Seventy Times Seven (17 page)

She’d emptied the weapon in less than ten seconds and hit nothing but the scenery. Whoever she was, she was no pro, but even amateurs can get lucky. Danny dropped to the floor. He had already fired back twice, but he was shooting into the darkness: aiming to miss.

The next instant she was gone. Danny heard her footsteps retreating into the dingy shadows of the apartment, and she screamed as he fired another round.

He didn’t want to hit her. He needed to talk to her, find out what she was doing there; ask if she knew where O’Hanlon was.

He punched the remainder of the glass out of the aluminium doorframe and crawled inside, on all fours, to the far side of the room where he sat with his back pressed against the wall.

Danny raised his hand and wiped something wet from his cheek. Several small lacerations on his face and forehead were oozing blood that collected at the end of his chin and dripped onto his shirt. ‘Jesus, what a bollock,’ muttered Danny under his breath.

‘Listen!’ he shouted. ‘I need to talk to Finn O’Hanlon. I don’t mean him or you any harm. I’ve come to help. I know there are people trying to kill him, but I promise you, I just need to talk to him. You’re out of bullets so I’m going to put the hall light on and throw my gun down to you. That way you’re in charge, okay?’

Danny dropped the clip out the handle of his Walther PPK and slid the empty gun along the wooden floor.

‘I’m unarmed, and you’re the boss. If you want to talk, I’ll be in the kitchen looking for something to drink.’

Marie pulled up alongside the overflowing trashcans in the unlit alleyway at the back of Finn’s apartment, and pushed the stick into neutral. She left the engine running to keep the air conditioning on.

The storm clouds Finn had seen from the window of the motel had travelled with them on their journey back to Tuscaloosa, keeping pace with the car as it sped along the freeway. The heavy rain had now eased to a light drizzle, leaving the ground glistening and the air stifling and humid.

‘I think we’re here,’ she said, talking to herself in a quiet voice. ‘Nice neighbourhood‚ if you’re into shabby.’ She was trying to reassure herself everything was okay, but when she checked her lipstick in the rear-view mirror, she noticed that her hand had a slight tremor. Marie wasn’t even sure it mattered a damn what her lipstick looked like: all she was going to do was pick a few things up from Finn’s apartment and drive straight back to the motel.

Marie once told her friends that she felt life wasn’t so much passing her by as ignoring her altogether; exciting things always happened to
other
people. But here she was taking a Colt Snub Nose .38 Detective Special from her purse and unclipping the magazine like she knew what she was doing.

‘There’s as much chance of me shooting someone as there is of finding all four wheels on my car when I get back.’

As she moved her purse over to the passenger’s seat a hand reached across from behind and grabbed her forearm.

Marie jumped and let out a squeal. ‘Jesus Christ. I nearly shot out the goddamn windshield.’

‘Sorry,’ said Finn from the floor in the back of the car. ‘Listen, if you don’t feel good about this we can turn round and head back. I don’t want you to go in if you’re not happy.’

‘Are you kidding? All I ever do is sit and
watch
the news: you think I’m going to pass up an opportunity to
be
the news? I’m shitting myself, but in an excited sort of a way. I’ll be fine,’ she replied. ‘In and out, grab the cornflake box, grab your gun, and hold my breath on the stairwell,’ she said, recapping everything Finn had told her on the journey from the motel. ‘Why don’t I leave this with you?’ she continued as she held the Snub Nose between her thumb and forefinger and pushed it towards Finn. ‘I’ll get your gun from under the pillow and use
that
. If I’m attacked on the way in, I’ll smack the son of a bitch over the head with these.’ Marie picked up the clump of keys Finn had given her and passed them back to him. ‘Which one’s which again?’

Finn had been lying on the floor of the car for almost the entire journey: his neck felt like it was about to break and the wounds on his shoulder and knees were giving him hell. He took the keys awkwardly, trying not to raise his head above the level of the door, then pointed them out to Marie one at a time. ‘This one’s for the back entrance to the building’ – Finn held it up – ‘and this one’s the door to the apartment. If you get in there and think anything looks out of place or doesn’t feel right then get the hell out of there, okay?’

‘Okay.’

‘You see the window just to the left of the fire escape on the first floor?’ said Finn.

‘Yeah.’

