For the midday appointment with solicitors Makepeace and Masterson of Marino Mart, Vinny Fitzpatrick shone like a new pin. His comb-over was trimmed, his only suit dry-cleaned, and he could almost see his chubby chops in his burnished black brogues.

“You might be mistaken for an employee not a visitor,” grinned Angie as she pecked Vinny on his shaven cheek and sent him on his way from Mount Prospect Avenue where all was sweetness and light again.

The high noon rendezvous had been arranged to suit Vinny’s eldest sister, Bernie, who lived on the Inishowen Peninsula; his other sister, Mary, had a far shorter spin from Bettystown.

The Fitzpatrick siblings had been summoned by Thaddeus Makepeace, for the reading of the will of their late aunt, Annie Gavigan.

Shock-haired Annie had broken 90 on her previous birthday which she’d celebrated with Vinny in her Donnycarney home over several hands of rummy, and countless fingers of gin. Right to the end, the gimlet-eyed spinster had been a demon for the twos in rummy.

Annie was gone now, having paid the price of consuming 50 fags a day, and Vinny felt a lump in his throat as she was lowered into the turf in Kilbarrack Cemetery, not far from his folks’ final resting place. He knew he’d miss the sharp tongue, bright blue eyes and raspy cough, which eventually had the final word.

After exchanging hugs, Vinny and his sisters were ushered into the private office of Thaddeus Makepeace, a tall, reedy, figure whose huge hooked nose dominated his facial landscape.

Last breath

Vinny’s sisters were intrigued at Annie’s estate but Vinny said nothing, for he knew what was coming as Annie had confided in him a few days before rattling her last breath. A deeply religious soul, who attended Mass daily, Annie was leaving all she had to the church.

“Will that be all right, Vinny?” she wheezed. “No one will think little of me, will they?”

Vinny had squeezed his aunt’s fragile hand and smiled.

“Annie, your faith mattered as much to you as a decent hand in rummy. You know, the way things have gone of late, I reckon the church could do with all the donations they can get.”

Others might not have held such an altruistic viewpoint but Vinny believed what anyone did with their few bob was their own business.

Thaddeus Makepeace got to the point. He confirmed the last will and testament of Annie Gavigan, North Avenue, Donnycarney, was a legally binding document and he was empowered to enforce it.

“It says, ‘I, Annie Gavigan leave my house, all its belongings, and the contents of my bank account in the Bank of Ireland, Killester, to Donnycarney Parish, in the diocese of Dublin’.”’

With that, Thaddeus Makepeace peered over his glasses. If he was expecting three thunderous faces, he was disappointed. Mary and Bernie nudged one another, like they used to in school, while Vinny slapped his thigh.

“I’ll be darned,” he said. “Annie always kept her cards close to her chest, right to the end.”

Thaddeus Makepeace wasn’t finished, however, and he cleared his throat.

“There is one outstanding item in the will, which relates to Mr Vincent Fitzpatrick.’

At that, Vinny sat to attention as Makepeace continued.

“For my darling nephew, Vinny, I leave my two packs of playing cards and a request that he take personal care of my companion, Sinbad.’

A sailor

At that, Vinny gripped the armrests of his chair before breaking the silence.

“Who the Dickens is Sinbad?” he asked aloud. “Don’t tell me Annie netted a sailor in her dotage.”

An amused Thaddeus Makepeace allowed himself a wry chuckle.

“No, nothing like that. Sinbad is her pet snake.”

As his sisters recoiled, Vinny’s mind raced. A snake. He couldn’t recall a sight nor sound of a serpent. But then, he only ever spent time in the kitchen, where he sipped tea and turned cards. The wee house, always immaculately kept, had plenty of nooks and crannies and was, as Vinny recalled, always roasting, no matter the time of year.

“As your aunt passed away last week, I suggest you attend to your, er, reptile’s requirements,” sniffed Makepeace, indicating the meeting was over.

An hour later, after tea, sticky buns and farewell hugs with his sisters, Vinny found himself outside No 11, North Avenue, a three-bed mid-terrace Corpo gaffe, typical of the 1950s.

He used the Yale key to enter the narrow hall, and right away felt the heat. He’d been assured by Makepeace that the snake, of the Cape House variety apparently, was non venomous, but even so, he felt jiggy.

Playing cards

It didn’t take long to find the snake ‘hide’. Out in the scullery, which resembled a greenhouse, was a large plastic container and a quick squint inside confirmed the presence of a hissing, hungry, Sinbad.

Vinny had loaded the snake into the boot of his car to take to the vet for a once over when he remembered the playing cards Annie had bequeathed to him. “Better dot the i’s,” he said to himself.

As expected, the cards were on the kitchen table, two plain packs of Waddington’s Number One.

As Vinny scooped them up he felt something was amiss with the weight. He looked inside the red pack and fished out 52 cards and two jokers, before checking the contents of the lighter blue pack.

Inside were four cards, all twos, and a cluster of crisp 50 euro notes, held together by an elastic band. For her final deal, Aunt Annie had trumped him again.