O’Dwyer raised his chin, his mouth strained.
‘Fuck you.’
‘That’s the spirit.’ Lar shot him in the crotch. O’Dwyer screamed and stood up. His head hit the open lid of the boot, then his legs gave way and he fell to the ground. Lar put a bullet low-down and to one side of his back, aiming for a kidney. Then, when O’Dwyer
rolled over in agony, mouth agape, incoherent noises streaming out, Lar leaned down and put another one in his belly, and two more in his head.
The six shots from the unsilenced gun echoed around the street. Lar was behind the wheel, driving slowly, almost at the end of the avenue, when he looked in the wing mirror and saw someone tentatively crossing the street from the tanning salon, towards O’Dwyer’s body.
Any time now, Frank Tucker would get the message.
Karl Prowse left the clean mobile on the dashboard and used his own phone to call his friend Francie.
‘Come on – you’ve got to be kidding.’
‘That’s the price,’ Francie said.
‘Bollocks.’
‘He says he can’t do it any cheaper.’
The bastards give you a bare-bones price and that gets your juices flowing, then they come up with the extras. A weekend in Manchester, Karl and five friends, a reasonable hotel, tickets for Old Trafford and Saturday night in Sankey’s, where you might or might not pull, but you’d end up well wasted, which was the whole point.
‘What do you think?’
‘I’ve been looking forward.’
‘Me too. Okay, let’s do it.’
Karl rang off.
He’d parked alongside the mini-mart across the road from the Venetian House. A good morning’s work. Two clean hits, no snags, apart from the bitch at Tom Richie’s place and that had worked out. He’d just had a call from Lar on the clean mobile – Fiachra O’Dwyer was history and about now Frank Tucker should be starting to work up a sweat.
This works out – Jesus – if this works out there’s no limit
.
As Lar’s right hand, the opportunities were endless.
And Lar’s an old man, not going to be around forever
.
So simple. A couple of years back, when Karl killed a Chink and got arrested and it all fell apart for the cops, that was just temper and he could have spent fifteen years in jail. Stupid. Anyone could do that. This time, this was doing it for a purpose, with a real pay-off.
Karl sat up, thumbs drumming on the steering wheel. Across the road, the white Ford transit van he’d last seen in his garage was slowing down, turning in to the Venetian House car park, Danny Callaghan at the wheel.
Get it done. Get out fast
.
This time of morning, there were less than a dozen cars in the Venetian House car park. The space in front of the gondolier window was empty.
Danny Callaghan knew about the bad old days in the North, when the IRA sometimes forced civilians, by holding their families hostage, to drive bomb-laden cars to their targets. And then used remote controls to explode the bombs, complete with drivers. That way, the witness disappeared along with the bomb.
As soon as he parked, Callaghan climbed out of the van, locked the door and walked away. He held himself back from running. It would cause disastrous complications if he attracted the wrong kind of attention. When he knew he was safe, out on the main road, he turned and looked back at the van. He had a momentary flash of what the scene would look like with the whole side of the Venetian House caved in, smoke rising from the car park strewn with rubble. He turned and hurried away.
*
The remote control was small, rectangular, made of dark blue plastic. It had a short black aerial at the top, and two switches on the side. One switch was white, the other red. A thick rubber band held the switches in place.
Karl Prowse watched Danny Callaghan cross the road and hail a taxi. There’d be a time for dealing with that smart bastard.
‘He’s a loose end,’ he’d told Lar Mackendrick.
‘He’s a dog on a leash,’ Lar said. ‘Any time he thinks he’s got the freedom to bark we jerk the leash. We keep him alive until we’re sure we don’t need him.’
‘And then?’
‘He’s all yours.’
Karl eased the rubber band back from the two switches and slid it off. When he threw the white switch the bomb would be armed. He let a thumb graze the red switch, caressing it with the softest of touches. He made a puffing sound –
phuuuw!
He put the remote on the passenger seat.
Won’t be long now
.
Still nothing
.
Novak listened to the ringing tone until the automated voice invited him to leave a message. He rang off, dropped the mobile on the shelf beside the cash register and poured himself another mug of coffee.
‘You okay?’
Jane was leaving for a Christmas shopping trip in town. Novak said, ‘Danny’s being a pain in the arse. That’s half a dozen calls this morning. He never answers.’
‘Maybe he needs some space.’
‘Maybe he ought to just say that.’
‘He’ll be okay.’
Jane was wearing a light green jacket over a peasant skirt. Novak said, ‘Spring is here already?’
‘It’s that kind of day. Mind you, it’ll probably piss down.’
‘You look great.’
She smiled. ‘Compliments? What’s seldom’s wonderful.’
‘Don’t spend too much.’
Jane had most of the Christmas presents bought. ‘As usual, you’re the problem.’
Novak sighed. ‘What do you get the man who has everything?’
When she had gone he picked up the phone and tried Danny Callaghan one more time.
Please, stop
.
You’d think Novak would have got the message by now.
Danny Callaghan put the phone back on the bedside table, let the ringtone play on. Too many times this morning he’d checked the screen and seen Novak’s name. He’d have turned off the phone long ago if Lar Mackendrick hadn’t told him to await instructions.
Lying on the bed, the radio playing softly in the background.
‘
I have to deal with this myself
,’ he’d told Novak.
Easy to say.
The ringtone stopped.
There were two ways of dealing with this. Do nothing. Lie here on his bed and let the clock tick away until an artificially calm newsreader interrupts the radio programme to report that emergency services are responding to a major incident in Dublin.
