Seventy Times Seven (11 page)

Angela’s mother turned down the volume on the radio before looking over at Angela with a puzzled expression on her face. The two women sat staring across the kitchen table at each other until the sound of knocking came again.

‘Is that someone at the front door?’ asked her mother, stating the obvious: a habit that Angela found increasingly irritating. ‘It’s too early in the morning to be calling on folk, is it not? The birds are still singing.’ She stayed seated and nodded in the direction of the hallway. ‘Well, you’d better go and see who it is.’

Reluctantly, Angela made her way out into the hall and headed towards the front door, racking her brains as to who it could be. Her encounter with the guy in the leather jacket outside Danny’s had left her feeling nervous and vulnerable, scared even.

She had called for a cab to come and pick her up from his house: an expense she could ill afford. When it eventually arrived, the taxi driver gave her a curious glance as she looked around for the guy in the leather jacket, but he was nowhere to be seen. Even though she was certain the taxi wasn’t being followed she’d asked the driver to take a different route home just in case. The longer route had added to the cost.

Angela slipped the brass chain between the stays, then opened the door a few inches.

‘Who is it?’ shouted her mum from the kitchenette.

Angela felt her cheeks burn.

‘It’s the fella who stole my car, Ma,’ she replied.

‘What’s he doing calling at this time in the morning? I hope the cur’s here to give it back?’

‘My ma wants to know if you’ve come to give me my car back?’

Danny’s breath puffed in grey transparent swirls as he stood shivering on the doorstep of the small pebble-dashed bungalow. He shifted his weight uncomfortably before replying, ‘Sort of . . . D’you mind if I come in for a minute?’

‘Do we mind if he comes in for a minute, Ma?’

‘Get the keys off him and close the door, Angela, you’re letting all the heat out.’

‘How did you know I lived in Dunnaval?’

‘Got a pal works for the DVLA, ran your plate through for me. Came up: Greencastle Road, Dunnaval.’

‘Is that allowed?’

‘As long as you don’t tell anyone in the RUC you’re doing it,’ replied Danny.

Angela shook her head slowly then unclipped the latch and opened the door fully. ‘You’d better come in before my ma has a stroke. But don’t plan on staying long: I’ve got to get to work this morning . . . can’t afford to take any more time off.’ Angela peered over Danny’s shoulder at her car parked alongside the kerb. ‘I hope you’ve put petrol in it. The tank was nearly full when you stole it,’ she said as Danny edged past her into the hallway.

‘I only borrowed it,’ he replied.

‘You “only” used me to lure those men in the white van away from your house and then stole it. I don’t remember handing you the keys.’

Angela was giving him a bit of a ride, but he didn’t mind – he couldn’t explain why, but it was good to see her again. ‘You don’t need keys for those old Fords. You can get into them and start them up with a penny.’

‘Only someone who steals cars would know something like that.’

In truth, Angela didn’t care about the car: if anything, she was disappointed to get it back. What was troubling her more was the fact she was wearing her nurse’s uniform. She’d had the seams round the waist adjusted to make her stomach look flatter, but the alterations had made the skirt flare out at the back. Her bottom looked huge – or so she thought. Why hadn’t he brought the car back yesterday when she was wearing her black slacks and fitted jumper: an outfit that showed off her slim figure to its best advantage?

Worse still, Angela didn’t put her face on in the morning until she was heading out the door so she was standing there with no lippy, no concealer and worst of all, no mascara.
Jesus. Catch yourself on, girl. The guy’s married with a child and he nicked your car.

Angela closed the door behind Danny and ushered him into the living room. There was a strong smell of petrol on his clothes.

‘What’s the scent . . . Eau de BP?’

She could tell he didn’t get it.

‘You smell like a leaky jerry-can.’

‘Do I? Christ, so I do,’ replied Danny, finally catching on. ‘Aye, it’s a new fragrance from Fabergé: one pound fifty a gallon. I must have spilled some when I was filling up your car.’

‘Aye right,’ said Angela with an expression on her face that told him she didn’t believe him.

