Seventy Times Seven (15 page)

‘Fuck knows,’ laughed Owen. ‘The valet parked it. It’s a black Cadillac. I thought it was just those big stretch things they made, but no, it’s a wee one. I didn’t know they made normal cars as well. Give the valet the keys and he’ll bring it round to you. Anyway, Mr Leonard, better get on: qualifiers today and I don’t mind telling you, we’ve got no chance. You should see the size of some of these American fuckers. I think we’re the only tug-of-war team using alcohol instead of steroids. If you need anything else let us know . . . Happy hunting.’

Danny put the phone down. He leant forward and dragged his holdall across the bed. After pulling out the plastic bag he’d retrieved from inside the bureau he lifted a tightly wrapped bundle the size of a bag of sugar onto the bed. He carefully removed the various layers of tissue and held up a dull-silver Walther PPK. He dropped the clip out the bottom of the butt, filled it with bullets, then slotted it back in and screwed on the suppressor.

Danny stood side-on to the mirror and raised the gun at his reflection.

‘You have been tried by the Army Council and found guilty of treason and betraying the republican cause. In your absence you have been sentenced to death. I’m here to execute you.’

Danny dropped the gun to his side.

‘Happy hunting.’

‘Says here the Preserve is quite a special place.’

‘Bits of it are,’ replied Marie.  ‘Stays green all year round except for autumn, when it gets even more beautiful. We used to drive up to the Cherokee Falls near Fort Payne when we were kids. Do some kayaking down the river – if the water was high enough. Maybe we could go there tomorrow?’

She was halfway through a bottle of Californian Blanc and pouring herself another glass.

Finn tossed the dog-eared tourist pamphlet back on top of the Sixties-style coffee table and pulled aside a piece of material passing itself off as a curtain.

The sky was growing steadily darker and the air inside the room felt heavy and oppressive.

‘What’s happened to the weather?’ asked Finn.

‘It’ll blow over in an hour. If you’re worried you’re sweating up your new clothes you can always take them off,’ replied Marie, raising an eyebrow like she was suggesting something else.

Marie was lying on one of the two single beds with her bare feet dangling off the end. ‘This is the nicest motel I’ve ever stayed in.’

Finn looked up at the cigarette-stained ceiling. The wallpaper was peeling off the walls in several places and the beds were covered with dank bri-nylon throws. Finn would have put money on the television in the corner being a black-and-white.

‘Really?’ he replied.

‘It’s the
only
motel I’ve ever stayed in, so maybe it doesn’t count.’

Marie pushed herself up onto her elbows. ‘What happens now? Is there sort of a manual or something, tells you what to do? I’ve never gone on the run before. I mean, what are you supposed to pack?’

Finn shrugged his shoulders.

‘You hungry?’ asked Marie.

Finn shook his head. ‘Not really.’

‘Me neither,’ said Marie.

‘How’d it go with the Feds on Friday?’ asked Finn. ‘You never said.’

‘God, that seems like it was about two weeks ago,’ replied Marie. ‘It’s hard to believe that was only two days ago.’ She let out a long sigh. ‘They just went over the same old crap as the cops did. Wanted to hear it for themselves – too lazy to read the notes.’

‘They were checking you out. See if you’d be a reliable witness.’

Marie was sitting up now.

‘How d’you mean?’

‘They ask you lots of inane questions then throw in one or two curve balls‚’ replied Finn. ‘Staring at you like they were taking in every word, when in fact they weren’t listening – they were watching.’

‘Yeah. One of them couldn’t take his eyes off my tits. But it was the other one who was really freaking me out. I thought any minute he’s going to ask me on a date. Didn’t stop staring into my eyes.’

‘They were checking you out,’ continued Finn. ‘Behavioural psychology. They’re looking for your lying zone.’

Marie was staring at Finn in disbelief.

‘Did you tell them any lies?’ he asked.

Marie thought for a moment before answering.

‘I told them I thought you sounded Polish, but that was about it.’

‘Polish?’

‘It was the only other Catholic nation I could think of.’

‘So now they know that I’m not Polish, and that you are capable of lying.’

‘Are you kidding me?’ said Marie, her face serious now.

Finn crossed the room and sat on the single bed opposite her.

‘Turn this way.’

Marie swung her legs round so that she was sitting facing Finn.

He was staring into her eyes just like the cop had.

‘You’re much better at it than the FBI,’ she said.

‘What’s your name?’

‘Guess.’

‘C’mon, play the game. I want to show you – What’s your name?’

‘Marie Bain.’

‘Where d’you live?’

‘Tuscaloosa.’

‘You married?’

‘Not any more.’

‘What did your husband die of?’

‘Heart attack.’

‘You seeing anyone else?’

‘No.’

‘You scared?’

‘Kinda.’

‘Did you lock your bedroom door on Thursday night because you thought I was going to kill you?’

‘Yeah, or worse.’

‘What else did the FBI ask you?’

‘If I’d be able to recognise you again,’ replied Marie, flicking through her mind for anything else.

‘What did you say?’

‘I said, “Who, the black guy in the alley or the guy from Cottondale who knows how to handle a gun?”’

‘What’d the agents say to that?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Okay, we’re done.’

‘So did you find my lying zone?’

‘Everything you said was true except the bit about seeing someone else.’

Marie let out a snort. ‘Pah. You’re making this crap up. You nearly had me there.’

Marie reached over and grabbed her glass of wine from the bedside table. There was a guy she met occasionally, used to come into McHales. They’d meet up and have sex, but that was it. They had nothing in common: no emotional attachment.

‘Bullshit,’ said Marie, puffing out her cheeks. ‘Just . . . bullshit.’

Finn got up from the bed and grabbed another bottle of beer from the brown paper bag sitting on the low-rise coffee table.

‘Okay. How does it work?’ asked Marie.

‘What?’

‘The lying zone.’

‘When you answered the other questions you looked up to the right, but when I asked you if you were seeing someone you looked down to the left – chances are that’s your lying zone,’ said Finn, moving back to the bed. ‘I ask you lots of questions I know the answer to – things I know are true – then slip in the occasional question where I don’t.’

Marie lifted the glass to her lips and took a sip, looking at Finn like she still wasn’t sure.

‘Okay, let me try you.’

‘I’ve been trained to counter it, so there’s no point.’

‘Why would you need training in how to avoid answering questions honestly?’

‘Is that your first question?’

‘I’m serious.’

‘Let’s play something else,’ said Finn.

‘No sit down, c’mon, let me have a go. See what I come up with.’ Marie didn’t wait for Finn’s approval.

‘Are you Finn O’Hanlon?’

Finn stared straight at her, but didn’t reply.

Marie tried again.

‘Are you Irish?’

Again Finn said nothing.

‘
Did
you come to my apartment the other night to kill me? The Feds think that’s what you’re going to do.’

Still no response.

‘Well, it’s not much of a game if you just sit there saying nothing. These are the easy questions – I’ve still got the curve ball to come.’

‘The whole idea is to say nothing,’ said Finn. ‘If you admit to anything, even something as simple as your name‚ you’re engaging with them. They’ll twist it round and come at you from all sorts of angles. Before you know it they’ve got you by the bollocks and you’re heading off to jail for the rest of your life for a crime you didn’t commit. It’s hard, but the rule is say nothing.’

Marie poured some more wine into her glass. ‘See, now I’ve got loads of questions like: who are “they”? Who are
you
? Who am
I
? What the hell is this all about? Are you a goddamn spy or something?’

Marie was watching Finn closely for some sort of reaction, but nothing was coming back at her. ‘Okay, let’s assume that you’re not going to jail if you answer
my
questions,’ continued Marie. ‘And let’s also assume that I’m not interested in finding your lying zone. Can we just have a normal conversation? I won’t even look at you if that helps.’

‘Okay,’ replied Finn.

Marie turned to face the wall.

‘What’s with the big angel on your back? You got a Travis Bickle thing going?’

‘Who’s Travis Bickle?’ replied Finn.

‘You remember in
Taxi Driver
? Travis Bickle is De Niro’s character. He plays the screwed-up Vietnam vet with all the jail tats.’

‘I never saw it.’

‘What’s yours?’

‘It’s the seraph that appeared to St Francis of Assisi in a vision on Mount Alverna: marked him with the stigmata. He used to drag a cross around with him everywhere he went as an act of penance.’

‘The seraph dragged it?’

‘St Francis.’

‘So is it a symbolic act of penance?’

‘You could say that,’ replied Finn.

‘Did you go through my underwear drawer?’

Finn tried not to smile. ‘Is that one of your curve balls?’

‘No.’

‘Why don’t you turn round now?’

‘I’m checking if it’s possible to
hear
your lying zone.’

‘No. I didn’t go through your underwear drawer,’ replied Finn.

‘I don’t even need to see your eyes to know you’re a lying son-of-a-bitch,’ said Marie. ‘I’ve got a system too: smalls with string to the right, lacies beside them, cottons next to them and bras over on the left. When I came home to get changed they were all mixed up.’

‘You see! I’m engaging with you in a conversation and you’ve got me tried and convicted already.’

‘Were you checking my ass out this morning when I was getting dressed?’

‘Curve ball?’ asked Finn.

‘No.’

‘Of course . . . I wasn’t checking out your ass.’

Marie turned back to face him.

‘Liar,’ continued Marie. ‘I watched your reflection in the mirror‚ you were staring at it like you’d never seen an ass before.’

‘You were sticking it in my face. I had no option. And to be honest I haven’t seen an ass quite like that before.’

Marie liked that.

‘Do you want to kiss me?’ she said.

Here was the curve ball, flying towards him at a hundred miles an hour.

Marie was staring straight at him, taking him on.

Finn hesitated before saying, ‘Yes . . . but not on the mouth.’

Marie liked that one too. She let it sink in. The atmosphere in the room had changed: it was still hot and sticky, but suddenly that didn’t seem so bad.

Finn and Marie were just inches apart.

‘Do you want to lick me?’

‘No.’

‘Liar. Do you want to fuck me?’

‘No,’ replied Finn, looking deep into her eyes.

‘Liar,’ said Marie.

Their lips were almost touching.

Suddenly Finn pulled away.

‘I thought you told them I’d asked for a beer?’

Marie’s brow furrowed. ‘Are you fucking serious?’ she asked. ‘I’m just about to get naked here. What the hell does beer have to do with anything?’

‘You told them, the only thing I did was to ask you for a beer.’

‘Are we still playing the game?’ asked Marie, ‘because I don’t know what the hell is going on now.’

‘No,’ said Finn, aware that the tone on his voice was freaking her out.

‘I said to them the only conversation we had was you asking for a beer . . . Jesus‚ Finn.’

‘How do you know I lived in Cottondale?’

The last question caught Marie in the stomach, knocking the air out of her. She’d thrown Finn a curve ball, but he’d hit it straight back at her. Suddenly she understood why the cops had exchanged a look. It was right around the time she’d said ‘Who, the black guy in the alley or the guy from Cottondale who knows how to handle a gun?’ How could she possibly have known he was from Cottondale unless they’d had more of a conversation?

‘Well, I’ll tell them I forgot that bit in all the excitement of people getting fucking shot. Why does it matter?’

‘It matters because it’s inconsistent. To their way of thinking it looks like you’re holding out on them. They’re going to pick through everything you tell them from now on with a fine-toothed comb.’

‘Well, I won’t be telling them anything else now that we’re on the run, so don’t worry about it.’

Finn stood up and walked over to the window. ‘It’s not a game, Marie. You’re the innocent party in all this and you’re in danger of ending up in some very deep shit.’

‘So what d’you want me to do? Drive back to Tuscaloosa and hand myself in? Tell them the guy they’re looking for has been staying in my apartment?’

‘Yes.’

Marie was staring up at Finn in disbelief. ‘Are you fucking serious? What about the press guys who saw us leaving together in the same car . . . how do I explain that?’

‘Tell them I’d threatened to kill you and you were scared.’

‘Jesus‚ Finn‚ when you throw a curve ball . . . Whoa! It’s not a ball, it’s more like a goddamn hand grenade.’

‘I don’t know what’s coming my way, but it’s not going to be good. I don’t want you getting caught in the crossfire. It’s real – you could end up dead.’

Marie watched Finn turn and look out the window.

‘Doesn’t mean we can’t fuck.’

Finn stood with his back to her and didn’t answer.

‘You still there?’

‘Yeah, I’m thinking I need to go to the apartment.’

‘Now? Why don’t we wait: go tomorrow evening?’

‘I should probably go alone.’

‘Oh yeah?

Finn heard her jangling the car keys.

‘And how you going to get there . . . you planning to walk?’