In the Galway Silence

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Jean and Claude Renaud were twins.

Terrible twins.

Truly.

Les enfants terribles.

Their father was French and the mother from Galway.

On their eighteenth birthday they were given matching sports cars. That neither could drive was neither here nor there. The father had made a greedy fortune from one of the first hedge funds in Ireland and was cute enough to get out before the ax fell. He then invested in property and made more.

Instead of being jailed, he was made a Freeman of the City.

The twins on the said birthday went on a massive pub crawl.

Ingested

Ecstasy

Speed

Coke

Jack Daniel’s.

And did it bring them any joy?

Nope.

Just added to their sense of entitlement. Barred from the clubs along Quay Street, they headed for the Spanish Arch, seeking aggravation. Saw a man huddled in a wheelchair on the edge of the pier. Jean said,

“Let’s fuck with the retard.”

Claude shouted,

“Hey, spastic!”

Jean came up behind the chair as Claude came from the front. There was a moment of utter quiet, then the man lashed out and caught Claude in the groin, and then he was out of the chair and hit Jean with the flat of his hand in the throat. Moving quickly, he bundled them forcibly into the chair and secured them with duct tape, grabbed Jean’s mouth and applied a liberal dose of superglue to his lips, then the same to Claude.

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