Dublin Noir: The Celtic Tiger Vs. the Ugly American (Akashic Noir)
Language: English
Pages: 228
ISBN: 1888451920
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Irish crime-fiction sensation Ken Bruen and cohorts shine a light on the dark streets of Dublin. Dublin Noir features an awe-inspiring cast of writers who between them have won all major mystery and crime-fiction awards. This collection introduces secret corners of a fascinating city and surprise assaults on the "Celtic Tiger" of modern Irish prosperity.
“The stories paint a picture of Dublin as the Celtic Tiger, a beast crouched on its hind legs about leap at you and roaring with its intensity . . . The cynicism and despair of classic noir is portrayed within each of these stories.”
—Metro LA
“Dublin Noir is perhaps the best short story anthology I’ve read.”
—Reviewing the Evidence
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
coming around,” the woman said. Dugan strained to see her. He’d been drugged upstairs in the bar the night before after passing off money from Marty Ryan to three IRA soldiers. They kept him drinking from a Jameson bottle spiked with poteen. Dugan had nearly poisoned himself from drinking. The woman was sharpening a boning knife at a table near the stairway. Dugan struggled to see clearly. It hurt to hold his head up for long. He remembered drinking in the men’s room with the soldiers. He
When I go to his house, his toy soldier shrine is still there, but he’s gone. The neighbor says the last they saw of him, he was going to get a pint of milk. A couple of the others disappear too. Duff Alley gets very empty, and the conversation there becomes very muted. They get drunk, huddle together, and after dark they whisper that Iron Kurt has come for them. And now I’m shit scared. Another trip to the piss-stained steps outside Michael’s flat. He’s almost the only one left, and I need
What the fuck’s going on?” “It … Kurt … didn’t …” “Kurt? You’re sure? Christ.” “Said … name … site … to punish … I didn’t …” I should be calling an ambulance. I should be calling my colleagues. “Where is he now?” Michael’s eye looks down. Pleading. Betrayed. “You said … wouldn’t … website … I … good …” He thinks I did it. “I didn’t tell him,” I say. “Jesus, Michael, I wouldn’t even know how. I swear to you.” “He … told …” Michael smacks his lips. Dry mouth. Lost too much fluid already.
name is Ceara, and as even you have probably gathered, George, I wouldn’t be sharing my real name with you now if there was any prospect of you ever leaving this room.” Mell—Ceara—perches again on the side of George’s bed. She slowly crosses her legs. “Question was, how to make you really pay. I thought about that. I went to the personals … Gáire.” Ceara jabs George’s thigh with the needle. His eyes go wide and his muscles tense. “Hush,” Ceara says. “It’s fine, George. Just a cocktail …