Wolf Tickets (13 page)

I blinked and the shape was gone. My eyes stung, so I wiped them.

I was fine. And she couldn't tell me any different.

"I'm not going anywhere until I get my money," I said.

And immediately felt daft for saying it out loud.

But then, at the end of the day, wasn't that what this was really about? I mean, I'd gone spare because Nora died – was
killed
– and the money had taken second place for a bit. But it was the money that had brought me over the water, and the money wasn't dead, just elsewhere. Nora was right – I couldn't waste my time sitting around talking to myself. That led to a padded room, jackets where one size fit all, and baby food for dinner. No, the money was the thing. Hunting down O'Brien would be a damn sight easier with a little green in my back pocket.

I had to do something. I had to think.

I double-checked the pockets of the suitcase, then pulled the drawers out of the desk. I found the menu for the mini bar and scanned it, my thirst returning with a vengeance. I half thought about emptying the bugger, but then realised it was me paying for it.

I was about to put the menu back when I saw the last item.

Room safe.

I'd been in enough hotel rooms to know that you didn't put anything in the safe if you wanted to keep it. There was a fella I knew, he'd worked menial jobs in most of the hotels in Dublin at one point or another, and he'd told me that those safes were used so infrequently that that hotel didn't bother their arses to change the master combinations. After a few pints of the black stuff and a thick enough envelope, those master combinations were mine. Of course, they wouldn't do me much good here, but it just went to show.

Nora was different. Nora still had faith in a few things: that her God was a loving and forgiving God; that money made the world go around; and that hotel room safes were tighter than a hipster's pants. Which meant she was stupid enough to use one to stash her valuables.

I found the safe in the corner of the wardrobe, then looked around for something I could use to prise the bastard open. There was nothing in the bedroom, so I went back to the ensuite. Nothing in there, either, except a toilet seat left up.

Which stopped me dead when I saw it.

I hadn't noticed it before. Too busy going out of my fucking mind. And just when I thought I'd had it all put together, there was that one important piece I was missing.

O'Brien.

There was a knock at the door.

He'd been here. He'd stayed in this room.

Another knock. "Mr Farrell?"

Liz hadn't questioned him over the phone about being Nora's husband, which she would've done if Nora had checked in by herself. But she hadn't, had she? She'd checked in with O'Brien.
He
was Mr Farrell.

Jesus, it was right there in front of me the whole fucking time.

"Mr Farrell? Would you mind opening the door?"

I snapped back to the voice. It didn't belong to a cop, wasn't urgent enough. It sounded officious enough to be a uniform of some kind, but timid enough not to be a threat. I looked back at the safe and sniffed. I knew what Cobb would do – he'd pull open the door and kick seven shades out of the unfortunate bastard on the other side, then take the rest of his rage out on that safe.

But I wasn't Cobb. And I didn't have the energy for a dust up.

Another knock. There was a brief scuffling outside in the corridor. I edged to the door. Sounded like someone was digging around for a master key.

I couldn't leave the safe. There was twenty large sitting in it, and it belonged to me.

I saw the red light turn to green and the door open.

The money would have to wait.

I woke up drowning.

Came to with my lungs flared, felt like they were full to bursting, desperate for air. I coughed, gagged, spat water that tasted like shit. I blinked hard, trying to see beyond the pain and the spin in my skull.

"
Ta tu aras
."

The fuck was that? I moved, felt something hanging onto the back of my jacket. I couldn't feel my arms, knew they were lashed together behind my back with something tight and sharp. Not metal. Maybe plastic. Digging in, whatever it was. Whenever I tried to move my arms, the muscles screamed and it was all I could do not to join in.

Kept blinking water out of my eyes, tried to kick out and get myself upright, but it was like I'd had a stroke or something. I sniffed, snotted, and opened my eyes wide enough to see through the water that streamed off my head and down my nose.

I was in the bath.
My
bath.

I was home.

