Seventy Times Seven (12 page)

Angela rounded the corner near her house and saw her car parked on the pavement.

It crossed her mind that almost everything that had happened since she’d met Danny McGuire had been unusual. She was about to be driven in a car – that ten hours ago had belonged to her – by a man she barely knew who only a day earlier she’d found stumbling around on a deserted country road after being almost beaten to death. Danny McGuire was married. He had a child. His brother – a prominent figure in the IRA – had been murdered. If she called any one of her friends and asked them what she should do, every one of them would tell her to turn heel and run. If the situation were reversed that’s the advice she would give.

Angela paused for a moment and considered going back home.

Danny caught a movement in the rear-view mirror and immediately got out of the car with the intention of opening the passenger door for Angela, but the sight of her standing at the corner of the street made him pause.

She was wearing a long grey coat that had a dark fur collar and was tied at the waist with a thick belt. Her black hair framed her face in long wavy curls and her eyes – with nothing more than a little mascara – looked twice as big as he remembered them. Her lips looked soft and natural. She’d worn heels that made her appear taller, and sheer stockings that defined the outline of her shapely legs. She looked amazing.

Danny was still wearing the same clothes he’d had on when visiting her house earlier that morning. His face was badly swollen on one side and the bruising around his right eye had turned from a deep purple to black. He looked down at his dirty top and faded jeans then held his arms wide, shrugging his shoulders by way of an apology. She got it immediately and shook her head in a silent rebuke.

Danny made his way round to the passenger side and held the door open.

As she drew near he adjusted his glasses and smiled.

Angela fixed him with a steady gaze.

As she bent down to get into the car Danny said, ‘You might have made a bit more of an effort.’

The Mourne Arms was set into the hillside overlooking the seaside town of Newcastle on the south-east coast of Northern Ireland. The early-evening light had faded by the time they reached the pub, and the bay in which the town sat twinkled and shimmered in the fresh darkness. When Angela questioned him on why they were travelling away from Newry he made the lame excuse that he wanted to test-drive her car. Danny made his mind up in that moment, that – even though it was a joke – it would be the one and only time he’d ever deceive her.

The route took them along the Kilkeel Road, past the exact spot where Angela had stopped to pick him up. Neither of them spoke much until they were a few miles further on, when Danny turned to her and said, ‘Thanks again.’

Danny had chosen the Mourne because no one he knew drank there. They could spend a few hours with no interruptions.

Several times on the journey he’d checked to make sure they were not being followed, and only when he was satisfied that was the case did he turn off the main road and head up the narrow country lane leading to the pub.

At the Mourne, they found themselves a table tucked away in the corner by the fire and ordered some food, even though neither of them felt very hungry.

Their conversation flowed freely. They were at ease in each other’s company. The only pauses came when they caught one another’s eye and momentarily lost the thread of what they were saying.

Angela was soon on her third gin and tonic and starting to feel it. Danny was on his second Guinness. He pushed his spectacles up on his nose and took a sip from his pint.

‘Is that just a nervous habit?’ asked Angela.

‘What?’ replied Danny.

‘You keep adjusting your specs. Either they don’t fit or it’s just a habit you’ve got into. Are they for reading or distance?’ she asked.

Danny thought about what he was going to say before answering, ‘Neither.’

‘“Neither”?’

‘I don’t need them at all. I’m not long- or short-sighted, I’m just sighted . . . normally.’

‘Why do you wear them then?’ she asked with a puzzled expression on her face. ‘They make you look like a bit of an eejit.’

‘Which bit of an eejit?’ asked Danny, coming back at her.

‘There’s no bit of an eejit that looks good, so take your pick,’ replied Angela. ‘Are you trying to look intelligent?’

Danny smiled. The reason he wore glasses was to give himself a split-second advantage in a fight. Most people were still unwilling to throw the first punch if their opponent was wearing glasses. It gave Danny that momentary opportunity to strike the first blow, which was usually all he needed to win. But he was reluctant to start a conversation that focused on the topic of violence.

‘I think they make me look quite intellectual, yes,’ he answered with a big silly grin on his face. ‘Now, there’s a word you couldn’t even spell, I bet.’

‘“Intellectual”, sure I can spell it,’ said Angela. ‘E-E-J-I-T.’

Danny took his glasses off and placed them gently on the bridge of Angela’s nose. ‘Here, you need these more than I do. That’s not how you spell it at all,’ he said.

Angela gave an awkward little half-smile.

‘You all right?’ asked Danny.

‘Fine.’

‘Something wrong? You look all worried.’

‘She’s very pretty,’ said Angela before she could stop herself.

‘Who?’ replied Danny.

‘Your wife.’

‘D’you think so? And how would you know that?’

