Jimmy Murray would be the first to tell you he was born to be happy. Jesus Murphy, who wasn’t? But some days, happiness needed a little nudge. He poured three fingers of rum into a glass, topped it with Coke and a single ice cube. Bernadette had stormed out of the house in a snit and now Frankie was sulking on the top bunk.
There was never any guessing what would send one off, and getting the other to talk was like squeezing water from a rock. Problem was they were all missing Barb’s touch. Barb, who had just stepped out for milk and a deck of smokes when some old fucker mistook his gas pedal for the brake and smashed so hard into the back of a Pinto that it gained the curb and sent Barb flying into the middle of the road. The cops came to find Jimmy in the shop. He followed their car in