‘Check for yourself: cost me nearly fifteen quid,’ said Danny earnestly. ‘To be honest, it’d have been cheaper getting a taxi.’

Angela’s eyes narrowed. ‘Well next time why don’t you do that? Then I won’t have to take the two-hour bus ride to work, because there is no direct service from here into Belfast so I have to change buses and they don’t operate on anything even remotely resembling a timetable. Nor would I have to sit up all night wondering what to tell my insurance company or whether or not I should call the RUC, because if I don’t tell them it’s been stolen the insurance won’t pay out and that’d mean getting the bus to work for the next few years until I could save up enough to buy a new car and even then I wouldn’t know where to start because I’m not a big fan of cars; another brain-ache. Which make, which colour, how many doors? Should I get one that has better locks? And I know what would have happened. I’d give up and take the bus. I worked out if I did that for the next ten years I’d have wasted over a year of that waiting for, or travelling on, public-bloody-transport. So the next time you’re thinking “Should I nick that car or take a taxi?” my advice would be take the goddamn taxi.’ Angela paused and smiled.

‘You’ve given it a lot of thought,’ said Danny.

‘Your mind starts to wander, sitting in a bus shelter for so long. Take a seat – but, don’t get too close to that fire, you’ll go up in a ball of flames.’

Danny made his way round the garish floral-patterned sofa and sat down.

‘The number twenty-three goes from here into Belfast.’

Angela let that one pass. ‘D’you feel like tea?’

‘Aye, that’d be grand,’ replied Danny.

‘Hungry?’

‘Right now, I’d eat shit if it had salad cream on it.’

‘We only do bacon and salad cream, but if you hang on I’ll ask my ma to nip down to the Co-op.’

Angela headed back to the kitchen, leaving Danny staring at a small pile of coal in the ash-dusted hearth. He didn’t really want a cup of tea. He’d said yes so that he could be in her company for a little longer.

Little fissures of orange glow were still visible in what remained of last night’s fire. He gave a small shudder as the image of a van engulfed in flames flashed through his mind.

Angela was back, standing in the doorway.

‘Ma says we’re fresh out of shit. How about some bacon?’

‘Bacon’ll do fine, but I don’t want to make you late for work.’

She felt her cheeks burning again.

‘You all right?’ asked Danny.

‘Fine,’ she replied.

There was an awkward silence, then Angela said, ‘I didn’t realise you wore glasses.’

Danny pushed them up on his nose. It was an action that had developed into a nervous habit – they were never in any danger of falling off. ‘Well, you haven’t known me for very long, I suppose. I only wear them on special occasions.’

‘Does returning stolen goods count as a special occasion?’

‘If you’re the one getting the goods back then I suppose it does,’ replied Danny. ‘How much did your car cost you?’

‘Why you asking?’

‘I want to buy it off you.’

It was blunt, but it answered her question.

‘You want to buy it off me?’ repeated Angela, raising her eyebrows. ‘I don’t remember putting a “for sale” sign in the window.’

‘I’ll give you five grand for it.’

Angela raised her eyebrows even higher. ‘Are you off your head? It’s not worth five quid . . . plus, it’s not for sale.’

Danny pulled a fat bundle of notes from inside his jacket and placed them on the small wooden coffee table that sat between the sofa and hearth. ‘I didn’t expect to have to bargain with you, but if that’s how you want to play it‚ five-and-a-half grand and not a penny more.’

‘I’m not bargaining‚ Danny, it’s not for sale.’

‘You’re a tough negotiator.’

‘I’m not negotiating.’

‘Six grand.’

‘No.’

‘Seven?’

‘Jesus! No.’

‘Seven-and-a-half?’

‘Stop it, Danny.’

‘Eight?’

‘Stop it,’ she said more firmly.

‘Okay you win. Ten grand, take it or leave it?’

Angela was staring at him. It was more money than she had ever seen in her life. If she worked for another twenty years she knew she would never have that much in her bank account, but she also knew she couldn’t take it. She was trying to read Danny’s face, find out what he was thinking, but the mask was on – as always.

