One Fine Day in the Middle of the Night (17 page)

‘Look, ehm, Bill,’ Gaghen began, with a sheepishness that would have sounded less uncharacteristic coming from Ian Paisley. Connor looked up from his map, noticing that the boat was slowing down now that it was out of sight of the beach. ‘I’m sorry, mate, but we’re not going.’

‘
What
?’ Connor spluttered, grasping for some other possible interpretation of this remark in which the juxtaposition of the words ‘not’ and ‘going’ had fewer consequences for their imminent assault on the resort complex.

‘I mean, we’ll drop you off first, like, obviously, but we’re legging it after that.’

Connor was about to laugh to show that he’d seen through their wind‐
up, when he noticed that Gaghen’s machine gun was pointed straight at him, his finger round the trigger‐
guard. Then he remembered seeing Gaghen and Jackson engaged in rather furtive discussions throughout the day. He’d thought little of it at the time, imagining they were catching up on each other’s news or exchanging off‐
colour tales they’d heard about various of their comrades, but now it all added up. Neither of them had been acting very pleased since this morning, and Jackson kept giving Connor the stink‐
eye every time someone asked how his ear was.

‘It’s nothing personal, Bill,’ Gaghen explained. ‘It’s the job. It’s just not right for us.’

Connor decided, particularly in light of the 9mm levelled at his abdomen, to view this as a man‐
management challenge, and reacted in as conciliatory a manner as he could manage. In practice this merely amounted to him asking ‘why on earth’ rather than ‘why the festering fuck’ they had waited until this excruciatingly inopportune juncture to voice their disquiet.

‘Well,’ Gaghen said, in an absurdly reasonable tone, ‘I suppose partly because we didn’t want to make a big scene and damage the
esprit de corps
, but mainly because we didn’t want your man Dawson shooting us as deserters. He’s a bit over‐
fond of the theatrical gesture, your mate. Spent a bit too long in the company of dictators, if you ask me. We thought it best – and safest – if we just slipped away quietly. We didn’t want to bail out in front of everybody, because we know this is your gig and we didn’t want you to look bad. Sorry, Bill. No hard feelings, eh?’

Man management, he kept telling himself. Man management. Deep breaths, deep breaths. Count down backwards from, ah fuck it.

‘No hard feelings? You didn’t want me to look bad? Just how much of a fucking elephantine wanker do you think I’m going to look when I radio back and ask them to send out a couple more guys because I seem to have lost the two I set off with? And what in the name of Queen Guinevere’s quim do you mean “the job’s not right”? What, were you scrubbing around looking for Glover’s arm and you found conscience instead?’

‘It’s not like that, Bill. Look, we don’t want to go into the reasons. Just take it from me, the job isn’t right and let’s leave it at that.’

Searching for a rational explanation for this abhorrence, Connor’s sense of logic finally burned through the obscuring mists of his indignation.

‘You want more money. That’s it, isn’t it? You want a wider wedge. That’s why you’re springing this out here, it’s the ultimate seller’s market. And you’re playing it cool, too, not asking, just waiting for me to offer. Christ, I can’t believe you could be so, well, you know,
mercenary
.’

‘It’s not the money, Bill. You know both of us better than that. And it’s not a matter of conscience. It’s a matter of not ending up in jail – or worse.’

‘Oh come off it, Dan. I told you right from the start that this would be A, British soil, and B, highly illegal. You could have knocked it back long before today. So at what point did you suddenly decide you’ve a problem with that?’

‘Probably around the time that we found out what a bunch of fucking half‐
wits we’d be working with,’ Jackson said bitterly.

‘This whole op is from page one of the cluster‐
fuck recipe book,’ Gaghen added. ‘And that’s the only thing about it that isn’t half‐
baked. You’re in too much of a hurry, Bill, and that’s because Dawson’s in too much of a hurry. It’s under‐
planned. His tip came in late, but he figured it was too good to pass.’

‘Bollocks it’s under‐
planned. We’ve done ops together at much shorter notice than this, Dan. Remember Kanayo? And when have we ever had this level of technical info about—’

‘You can have as many maps and blueprints, as much inside gen as you like,’ Gaghen interrupted, ‘but it’s not going to matter if your personnel literally don’t know one end of a rocket launcher from the other. Sure we’ve gone in at short notice before, but we weren’t carrying any fucking passengers. Most of these guys you’ve got, Bill, they’re not professionals, they’re adventurers. No training, no discipline, just a taste for action. Christ, did you see some of them when the guns came out? It was like fucking Christmas. They all dived for the stuff before they’d even heard the brief, before they’d any fucking clue what kind of hardware they were actually going to need.’

