Eightball Boogie (24 page)

“
They issue a press release or something?”

He stared.

“
Jesus, Harry, this is serious. I don’t think you realise what you’re into here.”

“
Hey, Dutch? It was me they tried to blow off the bridge last night. Alright?”

“
Alright, alright.” He puffed out his cheeks, exhaled, chewed his gum. “These boys are hardcore, though.”

“
It was them? For certs?”

He nodded.

“
I heard different, Dutch. So just cut to the chase. Tell me who.”

“
Who what?”

“
Who bought you who.”

He stopped chewing.

“
What?”

“
Come on, Dutch. You sold me out. You know it, I know it, Herbie knows it. Or he will, when he’s able to hear again. I found him this morning, fucked over like you wouldn’t believe. They mashed his face in, Dutch.”

“
Who mashed his face in?”

“
Santa’s little helpers. Who do you think mashed his fucking face in?”

“
Jesus, Harry –”

“
Whoever put the hammer on me mashed his face in. Whoever tried to blow me off the bridge. Whoever bought you. That’s who mashed his face in.”

“
Fuck you.”

“
Join the queue, Dutch. And you’re last, because you’ve already blown your load.”

His face was a mask, hard set. I sympathised. He was mad at me for accusing him of selling me out, mad at himself for doing it, and mad at the world because he’d had no choice.

“
It’s simple, Dutch. The pros thought Herbie had compromising pictures of Tony Sheridan, and Herbie got hammered because they thought he was holding out. What I couldn’t figure out was how they found out Herbie developed the pictures, and how they knew where to find him.” I shrugged. “The answer to the first question is that I pretty much told them who developed the pictures. It was a stupid thing to do, but that’s the kind of thing I do best and I’ll deal with that later. But it shouldn’t have mattered anyway, because even if they knew Herbie developed the shots they shouldn’t have known who he was or where to find him. That’s where you came in, Dutch. You put them on to Herbie. You had to. Nobody else could have.”

He denied it with his eyes, pleading.

“
You called me on the mobile, Dutch. I gave you the wrong number, like I gave it wrong to Dee and Katie, but you still called me. Who gave you the number?”

His face crumpled and his hands started to shake.

“
Harry –”

I looked away.

“
All I need to know is who, the who will do it. Don’t tell me why, because I’m pretty sure it’ll be a good enough reason and good enough is never good enough. Just tell me who.”

He took a deep breath that wobbled on the way down.

“
He called himself Carroll.”

“
What’d he look like?”

“
Small guy, thin, well-dressed. Looked like a –”

“
Galway. He’s a detective, Branch. Was Brady with him?”

“
Who’s Brady?”

“
His sidekick. Big bloke, look on his face like he wants to kick a hole in the side of his head.”

“
Never seen him.”

I nodded.

“
When?”

“
Couple of days back. Said he’d –”

“
I don’t need to know, Dutch. I presume he threatened the kids, Michelle, whatever. Anyway, it’s done. It’s history, write it up whatever way you want. You did what you had to do. All I need to know now is if you’re onside.”

“
Harry –”

“
I need to trust someone, Dutch, and I don’t have time to make new friends. All things considered, you’re still the best option I have.”

The dig hurt but he took it square on the chin.

“
Anything. Just say the word.”

I told him about my visit to Conway, leaving out nothing, not even the lipstick on the secretary’s teeth.

“
You tapped him for two grand? Thinking he’d just had Gonz killed?” He whistled. “You’ve got balls, Harry. You think with them maybe, but you’ve got balls.”

“
I didn’t tap him for anything. All I was looking for was some kind of reaction, something that linked Conway to the pros. I didn’t get any. Conway’s good but he’s not that good. Conway had nothing to do with last night. That was Sheridan’s call.”

“
Sheridan?”

“
Our esteemed TD. I put the spook up Big Frank and Sheridan came crawling out of the woodwork.”

“
So maybe Sheridan is using the East Belfast boys.”

Dutchie didn’t want to let the East Belfast boys go.

“
No one uses the East Belfast boys, Dutch. Those lads aren’t taking orders from anyone, least of all some Free State fucker.”

“
Might do, if the money was good enough.”

“
Maybe. Not that it matters either way. Thing that’s bugging me is, where does Conway come into it if Sheridan already has his hook-up?”

“
Maybe he was threatening to rat Sheridan out to the big boys, start a war.” He shrugged. “You got the message? About Conway?”

“
Yeah. How’d he go?”

“
Not sure. Everyone’s keeping their heads down, saying fuck all. It’s getting out that it’s a drug thing. Everyone’s hiding bongs, flushing stashes.”

“
Last time I saw Conway was about eleven. He was with Tony Sheridan.”

“
You’re saying Sheridan had Conway offed?”

“
Who knows? A desperate man does desperate things. Because whatever’s going on, it’s going on fast. Maybe Conway fucked up once too often.”

He didn’t buy it.

“
Jesus, Harry. It’s a bit much.”

“
Tell it to Big Frank. The way I see it, it makes perfect sense. Gonzo first, then me, then Conway.”

“
How’s that?”

“
Gonz did time for Conway a couple of years back. That’s why he was back in town, putting the squeeze on. Conway came to me, trying to work out if I was hooked up with Gonzo. Next thing Sheridan knows, I’m running around with pictures that prove he’s connected to Conway. What does he do? Step one, take Gonzo out of the picture by feeding him Flatliners. Two, me, because I have the shots. Three, Conway gets his for being the prick that could’ve brought the house of cards down.”

“
So where’s Helen Conway come into it all?”

“
Fuck knows. Maybe she is screwing Tony Sheridan. Or maybe she’s running the whole show, I doubt if Helen Conway ever took a back seat to anyone in her life. Right now I’m more worried about Katie.”