Angela was resolute. ‘Thanks for the offer, but I’ll leave it.’

Her mother entered the living room and placed a hot mug of tea on the coffee table. ‘There’s no bacon left, you drink that up and be on your way, son.’

‘Ma, that’s enough,’ said Angela, interrupting.

‘I’m just saying. I’ve gone through enough trouble when your father was alive and I don’t want any more. Not for me, not for you. Drink your tea, and then I’d be grateful if you left my daughter and me in peace. And you can take your money too. We won’t be needing it.’

Angela got to her feet and shepherded her mother back towards the door. ‘That’s enough, Ma, please. There’s no need to be rude. Go back to the kitchen and make me some toast‚ would you? I’ll be with you in a minute.’

Danny got to his feet as well. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Fitzpatrick, I just want to say a few words to Angela then I promise I’ll leave you alone.’

‘Finish your tea then out!’ continued Mrs Fitzpatrick, hardening her tone.

‘Enough,’ said Angela‚ matching her mother.

She waited for her mum to go into the hall then closed the door behind her.

‘I’m sorry about that . . .’ she started to say as she gathered the cash off the table.

‘Yer all right.’

‘I’m all she’s got. She can be a bit over-protective.’

‘Honestly, it’s fine,’ said Danny.

When Angela had gathered up each of the thousand-pound bundles she held them towards him, but Danny kept his hands by his sides. ‘If the car means that much to you, you can have it,’ she said. ‘I don’t want your money, Danny, okay. Please take this back.’

She lifted her eyes and caught Danny’s stare burrowing deep inside her, catching and holding her; connected.

‘The car means fuck-all to me,’ said Danny quietly under his breath. ‘You’re the only person, in a long time, that’s done anything good for me, and for that, I owe you.’ He saw Angela make to interrupt him and held his hand up to stop her. ‘Don’t say another word; just wait till I’m finished, okay? If you hadn’t stopped and picked me up the other day I wouldn’t be here now . . . for that I owe you. Decency doesn’t drink in the same bars as me these days: you reminded me that it still exists and for that I owe you as well. I want you to accept this money as my way of saying thank you: I’ll be offended if you don’t. Now, I have one last favour to ask. If you don’t want to do it‚ if you want to say no, I’ll understand, but right now you’re the only person I know I can trust.’ Danny pulled another thick envelope from his pocket and handed it to Angela. ‘There’s another ten grand in here I’d like you to deliver to Órlaith.’

Angela felt her stomach turn over at the mention of his wife: she struggled not to let her emotions show on her face.

She nodded.

‘The address is on the front and there’s a letter in there for my ma, I’d be very grateful if you made sure she got it. There’s other stuff I want to tell you, but it can wait.’ With that Danny moved closer to the door.

‘Why can’t you take it yourself?’ asked Angela.

‘I have to be getting on my way, places to go, things to do, a tug-of-war to be won.’ Danny was already in the hall. ‘That, and Órlaith’s staying round at my ma’s house and my ma hasn’t spoken a word to me for over five years. It’s complicated, but as I say: it can wait.’

‘I won’t get a chance until the weekend. Will that be okay?’ asked Angela.

‘Sure there’s no hurry‚’ replied Danny. ‘By the way, what happened to the Easter eggs you went to buy for me?’

Angela could feel a tear burning its way to the surface. She didn’t know why, but she wanted to cry. ‘I used them as an offensive weapon to ward off an attacker, but I’ll tell you about that later. “It can wait”, too.’

‘You’ll have to take that up with Órlaith and Niamh, the eggs were for them. Don’t go getting upset now, Angel, there’s plenty more in the shop.’ With that he bent over and kissed Angela softly on the lips: it was quick and tender and before she could respond it was over.

‘What time do you finish at the hospital tonight?’

‘I start early-shift tomorrow so I’ll be finished by about four today.’

‘I’ve got a lot I need to sort out before my flight tomorrow, but I can take care of that this afternoon. I’m free for a drink tonight.’

‘Good for you! If that’s your way of asking me out, you old charmer, I’m afraid I don’t date married men.’

