Kathy hesitated and didn’t say anything for a few seconds, until the thief had already turned the corner, and then she screamed, “Stop him! Somebody stop him!”

The waitress and a customer—a man in a business suit—came out of the café.

“What happened?” the waitress asked.

“Somebody stole a laptop,” Kathy said.

“Where’d he go?” the man asked.

“He just ran away … around the corner,” Kathy said. “Can’t you call the police or something?”

Then Patrick came out and seemed confused. “What happened?”

“Your laptop was stolen,” Kathy said.

Patrick peered at his empty table with a look of horror, shock, and disbelief.

“I’m so sorry,” Kathy said. “This guy just came down the block and grabbed it.”

“Did you see what he looked like?” the man in the suit asked.

“No,” Kathy said. “I just saw him from the back … He had wavy hair. He was wearing jeans.”

“I don’t think that’ll help the Gardaí very much,” the waitress said.

“Go ahead and call,” Kathy said. “Maybe they can catch the guy.”

“I’ll call,” the man in the suit said, and he took out his cell phone and walked away.

Patrick was sitting, devastated, with his forehead against the table.

“I’m so sorry,” Kathy repeated. “I don’t know what to say.”

“I had everything on that machine and it wasn’t backed up,” Patrick said. “My whole new play—it’s gone.”

“I feel so awful,” Kathy said. “I mean, the guy came up so quickly. I didn’t even see him.”

“Maybe they’ll catch him,” the waitress said.

“Bollocks they will,” Patrick said, looking up. His eyes were red and teary. “The cops never catch those fuckers.”

“It’s my fault,” Kathy said.

“Why’s it your fault?” Patrick said. “This city’s going to shit, I’m telling you. Bastards.”

The man in the suit returned and said, “The Gardaí will be here soon.”

“Not soon enough, I’m afraid,” Patrick said.

“You never know,” Kathy said. “Maybe they’ll catch the guy.”

“Yeah, I’m sure they’ll try really hard to find a laptop,” Patrick said.

“Yeah, it’s doubtful they’ll catch him,” the waitress said.

“I don’t know what to say,” Kathy said. “I feel responsible.”

“What do you mean?” Patrick said.

“You asked me to watch it and I didn’t. I got distracted. It’s my fault, I guess.”

“I don’t know what I’ll do,” Patrick said. “It took me a year to save up for that computer. And they cost a lot here—much more than in America.”

“I’m really sorry,” Kathy said. “Wait, I know.” She reached into her purse. “Let me give you some money.”

“Don’t bother,” Patrick said.

“No, it was my fault—here.” She dug into her purse. “This is all the cash I have—here, take it.” She handed Patrick some bills. She wasn’t sure exactly how much was there, but she’d exchanged $200 into euros at the airport.

“Really, I appreciate the offer,” Patrick said, “but it’s not necessary.”

“Please, you have to,” Kathy said. “I feel awful.”

“I’m not taking your money.”

“You have to. Come on, I know it’s not enough for a new laptop, but it’ll have to help. It’ll make me feel so much better if you took it.”

“It’s really not necessary,” Patrick said. “It took me two years to save up for this and I can save up again. Until then, it’s back to pen and paper, I suppose.”

The waitress shook her head and went away to take someone’s order.

“Good luck,” the man in the suit said, and he went back into the café.

“I guess the Gardaí’ll be here soon,” Patrick said to Kathy. “You don’t have to wait.”

Kathy was still holding the money. She was starting to cry. “You have to take the money,” she said. “If you don’t, I won’t be able to stop thinking about it my whole trip and I’ll have a horrible time. Please, just take it.”

Patrick looked away for a few moments then turned back and said, “I suppose if you’re insisting …”

Kathy gave Patrick the money. She apologized a few more times then just wanted to get away. She took her map, then went into the café to charge the bill on her AmEx since she didn’t have any more cash. When she returned Patrick was still waiting for the police, wiping tears from his cheeks.

“I really am sorry,” Kathy said.

“It’s all right,” Patrick replied. “Have a great time in Dublin, all right?”

“I’ll try to.”

Kathy walked away, relieved. Following Patrick’s instructions, she ambled along Grafton Street and across the Hapenny Bridge. Still shaken up, she wasn’t able to absorb much of the city. For a couple of hours, she just wandered around, window shopping, figuring she’d do the real touristy stuff tomorrow. She was hungry and went to one of the restaurants that Patrick had suggested—an excellent Thai place on Andrew Street. Surprisingly, she didn’t feel at all awkward or self-conscious sitting at a table alone and she didn’t miss Jim at all. She had a couple of glasses of wine with dinner and got a little drunk. When she left the restaurant, she passed a cyber café and decided to just get it the hell over with already. She logged onto her e-mail account and wrote Jim a note.