‘I’m just saying. I saw the photograph you have in your room. She’s a beautiful-looking girl.’

‘And I’m just saying, how would you know?’ Danny let it hang. Angela placed her empty glass on the low table in front of them. ‘I’ve never dated a married man,’ she said.

‘Neither have I,’ interrupted Danny.

‘I’m serious. I don’t know that I feel that comfortable with it.’

‘I’m not married.’

‘All right, your girlfriend then.’

‘I don’t have a girlfriend.’

These were not the answers she was expecting: Angela sat staring at him in silence.

Danny stared back.

It occurred to him that Angela was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. He wondered if he should tell her right there and then, but he had to let her off the hook first. He took another sup of his drink before continuing.

‘Órlaith is married to my brother Sean. When he was murdered I promised I’d look after her and her wee girl. I go over there whenever I can, or she comes to me. I make sure she’s all right. Quite often I stay. I sleep in her bed – and she sleeps with her daughter. And on my mother’s life, I’ve never laid a finger on her, nor would I ever want to. As far as I’m concerned she’s still my brother’s wife and always will be. She’s my big sister . . .’ He paused for a moment then added, ‘. . . -in-law.’

There was no response.

Eventually Danny asked, ‘Do you believe me?’

Angela’s tone was subdued. ‘Yeah,’ she answered.

‘And there is one other thing it’s very important you should know,’ continued Danny. ‘I think you are the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met in my life.’

This conversation was not going at all the way she had imagined. Suddenly she couldn’t think of one thing to say.

‘What are you thinking now?’ asked Danny.

Angela was staring into his eyes.

‘I’m thinking I wish I hadn’t ordered so much food.’

‘Do you want me to go up to the bar and see if they’ll change it?’ asked Danny.

‘No, I want you to finish your drink and take me home.’

Danny looked concerned. Maybe he had played it all wrong.

‘Sure. Are you okay?’ he asked.

‘I don’t mean to my house, you Bog-Irish eejit. I meant to yours.’

Danny couldn’t disguise the look of relief. ‘Jeez, I thought you’d taken a turn for the worse there.’

‘Maybe I have,’ replied Angela.

‘I’m pretty beaten up. Everything hurts. I’m not sure I’ll be fit for much.’

‘I’m a nurse,’ replied Angela. ‘I know ways of relieving pain that’ll make your hair stand on end.’

It crossed her mind as she stood in the doorway that it wouldn’t be so bad if the towel accidentally unwrapped itself and dropped to the floor.

Finn wasn’t overdeveloped, but the muscles – especially on his arms and shoulders – were toned, well defined: his stomach still flat and firm. She thought of her late husband’s stomach and smiled. If Finn’s was a six-pack, Alfredo’s was a beer keg.

She was surprised at the tattoo. Not the fact that he had one, but the size of it. An angel on a cross, covering the whole of his back.

Marie was just on the point of feeling embarrassed at how long she had been watching when he suddenly turned round.

‘I hope you don’t mind,’ said Finn holding up the phone.

‘As long as it wasn’t long-distance,’ Marie replied, kicking off her shoes and heading into the bedroom.

‘Been standing there long?’

‘Just in,’ she lied, shouting back to him, ‘It’s not as hot as it looks out there, if you’re planning to go sunbathing?’

She was referring to the fact that he was naked except for the towel.

‘Everything I own is in the washing machine,’ replied Finn, ‘even my shoes. I thought about wearing some of your stuff, but none of it fitted.’

Finn followed her and stood in the doorway of her bedroom. Marie was looking right at him.

‘You get my note?’ she asked.

‘Yeah!’ replied Finn.

‘Both of them?’

‘Were there two?’ said Finn, holding her stare.

Marie was studying his face, looking to see if he was messing with her.

‘What?’ asked Finn, his voice a little higher than he’d have liked.

‘You didn’t get the second note?’

‘No.’

‘You didn’t have a rummage around in my top drawer?’ said Marie, holding his gaze. ‘I’ll know.’

‘I certainly did not,’ said Finn, trying to get the indignation level just right.

‘Yeah, yeah!’ said Marie, taking off her jacket and throwing it on the bed. ‘It’s the first thing everyone does when they’re left alone in a stranger’s apartment. Sniff their underwear and check for porn.’

Finn changed the subject.

‘Did they make you go to court?’

Marie looked round at him. ‘How d’you mean?’

‘Where I come from you only ever wear a suit if you’re up in court.’

Marie screwed up her face. ‘I know! What was I thinking? I’ve still got it in my head that you need to dress up for authority. I look like I work in a bank, don’t I?’

‘Or the Salvation Army.’

‘That bad?’ she frowned. ‘No point putting it back in the wardrobe then. Next time you see this suit I’ll be polishing the silverware with it.’