‘Good for you!’ replied Danny. ‘Who said anything about a date? We’re just going for a drink. I’ll pick you up here at six, is that too early?’

‘No,’ she heard herself say.

‘I’ll park round the corner so that you don’t have to explain anything to your ma. See you later, Angel.’

Angela felt her face flush again.

Finn O’Hanlon’s forehead creased as he rolled onto his side and felt a stabbing pain from the three-inch strip of grazed flesh Culo Conrado’s bullet had left behind on his shoulder. His eyes felt like two hard-boiled eggs that had been cracked open using a blunt steak knife.

Finn swung his legs down over the edge of the sofa and manoeuvred himself – with some effort – into a sitting position. His blood-stained shirt had dried onto his skin and he was still wearing the clothes from the previous night, including his tatty Converse.

He had no recollection of asking to stay over, so could only assume that he had passed out on the sofa and been left where he’d ‘fallen’.

Half-eaten cartons of food lay scattered on top of the small coffee table and even his empty beer glass was still sitting where he’d left it, tucked under the sofa. The only thing that had changed was that sunlight was now glaring through the curtainless windows instead of orange sodium.

Apart from his shoulder – and the thud of a dehydrated headache – he felt reasonably okay. The crushing tiredness from the previous day was gone and he felt ready.

Ready for what, was a question he’d try answering after he’d showered and made himself a coffee.

Finn sat still for a few moments listening for any other sounds of life.

Marie’s bedroom door was slightly ajar, but he was pretty sure she wasn’t in there: the apartment felt empty.

Finn stood up and shuffled over to the sink, filled the kettle and searched the cupboards for a packet of fresh coffee. It wasn’t difficult to find. There was nothing else except coffee and Oreos.

As he waited for the kettle to come to the boil he headed towards Marie’s bedroom and stuck his head cautiously round the doorframe.

There was a clean folded towel, sitting on the end of Marie’s crumpled bed with a note resting on top of it, but no sign of her.

Finn picked up the note.

Finn looked across at the tall dresser on the opposite side of the room and figured that the long thin drawer at the top was probably the one to go for first. It would never have occurred to him to go rummaging, but now that she’d put the notion in his head what was he supposed to do? He walked over and slid open the top drawer. There in front of him was a jumbled mess of Marie’s underwear. Mostly thongs, and lacy strings with embroidered panels, nearly all of them black. Finn smiled: she’d left another note in the drawer which read‚ ‘Shame on you.’

Finn picked up a piece of sheer, triangular gossamer, with straps no thicker than a pencil. A thin whistle escaped between his teeth.

‘Holy Mother of God!’

Finn dropped the piece of lingerie back onto the pile and was about to close the drawer when he noticed the handle of a Snub Nose .38 sticking out from under an unopened packet of stockings. Finn pulled the drawer out further. There was a full box of .38 millimetre shells sitting alongside.

The sound of the kettle clicking in the other room made him jump.

He carefully put everything back the way he’d found it and headed through to the kitchen.

‘Thank you for not murdering me in my sleep,’ he muttered, placing Marie’s note on the worktop. He lifted the kettle and poured the hot, steaming water over a tablespoonful of coffee he’d tipped into a paper filter. As he waited for the dark brown liquid to percolate through Finn stripped off.

Everything went into the washing machine, socks, underpants, jeans, T-shirt and Converse: the sum total of his possessions. Whatever else he owned he’d have to leave behind in his apartment in Cottondale: everything except the cornflake packet. He wondered if the two assholes that had tried to hit him in McHales had gone there first. If they had, and they’d found the cornflake packet, then Finn’s escape plan would be null and void.

It was risky, but Finn knew he had to go back.

The coffee was ready. He sipped it as he walked back through Marie’s bedroom into the en-suite bathroom. He pulled the shower curtain to one side and turned on the taps. Before stepping into the shower he examined the cut on his shoulder in the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door. It didn’t look as bad as it felt.