The hand that had a hold of my jacket let go. I slipped straight back down into the water. I jerked my head as I dropped, smacked a wound against the bath and wrestled against the pain that threatened to put us out again. I nudged myself up so my mouth was above the surface and yelled the fuckin' roof off.

"Calm yourself."

That voice again. The one that'd been speaking in fucking tongues before.

I pushed myself up a bit further so my head was up and out. I blinked again, snorted stale bath water and turned towards the voice.

A skinny guy with white hair sat on a chair by the bath. I put the bloke's age somewhere between fifty and immortal. He was wearing cufflinks. They shone on cuffs that looked too large for the skinny wrists inside them. Thin hands, long fingers. The sight of them hands together with the smell of aftershave made us want to spew.

"You're the thug," said the man. Then, with a smile that showed perfect teeth. "Sure, you're certainly a
heavy
."

I matched the smile. "I thought it was just your perfume that stunk. Turns out your patter's not much better."

One of the skinny bloke's hands flew in a blur and knocked my head back against the bath. A flash of pain at the back, and the burn of a fresh wound on my mouth.

I breathed out, waggled my jaw. Felt loose, even though he couldn't have broke it that easily.

I looked at him. This fucker here, he was a nippy one.

"You should learn to watch your mouth." The skinny bloke got up. From where I was, he looked about eight foot tall. "You don't have the accent and you're dressed like a vagrant, so I'll assume you're not Sean Farrell. Which would make you the other one. James Cobb, was it?"

"See you, you're a fuckin' mind reader." I spat blood. It looked like red smoke in the water. "Fuckin' Derren Brown, you, like."

"Yes, you're the
bruiser
, aren't you? You're the muscle."

"I'll show you muscle in a minute, pal."

"I'm sure you will."

"I'll bray fuck out of you, you skinny paddy cunt."

He smiled. "You're muscle, yes, but there's a fair amount of the old blubber there too, eh? Perhaps you should've used those a little more often."

I followed the skinny bloke's nod and saw one of my free weights on the bathroom lino, blood pooled around it. Bastard had floored us with one of my own dumb bells. No wonder I had a throbber behind the eyes.

I shook my head slowly, tried to keep focus. Swore to myself if I had brain damage, I'd kick this twat till Tuesday and then piss in his mouth. I told him as much an' all.

"Ah now, James. That's hardly polite." He moved to the end of the bath, shifted in and out of focus. He looked like a ghost in the harsh light of the strips above. The hum of the extractor fan masked his footsteps, made him look as if he was gliding. "And completely unnecessary. You shouldn't waste your breath on idle threats, especially when you'll need it for other things."

"Fuck yersel—"

He grabbed my legs and pulled. I went under and knew I couldn't get back up. I jerked like I was having a fit. Old water in my mouth, copper-tasting, bubbling through my throat, down to the lungs and it was like I'd forgotten how to breathe. All the while, I saw the shimmering image of the skinny bloke and felt his hands like bear traps on my ankles.

He was smiling.

And then he let go. Moved out of sight. I battered my elbows against the bottom of the bath, wriggled upright. I managed halfway, then made a whooping sound as I managed to get air in my lungs before I slipped under again.

Plan B. I thrashed about in the bath. Had to get as much water out of here as possible. If this bastard wanted to drown us, he'd have to do it in six inches or less. Because drowning in a bath wasn't on. I had my death already planned. I was going to cark it at the age of a hundred, in a bed full of naked women and pissed off my face. So fuck this bastard and his dunking routine. I kicked out, water splashing up over the side of the bath, and I thumped with my elbows until I could catch a breath and keep it caught.

And then, when I had the air, I let it out in a scream, part pure fear and part cackling fuck-you.

Still alive. Forever kicking.

A hand clamped on my shoulder, dragged us up.

"You're a fighter, James, I'll give you that. Might have neck like a jockey's ball sack, but I can't deny you have something of a stranglehold on life."