Connor winced with embarrassment at the memory. He’d been kind of hoping no‐
one else had noticed.

The engine had calmed to a purr, the dinghy no longer moving forward at all, just bobbing gently with the waves in the warm wind. The light was fading, a late summer’s evening glow gradually dimming around them.

‘Yeah, all right,’ Connor conceded, ‘they’re not pros, but they’ve all seen action. I didn’t get them down the fucking labour exchange. Africa or Ulster, they’ve been in amongst it and they’ve come through. Do you think I’m
that
fucking stupid or
that
fucking desperate that I’d throw my lot in with people I didn’t think could handle it? I’m not sitting back somewhere, watching this unfold, remember. I’m leading the fucking assault.’

‘I know you’re not stupid, Bill,’ Gaghen stated. ‘Desperate I’m not sure about. You’re saying you think these guys can handle it, but I notice you didn’t pick any of
them
to be in this boat alongside you.’

‘No, of course I bloody didn’t. I picked the best men for the most important job. Once this part’s been executed successfully, we could hand the op over to schoolkids and they’d pull it off. For Christ’s sake, come on, it’s unsuspecting, unarmed civilians. It’s fish in a barrel.’

‘Yeah, and that’s the part that’s worrying me,’ he retorted. ‘If it
was
schoolkids I’d be less concerned, because you could rely on them to do what they’re fucking told. As far as I can see the success of this job relies on nobody on the outside finding out what’s going on until it’s all over. That means total control. No hysteria. Hysteria leads to mayhem. Mayhem leads to fuck‐
ups. Fuck‐
ups lead to jail. It’s a fucking miracle the show’s not over already, after the pantomime we put on for the world this morning. Now you’re talking about a situation where you’ve got unarmed civvies in the same room as a bunch of psychos who’re just
dying
to shoot somebody.’

‘They’re not psychos. They’re after a purse, same as you. They know the score: they follow orders or they don’t get paid. And Jesus, do you think any of them are going to step out of line and cut loose on the civvies after Dawson’s display earlier? If the two of you are running scared of pissing him off, imagine what the others’ll be like.’

‘We’re not running scared,’ Jackson interjected, inadvertently offering Connor an angle of attack. ‘We’re just being prudent.’

‘Oh, that’s the subtle difference between mercs and adventurers these days, is it? They’re scared but you’re “prudent”. Fucking amazing, guys. From soldiers of fortune to soldiers of caution. I’ll just call you the Mild Geese from now on, shall I?’

God, it was cheap psychology, but, like squeezing someone’s nuts, when you’re prodding at an ego’s most tender spot, the obviousness of your approach doesn’t make it any easier to withstand.

‘Come off it, Bill,’ Gaghen said defensively. ‘You know us better than that.’

‘I know you
used
to be better than that. Now I can’t say. I never had you down for shiters before … I don’t know, maybe you’re just not following the logic. You’re concerned the new boys might fuck up and the alarm could be raised, but as the new boys aren’t being brought in until we’ve cut off all communication channels, then I don’t see where the danger lies. Do you?’

There was a long silence, only the slapping of the waves and the idling engine to be heard. Connor stared insistently at Gaghen, who was avoiding eye contact.

‘Ah, fuck it, I’m in,’ Gaghen eventually announced.

Jackson nodded, a little unsurely. ‘Yeah, okay. Me too.’

‘Right,’ Connor sighed. ‘And let’s have no more of this shite, gentlemen, eh?’

‘Sorry, Bill,’ Gaghen said with a shrug. ‘Just not been feeling myself lately. This trypanosomiasis thing knocked me off‐
kilter a little. A bit of action’s probably just what I need. Look, you won’t tell anyone about this, will you?’

Connor sighed again. ‘No, lads, your secret’s in safe hands.’ God strewth. ‘So now that the matter’s closed, are you ready to do some work for a living?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. Then let’s kick some botty.’

The evening was proving slightly less horrific than Matt had feared. Maybe it was a lot easier to move freely and ‘mingle’ without the encumbrance of lugging a monolithic ego around. He’d checked his in at that beach on the Baja. Tonight he was hand‐
luggage only: the wee black sports bag of the soul.