Generally he kept himself fit, but the last few months he’d been getting sloppy: skipping the morning run, not doing the push-ups or sit-ups. It was beginning to show. The time had come to start running for real. His past wasn’t snapping at his heels any more, it was standing right in front of him, baring its teeth.

How did they find him? They must have followed him to McHales. Or had they been watching him for months? Why there? Why not hit him at home where it would have been a lot quieter: no witnesses? Unless they still didn’t know where he lived and just got lucky finding him in the bar.

Finn tried rolling his head around to relieve the tension in his neck, but he felt the skin around his wound tighten, so he stopped.

The large crucifix tattooed across his back was beginning to look smudged around the edges: definitely not as sharp as it was when it had first been done, just a week after he had arrived in America. A seraph nailed to a cross: her six wings spread out – covering most of Finn’s back – with intricately detailed feathers. The upright post, latticed with Celtic banding, ran from the nape of his neck to the base of his spine, and the crossbar stretched from shoulder to shoulder. In the twisted ribbon near the bottom of the cross the words ‘Sanctify yourself’ were written in black Celtic scroll. He’d had it done to remind himself of the burden of guilt he would bear for the rest of his life.

‘Not looking quite so sharp. You sure you’re ready for a fight?’ Finn asked the seraph.

He stepped over the edge of the bath and squeezed his eyes shut as the warm water hit his wound. A bottle of shower gel hung on the stem of the hot tap by its plastic hoop. Finn unscrewed the bottle top and held it to his nose. The smell was instantly recognisable: the delicate musky aroma that had wafted ahead of Marie when she’d appeared at her bedroom door last night. It was a scent full of promises: the promise of intimacy and sensual pleasure. The promise of warm, wet kisses and dark, passionate sex.

But Finn couldn’t allow himself to go there. There were too many other things to think about; things to focus on . . . like how to stay alive.

He reached down and turned the hot tap anticlockwise.

Finn stayed under the freezing cold spray for as long as he could bear, then turned off the water, stepped out of the bath and dried himself. He fixed the towel round his waist and headed back through to the lounge.

The dial on the washing machine had barely moved. His clothes wouldn’t be ready for at least another hour.

Finn picked up the phone sitting on top of an unopened packing box, freed a length of cable and made his way across to the window.

The sun felt warm on his skin and there was a balmy flow of air blowing through the four-inch gap between the sill and the bottom edge of the window. The patrol car that had been parked in the lot just inside the main gate was gone. The street beyond the perimeter fence was quiet, with only a few parked cars dotted along on the grass verges that ran adjacent.

Flanking the parking lot on either side were two small squares of grass – with benches set around wooden picnic tables – for the residents of the apartment block. One of the tables was host to three or four crows pecking at a discarded cardboard lunch box, left curling at the edges, in the full glare of the sun. Large flowerbeds bulging with mature perennials and colourful springtime flowers surrounded both the grass squares and acted as a screen from the world outside. To anyone else it might have seemed like an idyllic scene, but Finn had a dark shadow clouding his thoughts: an uneasy feeling he couldn’t shake off.

He lifted the receiver and dialled.

Three thousand miles away a telephone rang unanswered for several rings until there was a click followed by a long silence, then a beeping noise that was Finn’s cue to speak.

‘Mr McFarlane . . . I need to talk to you.’ His tone was slow and deliberate – more American than it had sounded before – whispering each word as though he was trying to disguise his voice. ‘If you’re there, pick up, I need to ask you something.’

Finn waited, but there was no response.

‘I need to know who you’ve been talking to‚ Mr McFarlane. Two assholes have just tried to get funny with me in a bar. I’d just like to confirm you got the information to the right person. Call me back as soon as possible on the number I gave you before. I’ll be there at nine o’clock your time, all right?’

Finn slowly replaced the receiver. He knew he was taking a risk leaving the message, but there was nothing else he could do. If Lep McFarlane had delivered his message to Danny McGuire, then Finn was certain that McGuire would come looking for him. The problem for Finn was that he could no longer hang around in Cottondale waiting for him.

He stood staring out of the window for a long time before he became aware that he wasn’t the only person in the room.