‘That’s the bedroom: as soon as you’re in, come to the window and flash the torch, so I know everything’s all right.’

‘How many times? I’m just thinking, we should have a code in case something’s wrong, you know‚ like someone’s inside waiting, then I can flash a certain number of times and you’ll know. But make it an easy code. If it’s too complicated I’ll mess up.’

Finn let out a snort.

‘What’re you laughing at?’

‘You,’ he replied. ‘“A code”? What, like Morse code? You think you’ll have time to spell out “Someone’s beating the shit out of me. Help”?’

‘Sure. And where he lives; where he likes to shop – you can tell a lot about someone from what they’re wearing,’ replied Marie, joining in.

‘Take the gun. If anything kicks off, start firing, and don’t stop until they stop breathing.’

Once again Finn had stopped Marie in her tracks.

‘That what they teach you back in Ireland?’ she said.

‘No, it’s what you learn when someone’s trying to kill you. If you don’t stop them – they’ll stop you. They’re going to keep coming at you until you’re dead, by which point it’s too late to say, “Shit, maybe I should have shot first.” Believe me, if you’ve ever had someone point a gun at you it’s the fastest lesson you’ll learn in your life. And if you do start shooting you’d better mean it, because they’re not going to give you a second chance. What they teach you in Northern Ireland is, “Don’t give them
any
fuckin chance.”’

The atmosphere was sober again.

Finn didn’t mean to give her a hard time, but she was treating it like it was all a joke. He needed to remind her that this was a grave situation with serious consequences. It wasn’t fair on her, but Finn didn’t know what else to do; she was beginning to matter to him.

They both sat in silence: the connection between them momentarily lost.

‘Doesn’t feel right, does it?’ said Marie, eventually.

Finn felt his stomach churn. He knew he was asking too much of her. He’d got her involved in a screwed-up situation that was nothing to do with her and here he was giving her attitude for putting her life in danger.

‘You’re right! I don’t even know what I’m thinking, asking you to go in. Let’s drive round the front again and if it looks quiet, I’ll run in and grab the stuff myself,’ he replied.

‘That’s not what I mean. I’ve been trying to work out why this feels so odd,’ she continued. ‘I think it’s because there’s no music: makes it all seem a bit ordinary – flat, you know? It needs a bit of music to set the tone. We need a soundtrack.’

Finn smiled. ‘We need to get out of here as quick as we can, before someone notices the car and the soundtrack’s for a car chase. Let’s drive around the front, then I’ll run in.’

‘What if they’re watching the apartment?’

‘I’ll be in and out so quick they won’t know what to do . . . plus, I know where everything is. It’ll be much easier.’

Marie put everything she needed in her purse and opened the car door. ‘Wooh! It’s sticky out here!’

‘Where are you going?’ asked Finn.

‘If they spot you going into the building it’s all over. If they see a woman they don’t know they’re not going to bat an eye. It makes more sense. Will I leave the engine running? If I take the car keys, it’ll get hot in here, but then, I don’t want someone driving off with you in the back.’

‘Get back in the car and drive round the front.’

Marie flung the door wide and stepped out into the warm air. The sound of gospel music could be heard, pumping out of one of the other apartments in the block. She popped her head back inside. ‘I was thinking more Run-DMC than the Mississippi Mass Choir, but at least it’s music. Be careful what you wish for, eh?’

‘It’s my neighbours, Ardel and Hud. When you get into the flat, bang on the wall and they’ll turn it down.’

‘I like it loud.’ And with that she was gone.

Finn propped himself up high enough to see over the top of the door and watched as Marie’s shapely figure disappeared into the blackness. He hadn’t noticed it until Marie pointed it out, but the music was loud: even with the car door closed, Finn could still make out the lyrics – ‘Say amen, somebody.’

The first thing that hit Marie as she pushed open the fire-escape door was the smell. Finn had warned her, but it was far worse than she was expecting. She covered her nose and mouth and made her way – as quickly as possible – past the bags of rotting litter and household waste till she was standing outside Finn’s front door.

Marie let herself into the apartment and hurriedly locked the door behind her. The stale atmosphere inside was a lot more appealing than the stench out in the hallway, so she stood for a moment in the darkness letting the foul air clear from her lungs and wondering what had happened in Finn’s life to bring him to this shithole.