He might even have ventured tentatively to concede that he was, to his enormous surprise, maybe just possibly slightly kind of enjoying himself, and not just because of the ostentatious wealth of new material he was being gifted. The potentially disconcerting strangeness of being confronted at once by so many faces from the past was tempered by fascination at the way those faces had changed, and in many cases also by an uncharitable amusement at the size or shape of the body underneath. His conscience tried to rein him in on this last, particularly in the case of beer‐
swollen males, reminding him with a little internal finger‐
poking that not everybody could afford cocaine. Still, at least he wasn’t lying when explaining that his own slimline appearance was down to a Californian lifestyle.

He had come here to be humble, to exhume daft old stories and to hear what had happened to everybody else in the time when he was lost in the mirror‐
maze of self. He’d had images of standing there, nodding and smiling – but principally just listening – as other people did the talking. He’d hear all about their lives, their experiences, their weans, whatever, then they’d walk off thinking he was a nice guy, and maybe he’d walk off feeling like one. He used to be a nice guy, once upon a time. The teachers used to tell his mum that. He was polite, well‐
behaved, considerate, hard‐
working … all that stuff.

He used to be such a sweet thing.

So far it wasn’t quite going according to plan. This was perhaps because he’d failed to anticipate that everyone else might not share his currently low opinion of himself. He’d also failed to anticipate that they would be fairly interested in hearing about
his
life, too. And he’d utterly failed to consider that their first‐
hand memories of him were of an approachable, easy‐
going and fairly likeable person. Consequently, rather than be humble, he was feeling humbled: they were chucking warmth at him by the bucketload. And as for getting to hear about
their
lives, forget it.

‘Matt Black! Howzitgaun! I cannae believe it. We were just talkin’ aboot you. There was a rumour goin’ aboot that you were here the night, but I didnae believe it until I saw you. I cannae believe I’m staunin’ here talkin’ to you efter aw these years. Absolutely mental. I must have bored her silly aboot you, eh? This is my wife, by the way, Maureen. Maureen, this is Matt Black. See, I bet you thought I was makin’ it up aboot bein’ at school wi’ him. We’ve got aw your videos and CDs, Matt man. I cannae believe you’re
here
. I thought you’d be far too busy to bother comin’ oot tae a thing like this, but it just shows you, eh? You’re livin’ in America noo, is that right? But you were ower two year ago for the tour. We saw you at the Theatre Royal. I nearly died laughin’, didn’t I, Mo? Whit was I like? Absolutely mental. So how are you? Are you tourin’ again? Aw, man, see that thing you did aboot Mandelson’s boyfriend an’ the pager? Wi’ him readin’ it tae see whit tae scream dunn’ orgasm? Aw, Jesus, I was on the flair, so I was. Or that bit aboot Cardinal Winning? Absolutely mental. Wonder whit aul Father McGinlay would have made of it, but. Mind that time we were in first‐
year Science an’ he came in tae tell aw the guys aboot how we wurnae allowed tae wank? I’m surprised you never done a routine aboot that. Mibbe you’re workin’ on it, eh? Or mibbe I’ll get credit for suggestin’ it. It’s magic to see you, by the way. Are you ower for long?’

And so on.

It was a while before Matt even got to move from the first spot he’d taken up, a few yards from the ballroom’s main door; where two waiters were welcoming everyone with glasses of champagne. He’d automatically taken hold of one before he could commence any internal dialogue about his current drug abstinence or worry whether anyone had read the tabloid stories describing him as an alcoholic. If nothing else, he’d felt he needed a prop. With all the guests arriving accompanied, he thought he’d look and feel less of a haddy standing on his own if he had a celebratory drink in his hand. But he’d barely managed a sip before catching the first familiar eye and being hailed with an enthusiasm so solicitous that it made him forget to dwell on how scarcely he deserved it.

Couples were circulating and interweaving as though part of a great eightsome reel, quickly congregating into new groups each time one broke up. Jim Murray and his wife Maureen were joined by Anne‐
Marie Dougray (née Taylor) and her husband Derek, beckoned by Jim as they passed. (‘C’mere, Anne‐
Marie. You’d never believe it – look, it’s Matt Black. Matt, do you remember Anne‐
Marie from Mrs Laurence’s class at O-grade?’) When Jim and Maureen were buttonholed by the newly arrived Andrew Reilly and partner, their places were quickly taken by Paul Duff and his wife Angela. In turn that couple was loudly hullaaaw!ed from behind, and as they turned to see who had called, Matt, looking elsewhere, found himself in the glare of another God‐
look‐
who‐
it‐
is smile, and on it went.