Cross by Ken Bruen

By Ken Bruen

Jack Taylor brings demise and discomfort to all people he loves. His purely wish of redemption - his surrogate son, Cody - is mendacity in a medical institution in a coma. at the least he nonetheless has Ridge, his outdated pal from the Guards, although theirs is an unorthodox courting. whilst she tells him boy has been crucified in Galway urban, he consents to assist her look for the killer. Jack's investigations take him to a lot of his previous haunts the place he encounters ghosts, lifeless and residing. each person desires anything from him, yet Jack isn't really certain he has whatever left to provide. possibly he may still promote up, pocket his Euros and get the hell out of Galway like every body else appears to be like doing. Then the sister of the murdered boy is burned to loss of life, and Jack comes to a decision he needs to search out the killer, if in simple terms to manage his personal model of tough justice.

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I got right up in his face. He'd have backed off 'cept he was up against the death bed. I said, 'Yeah, I was sober, hadn't had a drink in months, and guess what? I got a little girl killed. Three years old, the most beautiful child you ever saw, a fucking dote, and there's me, not drinking, minding her, she goes out a top-floor window. ' He didn't have a platitude but tried, 'Life is no bowl of cherries and sometimes terrible things happen. ' I stopped, stared at him, near shouted, 'No bowl of fucking cherries?

One minute he was focused on you, then, bang, he was off again, as if one thought, one line of concentration was too much. He stood up. ' The movie Wayne's World has a lot to answer for. It was one of Cody's favourites. I had no reply to this – not then, not now. I simply nodded and he shambled off, in that half crouch young people adopt, like, who gives a fuck? A waitress began clearing the table. She held the bent Red Bull tin, pissed by it, indicated my slice of Danish. ' I had a mobile phone.

I got right up in his face. He'd have backed off 'cept he was up against the death bed. I said, 'Yeah, I was sober, hadn't had a drink in months, and guess what? I got a little girl killed. Three years old, the most beautiful child you ever saw, a fucking dote, and there's me, not drinking, minding her, she goes out a top-floor window. ' He didn't have a platitude but tried, 'Life is no bowl of cherries and sometimes terrible things happen. ' I stopped, stared at him, near shouted, 'No bowl of fucking cherries?

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