Reynold Junker – Before the Devil Knows, Irish Time

photo-4Reynold Junker’s writing credits include, among others, Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. His short story, The Volunteers, was later included in the anthology of Hitchcock’s personal favorites, Tales To Make You Quake And Quiver. He has had work accepted for publication by Narrative, America, U.S. Catholic, Crannog(Ireland), Italian-Americana, Feile-Festa, West Marin Review, VIA-Voices In Italian Americana, The Herald(Portsmouth,UK), Flash Frontier(New Zealand), Skive Magazine(Australia), Ky Story(Christmas anthology), East Coast Literary Review, Bethlehem Writers Roundtable, Hippocampus, Emerge Literary Journal, The Bookends Review, Boston Literary Magazine, The Galway Review(Ireland), PRIMO Magazine, Friday Flash Fiction (Scotland) and 50-Word Stories.

Before the Devil Knows, Irish Time

By Reynold Junker

“I’m in then?” The younger man said. He’d been drinking and the skin on the knuckles of both his hands was broken and red. There was a large yellowing purple bruise over his right eye. A green and white Dublin Shamrock Rovers football club badge was fastened to the torn lapel of his dirty tan corduroy jacket.
“Unless I hear something in the next five minutes or so from the folks below.” The older man pointed at the red telephone on his desk. There were six lighted buttons on the phone. Each of them was labeled. None were flashing. There was what appeared to be an ordinary thirty minute kitchen timer on the desk beside the phone. The timer was ticking.
“Couldn’t you hurry a bit?” the younger man pleaded.
“Please…sir,” the older corrected.
“Couldn’t you hurry a bit? Please…sir.”
“Cassidy is it?”
“Yeah, Yes. Sean Cassidy…sir.”
The red telephone chimed, light flashing. The younger man started. The older reached then paused, hand hanging in the air over the phone. “On your way then. God bless. And mind your manners, boyo. This isn’t Dublin.”
“Front gate, Patrick,” the older man answered the chiming phone. “No, Peter’s on holiday. Two weeks. I’m subbing. Cassidy, Sean? Yes. He’s gone just a minute ago. Sorry. God bless.”
The what appeared to be an ordinary thirty minute kitchen timer buzzed. The older man smiled. He finger combed his beard and rattled his large ring of keys.



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