Joy Felton – yeah, no, one of our neighbours – is standing at the front gates as I swing the cor into the driveway and she nearly ends up with the BMW logo imprinted backwards across her, I want to say, midriff?
I slam on the brakes, then wind down the window and I’m like, “What the fock are you doing lurking there?”
She goes, “I hope you’re planning to move that thing?” in her famous residents association voice. “Do you have any idea what that could do to property values in this area?”
It’s Vico Road. The whole place could fall into the sea tomorrow and it wouldn’t affect property values.
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“You have to get rid of it,” she goes. “It’s a disgusting eyesore.”
At first, I think she’s talking about the giant, inflatable Santa Claus that I was supposed to take down after Christmas, except the boys have been using it as a tackle bag with the grudge match against Blackrock College fast approaching.
But then I notice Honor’s cor, the one that Ronan bought her at, like, a CAB auction before Christmas. Someone has spraypainted the words “Rat”, “Scum” and “Tout” on it.
I hop out of my cor and race into the gaff, going, “Honor? Honor, are you okay?”
I find her in the kitchen with Ronan, the two of them calmly vaping.
“Here’s this fooken tulip now,” Ronan goes.
Honor’s like, “Dad, don’t overreact.”
I’m there, “Overreact? I’ll give you overreact! Did he do that? The criminal who owns that cor?”
“Owned,” Ronan goes. “Past tense, Rosser. I bought it – fairden squeer.”
I’m like, “Well, he clearly doesn’t think so.”
Honor goes, “Oh my God, Dad, you are such a focking drama queen.”
I’m there, “The dude clearly wants his cor back. Why don’t you just give it to him and I’ll buy you a new one?”
Ronan’s like, “It’s all in haddend, Rosser.”
I’m there, “You said that a week ago.”
“Ine arthur meeting him, so I am.”
“When?”
“This morden.”
“And?”
“Them people what say nebber meet yisser heroes – they’re wrong, Rosser.”
“Are they?”
He goes, “Ah, he’s a lubbly fedda, Rosser. Nicoda Taddant did a whole episode of the podcast about him and he’s not a bit full of heself either.”
I’m there, “I’m thrilled for him. We’re getting rid of the cor. Right focking now.”
Honor’s like, “What do you mean, you’re getting rid of it?”
I’m there, “I’m going to put a breeze block on the accelerator and let it drive itself into the sea.”
Ronan goes, “Rosser, we’ve agreed a price for it. Eighty bleaten grand. We shook haddends on it. Then as I was leaving, he said, ‘Listen, soddy about this, but Ine arthur paying someone to spray-paint it while we were sitting here. I tried to call it off but he had no signal out there. Says I, ‘Norra botter. It’s yewers now.’”
I’m there, “So why is it still porked in my front gorden?”
“Because,” Honor goes, “any man who’s sentimental enough to pay €80,000 for a cor would surely be willing to pay €100,000 for it.”
I’m there, “You’re trying to gouge an extra 20 K’s out of one of Ireland’s most dangerous career criminals?”
I’m there, ‘Ro, don’t take this the wrong way, but the day you went to live in the States was the happiest day of my life’
Ronan goes, “I told him, Rosser. I said I wadn’t the owner of the keer. I was just acting as an agent slash middleman. I just texted him there to say the owner wants a hundoord for it.”
I’m there, “And what if he says no? What if he comes back here and … Hang on – how did he find out where the cor was?”
Ronan goes, “He has a thracker hidden somewhere in it. Buckets of Blood stripped the thing down to the frame and he couldn’t find it, but.”
It’s at that exact point that Sorcha arrives home from Yogalates.
She’s like, “Oh my God, did you see what someone has written on Honor’s cor?”
I’m there, “Yeah, no, we’re actually talking about it here.”
She goes, “Do you have any idea what that could do to property values around here?”
I’m there, “Joy Felton’s already on it. Ro, can I have a word in private, please?”
I lead the dude outside into the hallway.
I’m there, “Ro, don’t take this the wrong way, but the day you went to live in the States was the happiest day of my life. Do you know why? Because it got you away from those criminal scumbags you grew up idolising.”
“Rosser,” he goes, “he’s a lubbly fedda – norra bit stuck-up.”
I’m there, “I’m actually talking about my old man and Hennessy, Ronan.”
He looks away. He knows I’m right.
I’m there, “Ro, you’re endangering my family. Get rid of the cor. Take it down to Bullock Horbour and drive it into the sea.”
“You will not!” a voice behind me goes.
Yeah, no, it’s Sorcha.
She’s like, “Honor just said it’s worth €100,000.”
I’m there, “Well, the dude offered 80 K’s for it – and Honor is trying to cream an extra 20 out of him.”
Ronan’s phone beeps then. It’s, like, a text message. He reads it and he goes silent.
Sorcha’s like, “Well, business is business, Ross. I think Honor could have what it takes to be an entrepreneur.”
I turn to Ro and I’m like, “Was that a message from the actual dude? Is he prepared to pay the extra 20?”
Ronan goes, “Leave it, Rosser. You’re out of your depth.”
And that’s when there’s a massive explosion in the front gorden. In the kitchen, I can hear Honor scream. Ronan hits the deck and pulls Sorcha down with him.
I race to the front door and I tear it open to see Honor’s cor going up in literally flames. Andrea Shotton, our neighbour on the other side, is standing at the gate, staring at the cor as it burns.
I’m there, “Sorry, have you got nothing better to do with your time?”
And she goes, “Do you know have any idea what this could do to property values in this area?”