Jim,

I’m sick of this bullshit. You’re a liar and you hurt me so bad and I just can’t pretend anymore. You can keep the apartment—I don’t care anymore. But I’m taking Sammy and the leather love seat. I’ll pick up the rest of my stuff when I get back to the city. And don’t forget,
YOU
caused this, not me.
YOU
fucked up!!

Goodbye (for good this time!!!!!)

Kathy

She clicked
send
, logged off, and left the café. She felt great, like she’d definitely done the right thing. She’d taken too much of Jim’s crap for too long and it was time to move on. She knew her friends would be proud of her.

On her way back to her hotel, she was tempted to stop for a drink at a trendy-, fun-looking pub, but figured she’d be better off getting a good night’s sleep and a fresh start tomorrow.

A friendly older man was working at the hotel’s front desk. When he gave Kathy the key to her room, he asked her how she was enjoying her stay in Dublin. Kathy told him she liked the city and then told him about the incident with the stolen laptop. When she got to the part about how awful she’d felt and how she’d offered to give Patrick money, the man at the desk said, “Jaysus, you didn’t give him the money, did you?”

“Yeah,” Kathy said. “Actually, I did.”

“I was afraid of that. You fell for a scam, I’m afraid.”

“A scam?” She had no idea what he was talking about.

“Was there another man there, besides the one who lost the laptop?”

“What do you mean?”

“They work in a team of three. One has the laptop, one steals it, and one comes over to help. Is that what happened?”

Remembering the guy in the suit who’d offered to call the police, Kathy said, “Yeah, there were three guys, I guess. But I really think you have it all wrong. This guy’s laptop really was stolen.”

Kathy went on, explaining what had happened, but the man at the desk cut her off and said, “I’m telling you, love, it’s happened before and we were even talking about warning our guests about it.”

“I don’t think you understand,” Kathy said, recognizing the anger and frustration in her voice because she was starting to realize what had happened but didn’t want to admit it to herself yet. “This guy went to the bathroom and someone else—a stranger—came running down the block and—”

“It wasn’t a stranger,” the man at the desk said. “They were working a scam. They must’ve picked you out as a tourist. Were you holding a camera or a map or something that made you stand out as a foreigner?”

Kathy couldn’t believe she’d let this happen to her.

“Yeah, actually, I was.”

“Jaysus, it’s awful this happened to you. You didn’t give him a lot of money, did you?”

“No,” Kathy lied. “Just ten dollars … I mean euros.”

“Well, that’s a blessing,” the man said. “This retired couple from Florida gave them a thousand euros because they felt bad for the guy. I’ll tell you one thing, though—that guy must be a good actor. I mean, to get people to believe him—that takes some talent.”

“Well, good night,” Kathy said, and started away.

“Should I call the Gardaí?”

“No, that’s okay. It was only ten euro.”

“But the Gardaí should really know about this so they can—”

“I really don’t want you to call … but thank you.”

In her room, Kathy tried to forget about the whole thing. There was nothing she could do about it now and she definitely didn’t want to get into a whole thing with the police— answering questions, maybe even having to go to a precinct or wherever. It was better just to forget about it—pretend it hadn’t happened.

She washed up and got into bed. She’d bought a few thick paperbacks to read during the trip, but she wasn’t in the mood. She turned on the TV and flipped around, but there was nothing to watch except soccer and news. She was watching the
BBC
News reports about the latest violence in the Middle East, though she was thinking about Patrick. He’d seemed like such a nice young guy—so charming and helpful—but that should’ve been a warning sign. The whole thing was such an obvious setup, the way the thief had appeared out of nowhere to grab the laptop and then how that guy with the business suit came right over to help, and of course it was
he
who’d offered to call the police. She was angry at herself for falling for that crap, for being such a victim. In New York, there was no way something like this would have happened to her. In New York, she always had her guard up and was naturally suspicious of everyone. If someone started talking to her at a Starbucks in New York she would’ve said a few words to him and ignored him. And in New York she never would’ve been so vulnerable. She was traveling alone for the first time in a foreign city and she was preoccupied with a lot of personal things. They’d probably zeroed in on her as a perfect victim.