 Marie sat on the end of the bed and slipped her skirt over her hips, then stooped to pick her jeans up from the floor. As she bent over Finn couldn’t help but stare at her perfectly formed bottom. She was wearing a more sensible pair of cotton briefs than the ones he’d seen in her drawer, but the effect on him was the same. There was nothing overtly sexual in her actions. If anything, it was the casualness that Finn found so arousing. As she sat back on the bed and started to pull her jeans over her slim brown legs Finn wished he had more than just a thin towel hanging between him and the rest of the world.

He turned away and headed back into the lounge.

‘You hungry?’ called Marie.

‘Yeah,’ replied Finn, trying to think of anything other than her arse. ‘What about Granny’s?’

‘Eh?’

‘Carlo’s, I was thinking of Carlo’s,’ he said, correcting himself. ‘I hear they do the best breakfast in Tuscaloosa.’

Marie came into the room dressed in a pair of jeans and a black fitted T-shirt. On her feet she wore a pair of battered old trainers. Even dressed down she looked great.

‘Now I look like I rob banks. We’re too late for breakfast, but their brunch is even better. You going like that?’

‘Sure! Why, is there a dress code?’ replied Finn.

‘Towels are fine, just not in that colour.’

‘You know, it’s probably not a good idea for us to be seen together. Maybe we should just have something here, then . . .’ – he hesitated, not really wanting to say the next bit – ‘. . . I’ll leave you to get on with your life.’

‘Oh! Sure!’ said Marie, unable to disguise the disappointment in her voice. She hadn’t really considered he’d have to leave. ‘Sure! I wasn’t thinking. Why don’t I run across the road and get some stuff from the deli?’

‘Fine, yeah,’ said Finn.

Marie bent over to pick up the fifty dollars she’d left on the floor earlier in the day, then turned as she opened the front door. ‘I don’t know what you like.’

‘I’ll just have a bit of whatever you’re eating and a double espresso,’ said Finn.

Just as she reached the door Finn had a thought.

‘Marie.’

‘Yeah?’

‘No granola.’

She smiled and left the room.

Finn made his way over to the window and waited for Marie to leave the apartment block. He watched her walk across the parking lot and out through the large wrought-iron security gate at the far end. She strolled across the street like a catwalk model, her movements full of subtle grace, natural and elegant: very feminine. When she reached the far side of the road she turned and looked up: almost as if she knew Finn would be watching.

She didn’t do anything dumb, like wave, but even at this distance Finn could make out the smile on her face. He saw her mouthing something. He couldn’t be sure, but it looked like ‘Shame on you.’

Finn hoped she could see him smiling too.

When the washing machine finished its spin cycle Finn transferred his clothes into the drier, then made his way back to the window.

As he waited for Marie to emerge from the delicatessen he noticed the car. It was parked right outside the front gates. The two men sitting up front were staring up at the window. Finn ducked out of the way, but it was too late. They’d seen him.

The sound of the car doors slamming shut echoed across the lot. Finn could hear muffled voices, then the whirring and clanking of the main gate sliding open. Finn glanced out of the window and caught sight of both men’s heads disappearing under the sandstone ridge that ran the full length of the apartment’s façade. A moment later the buzzer by the front door of the apartment let out a shrill, metallic squawk. Finn could see Marie: outside the deli now, waiting to cross the road.

He prayed that she would look up.

The buzzer sounded again.

Marie was waiting for a car to pass before crossing the narrow road: she hadn’t noticed the guys at the entrance to the building. Finn wanted to open the window and shout, tell her to stay where she was, but he couldn’t.

He needed to get dressed and out of there.

Whoever was downstairs had their finger pressed firmly on the buzzer, determined to keep it there till someone answered.

Finn saw Marie set off across the road then suddenly stop and turn back on herself. She was on the grassy verge staring anxiously up at the window.

Finn held his hand up to the side of his face and mimed a telephone.

Marie nodded and quickly headed back into the deli.

A few seconds later the telephone started ringing.

Finn snatched it up.

Marie sounded scared. ‘Who are they?’

‘I don’t know,’ replied Finn urgently. ‘They’re not the Feds you talked to this morning?’

‘No!’

‘Where’s your car?’

‘There’s an underground car park,’ replied Marie. ‘Take the stairwell at the other end of the balcony.’

‘You got the keys with you?’

‘They’re next to the lamp on the bedside table . . . or on the bed maybe. Who are they, Finn?’

The buzzing stopped.

‘The front door’s open,’ said Marie, struggling to control the fear in her voice. ‘I can see them. They’re in. Finn, they’re inside.’

‘Go to your car, I’ll see you there in a minute.’

