3.
Now, in retrospect, antagonizing a young man with enough sheer brute strength to juggle me and two of my mates was probably not the best idea I've ever had. But you have to understand, I was really quite angry. And the more I thought about it, the angrier I got. Who did he think he was, going around getting people's sisters in the family way and then treating it as if it were all some sort of joke? Was Evie the first girl he'd done this to, or simply the latest of a lengthy series?
He wasn't in his flat when I arrived, and the door wasn't locked in any serious way. I questioned the man's ability to protect my sister when he couldn't even protect his own possessions from any idiot with a hairpin and five minutes to spare. Not that I'm just any idiot, mind you... but still.
After searching about in vain for some liquid fortification other than an unmarked bottle of the local rotgut (vile stuff, that), I took up a seat in the front room, on the piece of furniture that looked least likely to be flea-ridden. The miserable little room was relatively clean, at least; then again, I reflected, he didn't have much time to occupy it, since he spent approximately twenty-three hours of the day leading my sister down the primrose path.
I decided to have a cigarette--one of my more respectable vices. I never smoke around Evie; she finds it to be a disgusting habit, and indulges in a lot of pointed coughing whenever anyone around us is having a puff. Besides, she's a lady, and my father always taught me that one never smokes in the presence of the fairer sex. (Never mind that these days almost every one of them has a cigarette dangling from her lovely lips.) I made sure to get as much ash as possible all over everything. In some cases, it only improved the look of the furnishings by which I was surrounded.
He returned before very long. I half-hoped he'd have a girl with him, so that I could be presented with undeniable proof that he was a bounder before I made the accusations that were liable to get me killed. But no, he was alone, and looking rather self-satisfied.
"O'Connell!" I barked.
He didn't seem terribly surprised to see me; then again, the man didn't exactly have a great variety of facial expression. He might actually have been quite shocked. But if that were the case, his shocked face and his bored face bore remarkable similarities to one another.
"Hey, Jonathan. Saw your car outside."
Well, there was that. All right, so I'm better at breaking and entering than I am at bloody espionage. I'm an amateur archaeologist, for heaven's sake...
"Put something under that, would ya?" He gestured to the cigarette.
I brought my foot up to rest on my knee, and ground the stub of my cigarette out on the sole of my shoe. I suppose, if I'd been graced with a bit more machismo and a bit less common sense, I'd have done it on my fingertip or in my mouth or some such nonsense. That was a trick I'd tried only once, after copious amounts of vodka and a good deal of egging on by some companions who weren't, I suspect, particularly concerned for my health and well-being. It was one occasion upon which my sister, the would-be Florence Nightingale of our generation, was required to bandage my tongue. (The other occasions are best not inquired after, I believe.) Anyhow, once burnt, twice shy, to coin a phrase. I would certainly not be attempting that maneuver in the foreseeable future, no matter how tough I wanted to look in front of O'Connell.
O'Connell, for his part, simply grumbled, "Just make yourself at home, why dontcha... I'm surprised you didn't help yourself to a drink while you were waiting."
"You haven't got anything worth drinking," I informed him.
He shrugged and slumped into the chair opposite me. "What's up?"
"What's up? I'll tell you what's bloody well up! I'm here to ensure that you do what's right and honourable, or else..." My throat dried up, but I pressed on in a whisper. "Or else I'm going to see to it that you get a--a thrashing. Yes, yes, a good, sound thrashing!" Note that I did not state or otherwise imply that I would be providing the thrashing. There are limits, even to the delusions of grandeur of which I am capable.
He made a derisive noise. "Jeez. Have another drink, Jonathan. Build up those beer muscles." He grinned, and slapped my knee in a jocular fashion. I tried not to let on how much it hurt.
"Look here, I know what you've done, all right? Don't bother trying to deny it."
"Yeah, yeah, sure." He stood up, shaking his head. "Go home and take a nap. You smell like a brewery. Evelyn's expecting you to take her out tonight, and I think you might wanna be sober for that. She's got something she wants to tell you."
"I already know all about your little secret, thank you very much."
Aha, so he was capable of a shocked face after all. He sank back down into the chair, eyeing me warily. "'Scuse me?"
"I overheard everything you two said in the library." Well, there went the ace in my sleeve.
"You were eavesdropping on us?" He spoke very softly, but I knew it was the calm that comes before the storm.