He frowned.

“
The journo?”

“
Have to go, Dutch. Do me a favour?”

“
What about Katie?”

“
Check the street outside. See if the Dibble are still out there, watching the office.”

I was pretty sure Brady wouldn’t be there. I was pretty sure Galway wouldn’t be there either, but I didn’t want to take any more chances than I had to. I told him about the call from Katie.

“
If the Dibble are out in the street watching the office, they can’t be with the pros. Basic physics, that.”

“
Christ, Harry, tell me you’re taking the piss. Who the fuck is Katie, some bimbo fucking journalist?”

“
Right now, Dutch, she’s a hostage. If it wasn’t for me she’d still be a bimbo fucking journalist.”

“
You’re walking into an ambush, just like that? Lamb to the fucking slaughter for some bird you hardly know?”

“
It’s not much of an ambush. They told me where they’d be.”

He grabbed me by the shoulders, shook me hard. I let him. I needed loosening up after the long drive.

“
It’s a set-up, Harry! Fuck’s sake, man!”

“
We went through it this morning. Sheridan had a decision to make and he wants to let me know what it is. Then everyone walks away, like the man said.”

“
The reason they tried to take you out last night is the reason they’ll do it tonight. They think you’re in with Gonz, which makes you poison.”

“
Give me some credit, Dutch. It’s not heat of the moment anymore. These boys are sharp. They think I want to see them taken down and all things being equal I would. The way things are, though, I couldn’t give a flying fuck about them. All I give a shit about is Ben.”

“
Ben?”

“
I keep my trap shut about Sheridan and Helen Conway. Never saw a fucking thing, I was tucked up safe and warm in bed with Dee for the last week. Dee will back me up, no one can say different. The photos get buried. That way, nothing happens Ben and I’m happy as a pig in the proverbial.”

“
You’re betting on Ben?”

“
I’m not betting on anyone, least of all Ben. I’m just letting them know what my priorities are.”

“
What about Gonzo?”

“
Fuck Gonzo.”

“
Jesus, Harry. He’s your brother and these boys put him to sleep. Doesn’t that count for anything?”

“
On its own it might count for something. Put Ben in the picture and it counts for fuck-all.”

He had a problem swallowing it but he got it down in the end.

“
Alright,” he said. “That’s Plan A. What if they don’t bite?”

“
I’ll burn that bridge when I come to it.”

“
That’s it?” He was incredulous.

“
Pretty much.”

“
Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.”

“
Dutch? The Dibble?”

“
You’re doing it?”

“
It’s doing me, Dutch. I’m just along for the ride.”

He left, slow and heavy. He was gone about ten minutes, and as far as he could make out no one was watching the office from the street.

He wouldn’t meet my eye. I couldn’t blame him. My being there was already asking too much, and he reckoned I was going to ask for more. I stood up, faked a yawn.

“
Once more unto the breach, Horatio. I’m running late.”

“
Yeah, yeah. Right.”

He let me out the side door, followed me into the alleyway.

“
Be cute, Harry.”

“
There’s a first time for everything. Hey, Dutch?”

“
What?”

“
Did Gonzo say anything, before he died?”

“
About what?”

“
About anything. I don’t know.”

He looked away, shook his head, no.

“
He didn’t get the chance, Harry.” He was choking up again. “I told you, he never came out of the coma.”

We looked at one another for a second or two, awkward in the darkness, and then I walked away down the alleyway towards the river. Feeling lonelier, more vulnerable, than I’d ever felt in my entire life.

“
Hey, Harry?”

“
What?”

I didn’t look back. Dutchie had sold me out and he wasn’t reneging on the deal. Something perverse in me admired that, but still.

“
You want me to go with you, I’ll go.”

“
That’s why I didn’t ask, Dutch.”

22

I was a tumbleweed crossing the street. Locked the door, stood in the stairwell, listening. The building was quiet, a mausoleum. I hoped that wasn’t an omen, started breathing again.

I climbed the three flights of stairs. Bright yellow tape was tacked in an X across the doorway of the office. It jazzed the place up, although I’d preferred the doorway when it still had a door. I tore the tape down, balled it up and volleyed it out over the banister, wincing at the sudden dart of pain in my side. Then I stepped across what was left of the door.

Elephants had been through, tap-dancing. The filing cabinet lay on its side, contents scattered across the floor. The desk and chairs were smashed, splintered. The desk drawers had been rifled. The carpet had been ripped up, and some wallpaper had been torn off the wall. Looking for a safe. Or wanting me, or the Dibble, to think they’d been looking for a safe.

Still, it could have worse. I might have been insured, in which case I’d be looking forward to the drip-drip torture of my claim being denied.

I found a sheet of paper, scribbled a couple of lines that didn’t take any longer than a good lie took to tell. I had an insurance policy on the mortgage, which looked after Denise. What cash there was I left to Ben, to be put into a trust fund for his education. Or to be released to him when he was twenty-one, if he turned out like his father, who was genetically conditioned against learning. I knew it wasn’t legally binding as a last will and testament, but I was damn sure there wouldn’t be anyone contesting it either.

When I was finished I folded the sheet, slipped it into an envelope and scrawled ‘Denise Gorman’ on the front. I pinned the envelope to the doorframe and took one last look around. All things considered, I approved.

I ghosted back across the street, ducked into the alleyway. The snow had finally stopped falling, the frosty air causing the snow to harden, crunch underfoot. It was nearly as cold as the marble slab in my chest, the one someone was chiselling my name into, or maybe that was just my heart thumping. The ache in my side was a blunt knife grinding on stone. My stomach was churning eggs, and the ulcer was emitting the kind of high-pitched scream only musically inclined dogs can hear.