Marie didn’t want to hang about. She started running through Finn’s description of how the apartment was laid out. The lounge was to the right of the front door and had a kitchen leading off it, and a large glass door that ran the length of the balcony. Both bedrooms were left down the corridor and had a small bathroom sandwiched between them.

‘Don’t put the light on, don’t use the torch except to signal, grab the cornflakes, grab Finn’s gun, get the hell out’ – that was it.

Marie’s eyes were now accustomed to the dark, but she could still only make out vague shapes and outlines as she made her way down the short corridor.

She moved slowly through into Finn’s bedroom, heading for the window, then pulled back the curtains. The car looked much more conspicuous parked in the alleyway than she’d imagined. She flashed the torch three times to let Finn know that she was inside, but it was too dark down there to tell if he’d seen her.

The bedroom was small: most of the floor space taken up by a messy double bed and a large chest of drawers covered with books. Finn told her not to bother picking up any clothes: it was better to buy new.

Marie moved away from the window and opened the top drawer of the chest. She was surprised to find it empty; the second and third drawer, the same – empty except for some faded sheets of wallpaper used to line the bases. Maybe he kept his stuff in the other room.

There was an unexpected lull in the music from next door: a brief pause.

Suddenly a floorboard creaked nearby. Marie stood frozen to the spot trying to hold her breath, but her heart was pounding, demanding oxygen. She tightened her grip on the Snub Nose and listened more intently. It was difficult to tell if the noise had come from inside the flat or from one of the other apartments. The noise came again, but this time she got a fix on it. She was certain it had come from the apartment above. Marie’s shoulders sagged and she started to breathe again. ‘Just grab what you came for and get to hell out of there, come on.’

 Moments later she was heading back along the corridor towards the lounge. Without thinking, she reached up for the light switch. It was an instinctive reaction, but Marie knew instantly that it was too late.

The light had been on only for a split second, but that was enough for Marie to see the guy’s face pressed against the balcony door.

She screamed and tried to lift the Snub Nose, but it felt like it had suddenly gained two hundred pounds. The muscles in her arms had drained of all their strength and her fingers refused to work. It was only when she saw the figure out on the balcony reach for
his
gun that she managed to pull the trigger.

There were two loud explosions and the room was instantly filled with acrid smoke. She could hear Finn’s words echoing in her mind: ‘Start firing, and don’t stop until they stop breathing.’

 Before Marie knew what had happened, she’d emptied the gun and the trigger was clicking lamely in her hand.

Another two loud cracks reverberated round the walls of the small lounge.

The guy was firing back.

Marie turned and ran.

Yet another shot. This time the bullet fizzed overhead and burst into the ceiling just above her head, showering her in fine white plaster dust.

She could hear the guy crashing through the balcony doors. He was in the apartment.

Marie pulled frantically at the front door, her hands trembling with fear.

She was sobbing.

She knew that the door was locked, but what had she done with the goddamn keys?

Suddenly it hit her. They were sitting on top of the chest of drawers in Finn’s bedroom, where she’d left them alongside his gun.

Vincent Lee Croll lifted the bell-bottomed glass and sucked margarita through two twisted pink straws till it made a sound like a coffee percolator. The woman behind the counter might have a face on her like a bulldog’s ass, but she knew how to mix a drink. Vincent was on his fourth. The painkillers had stopped working a long time ago and various parts of his body were beginning to hurt. The alcohol was helping, but he needed more. It was only when he stood up and tried to walk over to the bar that it hit him just how strong the margaritas were. The toe of Vincent’s shoe caught an uneven floorboard and he nearly went over. Jo behind the bar flashed a look when she heard him cussing, but he didn’t give a shit. It wasn’t as if he was upsetting a packed house – in fact, apart from one other guy sitting at the bar and an old couple over in the corner, Vincent was the only one there. He knew the old bulldog wasn’t going to throw out a fee-paying customer, even if the look on her face said she wanted to.

‘Be easier if you did service at the tables,’ he dribbled as he placed his glass on the counter.

‘Who fur,’ she replied with a heavy southern drawl, ‘me or you?’

Vincent checked his pockets: he had fifteen dollars left‚ which meant another three drinks, or two drinks and a couple of packets of Marlboros. Either way he was nearly out of cash. ‘Any chance of a “good customer” discount, seeing as I’m keeping the place going all by myself here?’ he said, giving it his best toothy grin.

Bulldog Jo didn’t lift her head from the newspaper she was leaning over.

‘Sure. How about I refuse to serve you another margarita. That way you get a discount of five bucks.’

Vincent’s big dopey eyes stared back at her for a few seconds while he decided which way to take it.

‘Why you chewing on my ass, sis? You been nibbling at it ever since I got here. So much so that I got no ass left to sit on that seat over there. Gonna need a cushion to rest the bare knuckle of my butt on. All I’m suggesting is that I buy three drinks at a reduced rate to save me getting up and down every couple of minutes and you throw in a packet of smokes as an all-inclusive deal.’

‘How about I serve you one more drink for the road and you can have one of my cigarettes as a going-away present?’ she replied, still reading the newspaper. ‘That way you’ll have enough money to call a cab.’

Vincent kept up the dumb smile. He thought about shooting her right between the fucking eyes, but he would then have to kill everyone else in the bar and that might turn his luck the wrong way. Vincent sucked air in through his teeth and tried again.

‘C’mon, sis, I’m asking you nice now. You standing there looking so sweet you’re rotting my teeth. Okay, I will buy one more drink, but I’d like it to be a pitcher of margaritas and if you could possibly include a packet of smokes I’ll give you fifteen bucks, and that is everything I own.’

Bulldog Jo was peering at him now, over the thin metallic rim of her glasses. ‘Well seeing as how you asked so nice,’ she said, making no attempt to hide the sarcasm.

Vincent watched as she threw together the ingredients of his drink and poured the mixture into a glass jug. She put the jug down on the bar and pulled a packet of cigarettes from a display stand just behind her.

‘You need a fresh glass?’

‘Shit, for fifteen bucks I’m expectin a goddamn butler to carry me
and
the drink to my table,’ replied Vincent, even though his cheeks were beginning to hurt with all the smiling he was doing.

He fished in his trouser pocket for his last three bills and slapped them down just far enough out of reach to make Bulldog have to stretch across the counter top.

Vincent pushed himself away from the bar and slouched back to the window. After lighting another cigarette he climbed unsteadily onto a tall wooden bar stool and stared out at a blanket of cloud that had pushed in from the south, making the evening seem darker than usual. Through the dirty window of the bar Vincent could also see a dim blue glow lighting up the balcony of the two skinny dopeheads that lived next to O’Hanlon. Vincent had sat at the window for over an hour watching people come and go from their apartment. Within minutes of arriving each visitor would appear on the balcony for a smoke, which confirmed what Vincent already suspected. The guys across the street were dealers: the visitors were trying out the merchandise.

Now that the margaritas were hitting home runs unopposed Vincent was starting to get ideas again. If O’Hanlon didn’t show up soon, he’d go over and bust the dope dealers. It’d be an easy hit. Knock on the door like he wanted to ask them some more about O’Hanlon, then as soon as they opened up . . . whack. Knock one of them out straight away. Let the other one know he was serious and not to fuck him about. It hadn’t occurred to Vincent when he’d been over earlier that they were stoned, but now he’d figured it out, it made sense. Only problem he could see was if Mr De Garza had them on his books. If that were the case they would be off limits. But in all his years of smoking dope he had never heard of anyone dealing out of Cottondale. Vincent smiled. What had started off as a fairly ordinary day was turning out to be a rollercoaster ride with a shitload of opportunities opening up for him. When the cops had come into his hospital room Vincent thought that was it, game over. But as soon as they had been removed from the equation, everything had started to turn around.

The first bit of luck: the room he’d jumped out of at the hospital was right next to the parking lot. Within seconds he had the driver’s door of an Oldsmobile Cutlass sedan open and was heading to his sister’s house for a shower and a change of clothes with WTXT blasting out some classic Country on the radio. The plan to go to Cola’s mum’s house and sort the old bitch out would have to wait.

The second bit of luck: when he’d turned into his sister’s street he’d seen the Black and White sitting out front, in her drive. Vincent had driven straight past just as the cops were getting out of the car and crossing the street. They didn’t even look his way. Vincent drove on to a friend’s house instead and got fixed up there.

The third bit of luck: finding the two wasters across the street, Ardel and Hud. There for the taking was a big bag of weed and a cash bonus for the minimum of effort.

Vincent tipped the jug of margaritas and filled his glass to the brim. A thought struck him and he turned to shout over at Bulldog Jo.

‘Hey sis‚ how many drinks in a jug?’

Jo looked over at him and frowned.

‘What?’

‘How many glasses d’you get in a jug?’

Bulldog Jo knew straight away where this was heading. ‘Four!’

‘How much does it cost?’

‘Twelve bucks for a pitcher.’

Vincent’s smile was gone.

‘So how come I’ve been paying tourist rates – buying them individually for five bucks each – and you never says?’

Bulldog Jo shrugged her shoulders. ‘You never asked.’

‘Plus you owe me three,’ said Vincent.

Jo shook her head. ‘No, you got a pack of smokes.’

‘Okay, but they is only two-fifty a pack, or are you charging me tourist on them as well?’ said Vincent, beginning to get a rise. ‘You took three bucks off me.’

‘So I owe you fifty cents – you can collect it on your way out. Now relax your bony ass and stop shouting your mouth off all over the place. You annoying the other customers.’

Vincent was about to start on her again when something caught his eye.

Someone was climbing over the railings on the balcony above O’Hanlon’s apartment. The guy was trying to drop down but his feet were a few inches short of the railing below: dangling there like he was about to fall. Next thing Ardel and Hud were out on their balcony making conversation with the guy like they were all best of friends.

Vincent couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

‘Sheeeit . . . O’Hanlon!’

Vincent smiled to himself and muttered under his breath. ‘You see tha’s why I didn’t shoot this place up . . . cause I knew it would turn my luck in the wrong direction. Vincent – looks to me like you staring at the double jackpot.’

Vincent picked up the jug of margaritas and carried it back over to the bar, taking care not to let any of it spill.

‘What time you close?’

Jo was reading her newspaper again.

‘Usually round midnight‚ but I’m thinking I might close up early tonight.’

‘Closing early for the tourists?’ Vincent shrugged like he wasn’t bothered. ‘You keep this in the cooler till I get back. Got some work to do, but it won’t take long. You can hang on to the fifty cents you owe me too. Call it a tip.’

‘Gee, you sure?’ said Jo, out loud so the other drinkers could hear. Got the two old folk in the corner smiling till Vincent stared them down.

When he was finished across the road Vincent would come back and pistol-whip the bitch, but for now he’d settle for hitting her with an exit line.

‘Lady, we used to have a dog looked like you when I was growing up. Bitch was so ugly we tied the leash to its hind legs, shaved its ass, and walked it backwards.’ Vincent looked over at the old couple again and scowled. ‘Why ain’t you smiling now‚ for fuck’s sake? That’s a good line.’

If he’d waited a few seconds he’d have seen Jo pouring the jug of margaritas down the sink and picking up the telephone, but Vincent was already out onto the street. He kept tight to the edge of the building, skirting the shadows as he made his way quickly along the sidewalk opposite O’Hanlon’s.

He figured this guy O’Hanlon was scared to go in through his front door, in case someone was waiting for him on the other side. From where Vincent was standing now it looked as if the guy had his face pressed up against the balcony doors trying to see in.

Suddenly the guy was in silhouette. For a split second there was light flooding onto the balcony from inside the apartment.

Vincent had to duck down as the balcony doors suddenly erupted with a loud crack and a bullet ripped through the air, embedding itself into the wall beside him.
‘Sheeeit.’

Vincent had to stay low as two more bullets whizzed past.

When he looked up again the light was off and the guy had disappeared.

Vincent wasn’t sure what was happening: maybe someone else had been hired to finish the hit, and had been waiting inside the apartment just like O’Hanlon had feared. But jumping in on someone else’s contract was against the rules. If another asshole was trying to prevent Vincent claiming the prize money then they would get a goddamn bullet too.

Right now, though, he didn’t give a shit. O’Hanlon was back and that meant Vincent was still in the frame to collect.

As he crossed the road Vincent pulled the 9 mm from his belt and flipped the safety off.

‘Tomorrow you is heading straight to the track to bet on some nags, you lucky hound-dog,’ he said to himself. The big toothy grin was back.

He lifted the gun to his lips and kissed it. ‘Okay doll, you ready to spit some nasties.’