"Ah, you fuckin'—"

"Come on now, I was being nice. So how about you show a little respect for your elders? Oh, and understand that you can bleat all you want, but you're not setting foot outside of this bath unless I allow it. See, I'm the one in charge here, James, and the sooner you realise that, the better." He smiled. "Now that we have that established, I have some questions for you."

"I know you, right?"

"No, you don't know me."

"You're O'Brien. You're the cunt."

"I'll admit to the first, James, but, as I said, you'd do well to watch your mouth."

"Honest, listen to yourself, you sound like one of them auld fruits. Look like one an' all in that fuckin' get-up. Don't get us wrong or nowt, I'm all for people doing what they want behind closed doors and everything – youse can fist yourselves silly for all I care – but don't be thinking I'm ever going to be scared of a fuckin' hom." I grinned at him. "Were you one when you went in? Or did they turn you inside?"

O'Brien let go of my jacket.

I slipped a little, but I was ready for him. Dug in my elbows. I kept grinning. "So they turned you, then."

"I suppose I should be happy you're vocal."

"Aye. I'll even give you a song if you want. What about 'The Sash'? You know that one?"

"Where's the money?"

I belted it out: "
Sure, I'm an Ulster Orangeman, from Erin's isle I came—
"

Caught a flicker in the corner of my eye, saw a blur of skin before O'Brien's right hand slammed into my eye. My elbows buckled under us and I lost my grip on the bottom of the bath, shooting under the water like I'd been dropped. I threw my head back but still caught a mouthful of water. I spat it out, gasped for air.

O'Brien leaned in close. "You wouldn't know your prick from your finger if it wasn't for the nail, would you, James?"

I coughed. "The fuck's that supposed to mean?"

"Where's the money?"

I twisted and hauled myself up to a sitting position. My eye throbbed, felt like it was already swelling up. I stared at O'Brien with the good one.

O'Brien smiled. "Well?"

"I think we're acquainted enough that I can call you Frank, right?"

He nodded.

"Good." I cleared my throat, spat over the side of the bath. "Well, I heard a lot about you, Frank. And if I may be frank, Frank, in answer to the question you just fuckin' posed, Frank, you can go fuck yourself ... Frank."

He kept nodding like he'd been expecting that or something like it. He stood up, took off his jacket. He hung it carefully on the back of the chair. Then he moved the chair to the bathroom door. He flicked his sleeves and removed his cufflinks. "Do you know, James, what the Seven Contrary Virtues are? I wouldn't have thought so, being a protestant or a heathen or whatever you are. The Seven Contrary Virtues are virtues you're supposed to practise in order to combat each of the Seven Deadly Sins – I'm assuming you know all about
them
." He counted them off on his fingers: "Humility against Pride. Kindness against Envy. Abstinence against Gluttony. Chastity against Lust. Liberality against Greed. Diligence against Sloth. And Patience, James, against Anger."

He held up one finger and wagged it at us like I'd done something wrong.

"That last one," he said. "That's the most important one for me."

I kept quiet. He started to fold his shirtsleeves, rolling them up past his elbows to show long, thin arms. Had to wonder where the strength came from, because he was rail thin.

"When I was inside, James, I was angry." He shook his head. "You wouldn't believe the rage in me, it was fierce. Used to keep me up at nights. I used to lay on my bunk and stare at the ceiling, and I used to be just
trembling
with rage, can you imagine? So utterly
wrathful
. At my situation, you know? At the people who put me in there. At everything I could think of." He rubbed his hands together and smiled. "Now, there was a man up the spur – he was in for numerous counts of grievous bodily harm, as I recall – and this man had recently taken to Chinese Taoism. He shaved his head, spent hours in contemplation, took this little book of meditations with him everywhere he went. Very Zen. Very
centred
. You could say he was Patience personified. But as much as he practised his Contrary Virtue and as much as he thought it made him a better person, at the end of the day, it didn't stop me putting his head through a concrete wall."