Running on Empty (27 page)

Pat walked through a side door into the small windowless room adjacent, returning with a piece of equipment.

‘Do you know what this is Stan?’ he asked.

Lowanski shook his head with a number of jerking movements, clearly terrified.

‘Are you from a farming background Stan?’

Another shake of the head.

‘Well Stan, I’ll explain it to you simply then. Here on the farm, we have cattle. These cattle have baby cattle, known as calves. Because of the laws of averages, half of these calves are born as girl calves, and half as boys. Now the females are fine, they grow up to have more calves themselves, and also they produce milk, both of which are great news for the farmer. The male calves however, are not quite so fortunate. They’re of less use. All they can do is impregnate other cattle, or be sent off to the slaughterhouse, becoming one of those burgers you Americans are so fond of. The farmers don’t want them to service the females because, firstly, it could cause inbreeding, and, secondly, they want their cattle to be impregnated by a top quality bull. That’s where this instrument comes in. It’s for castrating these young bulls. Do you know what castration is Stan?’

Lowanski’s eyes grew wider, his body stiffening.

Pat began walking back towards the other room, carrying the implement.

‘Don’t worry Stan, we’re not barbarians, we’re not going to use this on you’.

Lowanski relaxed slightly.

‘Not yet, anyway’ added Pat, as he hung it back up.

‘Now Stan, the secret to a good interrogation, as I’m sure you’re well aware, is when the victim understands that the interrogator already knows a certain amount of the information he appears to be seeking. It’s simply a case of filling in the blanks, so to speak. This gives the interrogator the advantage of knowing when the one being questioned is lying. I don’t like liars Stan, so I’d appreciate if you don’t try to, throw me a few curve balls, I believe is the term you Americans use?

So, why did you kill Li?’

‘Fuck you, I’m telling you nothing, you thick Irish cunt’ Lowanski screamed, through a mixture of both bravado and fear.

‘Charming, but flattery will get you nowhere’ answered Pat, before kicking the toe of his boot into Lowanski’s shattered leg. Lowanski screamed, and continued screaming and howling, like a wounded animal. With no sign of him abating, Pat gestured to Robbie, who removed a roll of duct tape from the old kitchen dresser, and proceeded to put several layers over Lowanski’s mouth.

‘Now Stan, isn’t that better? There’s no point in you shouting and screaming, the only ones who might hear you are the cattle and sheep in the surrounding fields, and I think they’re more concerned with finding a nice piece of juicy grass to graze on, than you’re immediate predicament, don’t you think? Anyway, this is how it plays out. When you decide to be a good lad, and are willing to answer all my questions, nod your head, ok?’

Shay and Dan entered, carrying a large white enamel bath into the room, standing it against the opposite wall. Lowanski’s eyes widened once more, a look of resigned terror beginning to creep into them.

‘That’s great lads, thanks’.

The door opened again, and in came Tom and Grainne.

On seeing Lowanski sitting in the chair, Tom made a lunge, his hands wrapping around his erstwhile pursuer’s throat.

‘You fucking animal, Lowanski, I’ll kill you, I’ll fucking kill you’.

Pat and Robbie, with difficulty, dragged him off.

‘Grainne, take Tom here off for a walk or something. Tom, I can understand your anger, but leave it to the professionals, ok? Stan here is no use to us dead. We’ve work to do, so let us do our job’.

Tom was reluctantly led out by Grainne.

‘Now Stan, where were we? Ah yes, so when you’re ready to talk, nod your head. Although I think I told you that bit already, didn’t I? Must be getting old Stan, the memory is going’.

Pat walked over and stood directly in front of Lowanski.

‘Robbie, I think it’s time to relieve Stan here of his kit’ whereupon the two of them began stripping him, carefully cutting then replacing each of the cable ties as they proceeded, until Lowanski sat naked on the chair before them.

‘That’s a nasty injury you have there Stan’ said Pat, pointing to the mangled leg.

‘Must smart like hell. Y’know, a bit of cooperation, and we might be able to rustle up a morphine shot to ease the pain. Think about it’.

He began walking the room. Lowanski’s eyes followed, like a dog watching a bone.

‘You an angling man Stan?’

Lowanski, startled at this unexpected question, just blinked.

‘I’m not talking about that girly effort of tying little flies onto hooks and fishing with a spindly little rod to try to catch spindly little fish. I’m talking about being out in the ocean, in a fifteen or twenty footer, looking to land a monster from the deep. Real fishing. I could tell you some stories about that’.

Pat was pacing back and forth in front of Lowanski, his hands clasped behind his back as he stared at the floor, reminiscing.