The other option was unthinkable.
‘
Your ex will get preferential treatment. First on the list
.’
Sickened as he was by the image of carnage at the Venetian House, the thought of Hannah at the mercy of Mackendrick’s people filled him with a rage that drove out everything else.
Call the police
.
The cops would handle the van, the bomb, they’d go after Mackendrick.
‘
There’s a whole army of people I can tap into
.’
Horror for strangers versus horror for someone he loved.
When it came, the radio news jingle seemed interminable. The first item was about something in the Middle East.
Nothing
.
Lar Mackendrick read the text and nodded.
2 arrived for certain – connolly + blount
The job needed someone with the balls to throw the switches, so Karl Prowse was the natural choice. Once Frank Tucker entered the pub, and Karl reported that he’d identified at least another three certainties going in, it would be boom time.
Once, twice, three times. A fist thumping.
Danny Callaghan was coming out of the bathroom when the banging started on the door of his flat.
‘Danny, open up.’
Callaghan stood just inside the door, his gaze fixed on a scuff mark on the dark blue carpet.
Another three thumps.
‘Novak, please.’
‘I’m not going away.’
Callaghan unlocked the door and turned back into the flat. Novak came in, shut the door behind him.
‘I’m not going away until I know what’s going on.’
Callaghan tried to say something but his mouth was dry. He swallowed and tried again. ‘I know you mean well, but you’re best staying out of this.’
‘Frank Tucker? Is that it?’
‘No.’
‘What, then?’
Danny’s gaze fixed on the kitchen counter. On the radio someone was talking about gardening.
‘Please. Let it be.’
‘It’s not woman trouble. I know the signs and this has nothing to do with Hannah.’
Callaghan shook his head.
‘Danny, if this—’
Callaghan raised a hand, palm towards Novak. ‘Something’s going to happen – I can’t – it doesn’t –
Jesus
– Novak.’
Novak’s voice was a whisper. ‘There are things that no one should try to handle alone.’
Callaghan raised his head and made eye contact. ‘It has everything to do with Hannah.’
It took just a couple of minutes to give Novak the outline. ‘Mackendrick said he’ll give a warning so they could clear the place, but he knew that’s what I wanted to hear. It’s bullshit.’
Novak took Danny Callaghan by the elbow and leaned into his face. ‘It’s not a choice – you can’t just let it happen. You have to call the police.’
‘I can’t do that.’
‘You have to.’
‘It’d be like cutting her throat.’
‘
Warn her
, tell her to get the hell away from Dublin until this is over.’
‘They’ll kill Leon – or one of her friends, they know where her sister works, where her brother lives. And when it’s over it won’t be over – they said they’ll kill Hannah sooner or later, no matter how long it takes.’
‘Call her – tell her to get away from here, get her family away – you
can’t
sit here and wait for Christ knows how many people to be blown apart.’
‘Frank Tucker and his thugs – who gives a shit?’
‘And whoever else walks into that pub—’
‘It’s – the way Mackendrick has it worked – it’s supposed to take out the room where Tucker and his people—’
‘Jesus, Danny, don’t kid yourself – these days, the whole world boasts about their smart bombs, and when the dust settles it always turns out the bombs were as dumb as ever they were and there’s innocent blood all over the place.’
‘He said—’
‘You said it yourself – he said what you wanted to hear. Barmen, waitresses, customers—’ Novak’s voice was soft now, his face inches from Callaghan’s. ‘It’s not like you don’t know what’s the right thing to do.’
Callaghan said, ‘I can’t.’
‘
I’ll
do it. An anonymous call.’
Callaghan hesitated.
Novak said, ‘Get her out of town, make her as safe as possible – but we have to stop this thing.’
After a moment, Callaghan nodded.
As Novak made the call, Danny Callaghan was tapping out Hannah’s number.
Hannah O’Connor was at lunch in the Ely restaurant in the financial centre. When she saw Callaghan’s name come up on her mobile she excused herself and moved away from the table. He spoke quickly in short sentences.
‘Jesus Christ —’
One of her three lunch guests, the purchasing officer for a chain
of pharmacies that had a lot of printing needs, was looking towards her now, while the other two were still chattering. The cellar restaurant, once a wine store, was a series of rectangular bays, each with several tables, all stone surfaces and echoes. Hannah’s ‘
Jesus Christ
’ had carried far enough to alarm the pharmacy guy. She gave him a reassuring nod and moved out into the corridor that ran past the bays.
‘Where are you?’
‘What have you got me into?’
‘I need to know, where are you?’
‘In a restaurant.’
‘Where?’
‘
What have you got me into?
’
‘Leave, right now – don’t go back to your office, just get out of Dublin.’
‘I can’t just—’
‘This is
serious
. These are
very
dangerous men, they kill people and very soon they’ll know I haven’t done what they said.
Please
, Hannah, you need to get out. Go to the airport, or get a train – anywhere outside Dublin. Call Leon, Lisa, Matthew – and his family – tell them to take a flight somewhere, check into a hotel – whatever, as long as they drop out of sight.’
‘Jesus, Danny – it’s one thing to fuck up your own life, but, Jesus Christ—’
‘Hannah—’
‘I treated you—’
‘Don’t call the police – they’ll know, and it’ll make things—’
‘I treated you like you’re still even half the man I married, but that was a mistake. You fucked up then and you’re fucked up now, and you’ll always fuck up. I did my best for you—’