Finn slammed down the phone and ran through to the bedroom. He wrenched open the top drawer of the dresser and pulled out Marie’s Colt and the box of cartridges. A second later he was back in the lounge tugging at the door of the drier, but the door wouldn’t open. He tried forcing it, but it wouldn’t budge.

‘Shit!’

Finn had no option: he had to get out of the apartment.

The door to the apartment slammed closed behind him as he ran along the balcony towards the fire exit. He was naked except for the towel wrapped around his waist.

The landing doors at the far end of the balcony clanked open and the two guys were in the hall.

 ‘Hey!’

One of them was already sprinting towards him.

Finn reached the other end of the balcony and burst through the fire-escape door.

He had barely cleared the first landing when he heard the door above crash against the wall.

The two men were leaping the stairs three at a time, catching up fast.

In desperation Finn leapt the last remaining set of steps, but as soon as he jumped he knew he wasn’t going to make it. His foot caught the edge of the bottom step and he tumbled painfully onto his ankle, hitting the concrete floor hard. The impact knocked the gun from his hand and sent it spinning along the ground out of reach. There was blood seeping from cuts in his knees and elbows.

The two guys were now less than six feet away. Finn scrambled over and grabbed the gun. In one swift movement he was back on his feet.

‘One more step and I’ll blow your fuckin heads off.’

It was a risky strategy: he had no idea if it was loaded or not.

There was such ferocity in Finn’s tone that – even if he hadn’t been holding a gun – neither of the men would have dared move.

‘I swear to God, I’ll shoot
you
in the head . . . and
you
in the fuckin heart.’

Finn got the reaction he was hoping for, the flash of fear in their eyes. It was slight, but Finn had been in enough scraps in his life to know that – for the moment at least – he was in charge.

‘I’m going through this door: if either of you feels brave enough or stupid enough to follow me, that’s fine, cause I don’t give a shit if I kill you here or through there. It’s up to you.’

Finn fumbled behind his back until he found the door handle then slowly backed out into the car park.

Just as the door closed Finn saw the unopened box of shells he’d been carrying lying at the foot of the stairs. He had sixty seconds before they realised the gun wasn’t loaded.

The rolled-metal shutters started cranking open on the other side of the underground car park. Marie was running down the ramp.

‘Jesus, Finn, who the hell are they?’

As Finn approached he  tossed her the car keys.

‘You’d better drive.’

Marie got in first and turned the key in the ignition, but the two guys were already through the door and sprinting towards them.

Suddenly the car spluttered into life.

Marie flipped the gearshift into reverse and jammed her foot hard to the floor. She had to fight to control the car for a few seconds as it screeched backwards, only narrowly missing a concrete support pillar. Marie pushed it into drive and shot forward in a cloud of blue exhaust fumes. The sump crunched hard against the ground as the car sped up the ramp, out into the bright Alabama sunshine.

Neither of them spoke until they reached the Black Warrior River on the outskirts of town.

‘Where we going?’ asked Marie, staring straight ahead. ‘I’d suggest my mom’s, but she hasn’t seen a naked man in over twenty years, the shock would kill her.’

Finn didn’t look round. ‘Yeah, better stop at a mall and buy some clothes first.’

‘You okay?’ asked Marie.

Finn was staring straight ahead, lost in thought.

‘They weren’t carrying.’

‘What?’ asked Marie.

‘The guys, they weren’t armed,’ said Finn, like he’d just figured something out. He turned to Marie, ‘I don’t think they were looking for me.’

Marie stared back at him. ‘What, you think they’d come for me?’ she asked, looking scared.

Finn didn’t answer.

‘More cops?’ asked Marie.

‘No,’ replied Finn. ‘I don’t think so. They’d have side arms.’

‘What are you talking about? You’re scaring the shit out of me, Finn. Who do you think they were, then?’

‘I don’t know. If they’d come for me I’d probably be dead right now: I was wide open there, but all they did was chase me.’

‘So who were they?’

Finn shrugged his shoulders. ‘The press, maybe?’

‘How would they know where I lived?’

‘Some asshole at the cop station.’

Marie had no idea where they were headed or where they’d end up, but she didn’t care: she wanted as to get far away from Tuscaloosa as possible.

‘What do we do?’

‘Better find somewhere to lay low for a few days until we can figure out what’s going on.’

After travelling in silence for another twenty or so miles Marie eventually turned to Finn.

‘How did you know where to find my gun?’

‘A lucky guess,’ replied Finn, unconvincingly.

‘Shame on you,’ said Marie, raising an eyebrow.

‘It wouldn’t have even crossed my mind to look if you hadn’t suggested it in the note.’

Another silence.

‘There’s a road map in the glove box,’ said Marie.

Finn reached forward and flipped it open. ‘Where we going?’

‘The nearest mall,’ replied Marie. ‘The map’s to cover yourself with.’