‘I remember last year, we were out in a wooden clinker, about the length of this little room, a fifteen footer. We were catching our fair share of mackerel and cod. Suddenly, Robbie here gets into a biggie. Must have struggled with it for fifteen or twenty minutes. What’s he got, we all wonder. Then he gets it to the surface, and what is it but a big fucker of a conger. Now I don’t know if you’ve ever come face to face with one of these babies, but they are one vicious mother. So we gaffed it and got it on board. Must have been six or seven feet long, with a head on it about this big’. He gestures a circle with both his hands, about eight inches in diameter.’ With some difficulty, we managed to club it to death, or so we thought, and got it into a large sack. They might look ugly, but they taste pretty good if you skin them and cook them properly. Anyway, we continued fishing a while longer, until we noticed the sack was coming alive, and that conger is swishing and flapping until without warning he’s after biting his way through that sack, and he’s suddenly slithering around the bottom of the boat, snapping with those razor teeth at anything he can, and we’re up on the side of the boat, trying to keep out of biting range. I mean, this fucker would take a chunk out of you the size of a grapefruit. I had a large fillet knife in my hands ‘cause I’d been gutting fish, and as he slithered by I got lucky, and with all my force planted that knife clean through his skull, nailing him to the bottom of the boat. And do you know what the incredible part is? With that knife through his skull, and him pinned to the boat like that, he still carried on trying to bite anything he could for a good ten or fifteen minutes more. So, enough of my reminiscing about our fishing exploits, I’m sure you don’t want to listen to me waffling on and on. If however, you’ve never seen a conger, well today might be your lucky day, ‘cause over in that bath there what have we got? Come on Stan, what have we got? That’s right, you guessed it, you got it in one, a conger. Now it’s not, unfortunately, as big as the one on the boat that day. That beast probably wouldn’t have even fitted in the bath. Then again, fisherman’s tales and all that eh? However, I’d imagine he’s, what would you say Robbie, about five foot or so?

Big enough. I’d say his bite would be capable of taking chunks the size of an orange out of whatever takes his fancy. And he’s one angry beast too. He’s been using the oxygen up in that seawater bath of his at a fair rate, and getting more agitated by the minute. They’re very territorial too, these congers, not too happy with company. The scent of the blood seeping from that bullet wound of yours might cheer him up a bit though.

Shall we see?’

He checked Lowanski. No nodding yet, but his previously beady eyes had expanded to the size of golf balls.

‘Ok Robbie, looks like Stan here doesn’t want to dance. We’ll have to take him for a dip. You grab the arms and I’ll take the legs. He wants to conga with the conger’.

They began to lift him up, whereupon Lowanski began muffled screaming, his head nodding frantically. They sat him back down and removed the duct tape.

‘Ok Stan my man, you want to say something?

‘Can I have that morphine shot first, I’m afraid I might pass out’ he stammered. His leg was on fire and his mouth was as dry as a desert.

‘Afraid not Stan’ replied Pat, ‘not ‘till you’ve finished your story. But don’t you worry, you pass out and we’ll find a way to revive you, believe me. And remember, I already know part of the scenario, so don’t you go try and pull the wool over this old codger’s eyes, or you’ll be going for an early bath, as they say in sporting circles. Now begin, why did you kill Li?

‘If I give you what you’re after, how do I know you won’t kill me anyway?’

‘You don’t, now start, or it’s back to the conger’.

‘Li was killed because he knew too much, and wouldn’t cooperate’ Lowanski began nervously.

‘Who was he?’

‘He was the manager of a factory in Shanghai. The factory’s used as the departure point for the goods’.

‘What goods?’

‘Can I have a glass of water first? My mouth’s dry’

‘Afraid not Stan, we’re not the Samaritans. Now continue, and don’t make me have to drag everything out of you, word by word. Give me the full story. You’re beginning to irritate me, and you won’t like the consequences if you persist, believe me’.

‘The goods are heroin. My boss, Mark Fielding, figured out a way to get uncut heroin into the States that’s almost foolproof’.

‘Go on’.

‘If you arrive in the States, you and your luggage are checked on arrival. But if you have a follow-on flight to a destination not serviced by international flights, you’re checked, but your baggage is transferred automatically, once you identify it, so your luggage isn’t checked until you pick it up at your final destination. If your final destination is a small two bit airport, what are the chances of it being searched?’

‘Keep going, I’m listening’.

‘Fielding did his homework, and picked a small local airport, Dawes Regional in Nebraska. Customs and Immigration have lots of small airports to check, and not too many staff. So they randomly hit each of these airports on occasion, maybe five or six times a year. If you can obtain this information beforehand, you’re home and dry, and Fielding is in the information business. After that, all that remained was the logistics of putting it all together, beforehand in sourcing the heroin, and afterwards in distributing it’.

‘And what sort of quantity are we talking about?’

Lowanski paused, then replied quietly ‘Twenty kilos uncut for each trip, with a street value of about three million dollars’

‘Why China?’

‘Because at its western edge, China borders Afghanistan, and with US troops stationed there, Fielding has his military guys in place, and Afghanistan is the largest opium producer in the world. All he had to do was set up a conduit from Afghanistan to Shanghai, have a fake company doing business Shanghai to Nebraska, and he’s home and dry. Now, I’ve told you all I know, what about that morphine?’

‘You didn’t really think there was any morphine, did you? You’re not in Nam, you know. We might be able to stretch to a couple of aspirin, but that’s about it’.

Pat went to the dresser, removed a cup, and walked to the bath.

‘I’ll get you that water you were looking for though’.

He leaned his arm into the bath, splashed the water around a bit, before removing the cup full of water. He walked over to Lowanski, sipping water as he went, before offering the cup to him. Lowanski stared at him, speechless.

‘Surely you must have heard a thousand times about us Irish and our storytelling? We’re the world leaders at spinning yarns. Although the conger in the boat story was actually true, wasn’t it Robbie?’

Robbie nodded. He walked around the back of the still speechless Lowanski.

‘I do have something to stop the pain though’ he says, before firing a single round from the Glock into the back of Lowanski’s skull. He turns again to Robbie.

‘Give me a hand and we can re-unite Stan here with his buddies. You know Robbie, with all the feeding we’re giving ‘em, I can see this coming season being the best year yet for Killala Bay crabs’.

Brad Johnson absently drummed his fingers on the desk, as he pondered his next move. His eyes scanned the room, before they settled on his John Deere manual. He scooped it up, and headed for the door.