"Too right, I was eavesdropping!" I decided I may as well just lay all the rest of the cards down, too. "What I want to know is, what are your intentions?"
"My... my intentions?" He shifted in his seat, placing his elbows on his knees and rubbing his face with both hands. When he looked up again, he still seemed completely clueless. "What intentions?"
"Your intentions towards Evie!"
"Well," he began thoughtfully, "I think my... intentions... should be pretty clear."
"Well, they aren't!" I shouted.
"They aren't?"
"No!"
"No?"
"Damn it, man, stop repeating every bloody word I say and tell me what the hell you intend to do about this!"
"About what?!" He was starting to get worked up now. I could see his hands folding into fists, each the size of a good-sized ham, preparatory to smashing me half-way into next week. "What the hell are you talking about?!"
"About my sister's condition, you daft bugger!" I cried, leaping out of my seat. "The current state of affairs is intolerable, and you can't expect me to just--just look the other way!" I readied my own fists for action. You wouldn't think it to look at me, but I was quite the wily little boxer in my prep school days. I may not have had the strength behind me to do much serious damage, but I could dodge a punch like nobody's business, and I was quite good at tripping a chap up with my feet and then running away while he was getting up...
Without even standing, O'Connell reached over and shoved me back down. "Look," he said, "I don't know what kinda bug you got up your ass, okay? I know to you it probably looks like I rushed her into it... but it was what we both wanted."
I made a noise, to the effect that this was total bollocks.
"You can even ask your sister if you don't believe me. She was just as gung ho as I was--she wasn't even nervous."
Which was information I could just as soon have done without, thank you very much.
"Anyway, it's not exactly something I can take back!" He shot me a defiant glare. "And you know what? I wouldn't. I don't give a damn what you think, or what anyone else thinks. She was worth it."
"How dare you, you--!" I jumped up again, and O'Connell swatted me as though I were a fly. I landed hard and was rendered momentarily speechless, winded by the impact.
"You know, I was hoping you weren't gonna be a little jerk when you found out," he sighed. "In fact--call me a sentimental sucker--but I honestly thought you'd be okay with this. I figured you'd be able to look past the particulars, and just be glad that your sister is happy. I mean, it's not like I won't take good care of her." Lowering his voice, as if he were imparting some great secret, he added, "I'm crazy about her. You know that. She's the best thing that ever happened to me. I'd do anything for her."
"Are you going to marry her?" I demanded.
Now that threw him for a loop. "What? I--what?!"
"It's a very simple question, O'Connell. Are you going to do the honourable thing and marry the mother of your child?"
For a moment, he merely gaped at me. Then, he seemed to hit upon some realization. It was probably the only time in his life he'd ever had two thoughts to rub together, I thought bitterly, glowering at him. And then, suddenly, unexpectedly, he began to laugh.
"What's your game?" I demanded, rising for a third time. He raised his arm, but seemed to decide it wasn't worth the effort of knocking me down. Either that, or the laughing had sapped his strength. "I don't see anything funny about this!" I continued. "That child needs a mother and a father, and you're the one who got her into this whole sodding mess! If you care about Evie as much as you say you do, then damn it, man, put your money where your mouth is!"
"Jonathan..." He shook his head, unruly fringe tumbling into his eyes. I was completely exasperated. Why couldn't the man get a haircut? And a job? And the hell away from my sister? "Go home!" he repeated, more emphatically, smirking up at me. "Evie's gonna explain everything tonight. Do me a favour, would ya, and let her talk first?"
"I'm not doing you any bloody favours," I muttered sullenly. "You're no friend of mine, O'Connell--in fact, you're a nasty bastard, and for tuppence, I'd..."
He stood and folded his arms, looking down at me from the pinnacle of a mountain of solid muscle. "You'd what?" he asked, quite cordially.
"I'd, ah... I-I'd go home," I stammered, and eased past him to the door. "This isn't over!" I called from the doorway, then fled into the street before he had time to react. Well, getting myself mashed to a pulp wasn't going to help Evie's situation, I reasoned. There was no point in pushing my luck. I decided that, in the interests of peace, I would do as he'd suggested, and let her explain matters before I reacted. Then, if I didn't like the scenario as presented--which I undoubtedly wouldn't--I'd come back and talk to him again, even though it would probably result in my getting my nose broken. Let it never be said that Jonathan Carnahan isn't willing to give a person the benefit of the doubt.
Besides, doesn't the Good Book say, blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth?