A Carra King (55 page)

“Hey,” said Little. “Take your time.”

There were no cars waiting for the light by the bridge. Minogue held his breath.

“You knew about that,” Little said. “The wife and kids?”

“No.”

“No?”

Little sighed.

“I wonder . . . Then there was the heat from some of the operations. Remember that?”

Minogue nodded.

“You know how they treated me with that bit, don't you. It was get out of active operations with the response crews or take a walk. Right?”

“I'd heard.”

“Just because of a screw-up on one job. One job. ‘The public' they told me — ‘the public can't countenance this.' Jesus. The
public?
Ah, what's the use . . .”

Minogue steered onto the bridge. The front wheels slapped on the edge of the planks. He let his hand slide down the handbrake.

“We're going to try Aus,” Little went on. “The kids know. I wouldn't go to the States. I have a brother in Sydney. He has an in with a security crowd. Corporate business. It looks good.”

“What else did Daly get you to do?”

Little looked over.

“Are you going to talk your way into the fucking grave, Matt? I have a lot of respect for you. That's why head-the-ball is in the boot, and not out there floating around belly-up in Dublin Bay. What, you want to ask about the fella in the van?”

Minogue said nothing.

“Let me guess: you want to but you don't want to, is that it? ‘Cause you're in too deep. Well he's dead. And yeah, I shot him. He was a gangster. Remember those guys, Matt? The bad guys, the gougers, ‘the crims'? What else do you want to know? That I parked a robbed car the far side of the rocks? That I'm covered?”

The lights onto the Howth Road were red.

“Where was he taking the statue?”

Little's eyes were boring into him.

“Might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb, is it? That's a dangerous fucking game, Matt. Well, I'll tell you then. But consider this proof of what I'm going to offer you here when we get a bit of breathing space. You're going to get a deal you can't say no to. And you'd better do some quick thinking here for you and Tommy. Turn right here when you get to the green. Out to Howth.”

Minogue let in the clutch.

“To finish the job,” said Little. “Delivery guaranteed. I want him to see what the sharp end of business looks like. The dirty work.”

Little's voice had fallen to a murmur. Minogue glanced over.

“So's he doesn't forget, and so's he can express his damn gratitude in the appropriate manner. I'm going to dump it all in his lap, just like this bloody statue. And then we're going to discuss the future with him. Yours, mine, and Tommy's. Here, you've got the light.”

Minogue searched the road ahead as he turned. No Garda cars.

“And Matt?”

He waited until Minogue looked over.

“There'll be no going back. For me, for you. O'Riordan knows that. Larry Smith knew that too, for about ten seconds, I'd say. He was headed up the same road, looking for his jackpot when
he
found out.”

Minogue searched Little's face.

“That's right, Matt. When you do a job, you do it right. What, Smith? Smith was a lying, thieving little shite. He sold amphetamines to kids. He beat up women. He hurt people because he liked to, more than for money. He tried to put the heavy hand on Guards like me. He helped to fuck up my family. Then he thought he'd hit the big time because he had a hook on that moron, Byrne. Whatever his name is, I can never get the nickname right.”

“Cortina?”

“Him, yeah. Smith thought he could put the fix in there. Blackmail. A piece of the band, he wanted, if you don't mind. Delusions of fucking grandeur or what. Not just a payoff, oh no. Or even a wage out of it. He thought he was a businessman. There's big money here. You wouldn't know how much. That's another story. Hey, you probably want the basics, am I right?”

Minogue looked over again.

“The basics are that I kept that prick Byrne out of jail. How about that. What he really needs is someone to take him out the back of his bloody mansion and give him a good hiding. Break his jaw for him. See if he can sing for a while.”

“Smith went to O'Riordan, then.”

“No. He went to Daly. Daly went to O'Riordan. And then . . . that's where I get hired.”

Minogue strained to listen for sounds from the boot, if the motion of the car would bring Malone around.

“Come on, now,” said Little. “Tell me you're not surprised. What, you think Smith didn't deserve what he got? It was a win-win thing. Dance on his grave.”

Minogue waited for several moments before he spoke.

“What about Shaughnessy?”

“Ah, don't bring that up. That bloody — it came out of the blue. O'Riordan got this phone call. Do you know anything about him? That he was a head case? An addict, he was. He was chasing some statue to give to his oul lad. Leyne. I don't know who put him on to this statue thing, but he ended killing that woman out there in some godforsaken boghole.”

“How do you know?”

“Ah, he airs it all to O'Riordan. Phones up in a panic. This woman has put the arm on him, he says. She wants something out of him, to get his oul lad to do something. I don't know, some history thing. To set up an outfit here she could run. Computers, history, museums, I don't know. He made her these bloody promises he could never deliver on, that's what.”

Minogue's fingers were down the side of the seat now.

“History?” he tried.

“History, right. Like we don't have enough. Like it matters a damn any more.”

His fingertips traced over grit trapped in the carpet, collided with the seat-rail.

“All I know is there's some priceless rock out there under about four foot of water. A king something. Christ, there I was there by those big boulders waiting for this fella. I used to train out here for years, did you know that? In the sand. Endurance runs, you know? Conditioning. Anyway, there I was thinking: what's going to come out of all this tonight. The battle of Clontarf was here, then I remembered — the Vikings. Brian Boru? The last high king wasn't he, finally putting the boots to the Vikings here, wasn't it? The Viking hordes. The barbarians, that robbed the monasteries. Plundered, all that stuff we learned in school . . .”

The Opel was gaining on a cluster of cars. Minogue didn't want to have to change gear. He let up on the accelerator.

“What about Shaughnessy, then?” he asked.

Little gave a short laugh.

“God, the things you ask. And me telling you, what's worse. Did you do those courses up at the Park, the Techniques course?”

“Back years ago,” Minogue replied. “When they were starting out.”

“One of the Interview ones, I'll never forget it. About an unconscious thing: wanting to unburden yourself. Wanting to tell, needing to tell, like the punishing parent thing. Guilt. Do you believe that?”

“I don't know.”

“Well just remember this, Matt: there's two sides to it. The more I tell you, the more hangs on your decision. You aren't going to walk away from this tonight if you can't persuade me. And you're deciding for him there in the boot, you hear?”

Minogue let his hand rest, but Little was suspicious now.

“Get your hands up there on the wheel where I can see them.”

Minogue geared down instead of braking for the traffic ahead.

“Shaughnessy: O'Riordan dumped it down on Daly. Tit for tat: after all, Daly owed him one for taking Smith out of the picture, didn't he?”

For a moment, Minogue was back at the scene by the Strand Road all those months ago: the Fiat van peppered with automatic fire, the grey and crimson bits of Larry Smith's head across the roadway.

“Daly knows everything about coming and going with the band,” said Little. “This Shaughnessy is going to drop the works on O'Riordan, because . . .?”

“O'Riordan and Leyne were partners in the old days,” Minogue said.

“You've got it,” said Little. “I told them you were going to come really close, Matt, to be ready. Christ,. . . How things turn out. Yes, O'Riordan and Leyne were dealers. Years ago, but still too. There's high finance and something to do with O'Riordan moving stuff for this fella. I wasn't told exactly, but put two and two together and you can figure that O'Riordan had done stuff for Leyne under the table. The basics were that O'Riordan would be up the creek if the son started blathering. O'Riordan tells Daly to talk to him, see what can be done. At least buy time. But it looks bad. This young fella's off the wall, he's going to do anything. He puts the heavy hand on O'Riordan pretty quick, it ends up with me. So, it suddenly gets very simple. There's a conversation to which I am party to: if O'Riordan goes, everything goes.”

He tested the elbows of his jacket. Minogue gripped the wheel tighter.

“You know what that would mean, do you?”

Minogue shook his head.

“I doubt that,” said Little. “Whether you do or not, it was O'Riordan got that crowd of wankers started up, Public Works. He was the money man. He's in for half of them, what they make. Did you know that?”

“A half?” was all Minogue could think of saying.

“And here's you and me holding the fort for people like that. So they can do their thing. So that crowd of scumbags can do whatever comes into their addled little minds to do? Millionaires. While me and you, and that gom in the back, walk the streets, or argue with our kids why they shouldn't pay twenty quid to go to a concert where they're going to be hanging around with ten thousand other iijits who'll shove drugs their way. Ever thought about that, have you?”

“I'm not sure — ”

“Ah, quit the pretending, Matt! The whole
duty
thing, the decency thing — what you and me grew up with as part of our bloody genes — the pay-your-way, rear the family, save your money, be polite — that it's all a fucking con?”

Minogue glanced at him.

“Keep going there. Yeah, through Sutton Cross. O'Riordan's is up Thormanbury Road there. His palace. Where was I? Shaughnessy. So yes, if that's what you're asking. I went out to get him. Outside of Lacy's pub there in Kinnegad. He'd had the sense to lay low awhile there, but was up in a heap when I got there. He actually asked me if I could put him in touch with someone who'd sell him coke. Me, a policeman . . .! And I knew this prick had murdered a woman. He'd promised her the sun, moon and stars to get a hold of this rock. His da would pay this and his da would do that — and then he starts in on me, what he'd pay, what his da would do for me. I just about nailed him then. I got him out to a place the far end of Inchicore. A lockup there. Told him we had to hide it until I took care of his car and everything. That I had a fella waiting to bring it into the airport. I don't know if he believed me or not. Look: he didn't know what hit him. And the airport? I've been in and out of there a half a dozen times since Christmas. Training runs, we have to work up to the standards coming in from Brussels now, the new standards. Thank you, Eurocrats. Can you credit that, they have regulations on Civil Defence emergency communications, and we fall under that too. Anyway. I know me way around the airport. Happy?”

A fine mist began to glisten on the windscreen. Little reached over and flicked the wiper stalk.

“Get a move on,” he said. “And turn up the radio, if they're looking for you.”

The reflective stripes on the side of a squad car were nudging out from a driveway ahead. Little stared.

“Who the hell are these fellas?”

“I don't know,” Minogue said.

“Hey,” said Little.

He took the gun out from under his jacket. “You didn't call for checkpoints, did you?”

Minogue shook his head. The back of his neck prickled.

“What have you done? Did you call this?”

Minogue eased his foot off the accelerator. The ache he'd felt growing under his arms vanished.

“I didn't,” he said.

“Two I can see,” said Little. “There's one up there on a car. There must be more of them. What is this? Breathalyzers, this time of year?”

The Guard with the flashlight was decked out in the reflective coat for spot checks. Two cars had parked the footpath the far side of the checkpoint. A Rover, it looked like; a Fiat.

“There was a — that woman was killed last month,” said Little. “Out walking, her and her husband, the hit and run?”

He tugged his coat out from behind him to cover the gun again.

“Get out your card,” he said.

For a moment Minogue thought the noise was the engine. Malone groaned again. Little turned.

“Shut up, Tommy!” Little shouted. “So help me, I'll blow your brains out!”

Minogue's fingers slid across the top edge of his wallet. His chest was locked tight. He had to remember to breathe. Malone seemed to be moving now.

“Not a word, Tommy!” said Little. “And don't move an inch. This is for keeps tonight.”

“He has claustrophobia, Damian — ”

“I don't give a flying — ”

There was panic in Little's eyes. He lifted out his wallet and thumbed it open.

“Christ,” Little hissed. “What's he waving us in for? Can't he spot an unmarked?”

He nudged Minogue's arm with the pistol.

“Don't play hero, Matt. There's a lot in this tonight — I've got them where I want them for this. All of them: O'Riordan, those fucking
stars
— There'll be no more after this, no need — and you can be part of this, you and Tommy. But I'll do what I have to do, no matter what. You hear that Tommy? Did you? There's plenty for everyone in this, so think about that, you hear me?”

Minogue geared down to second. Little took two deep breaths and sat back. Minogue let his fingers off the card.