Seventy Times Seven (18 page)

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

Considering she’d just tried to shoot him, the guy sounded pretty calm.

Marie heard some movement, then a thump as his gun hit the floor and slid along the hallway. It was out of reach, but there it was, just as he’d said.

There was always the chance that he might be carrying another weapon, but – for whatever reason – her instinct was to trust him.

Marie stood in the darkness for a few moments wondering what to do next.

She had the front-door key now, but her hand was trembling so much that she’d never get the key in the lock.

The guy was rummaging around for something in the kitchen.

What the hell
, she thought. Marie walked back into the lounge.

The guy was sitting in an old leather armchair in the corner of the room with a beer in his hand like he owned the place. The music was still booming away next door and it sounded like the neighbours were playing ball against the dividing wall.

‘Sorry about the mess: I haven’t had a chance to tidy up,’ he said casually, referring to the bits of glass from the balcony door strewn across the floor. ‘You want one?’ He was holding out a bottle of Skeeter Bite towards her.

Marie’s mouth was too dry to speak so she nodded instead.

The guy got up and went over to the fridge. ‘What do I call you?’

Marie stared right at him, conscious that she might reveal her ‘lying zone’ like she’d done with the Feds. The first name that came to her was:

‘Delores.’

The guy pulled out a beer from the fridge and opened it, set it on the counter and went back to his seat. His face was quite badly swollen on one side and he had blood dripping down his chin from a collection of little scratches on his face.

‘You got any Germolene . . . “Delores”?’

She knew by the way he pronounced her name that she might as well have told him her real name.

The neighbours were banging on the wall again.

Marie kept the gun pointing at him as she moved further into the kitchen and lifted the beer. She’d never been a big fan of beer, but she took a long slow drink before answering.

‘What’s Germolene?’

‘What d’you call it over here?’

‘Call what?’

‘I don’t know. Antiseptic cream‚ I suppose.’

‘We call it Foille.’

‘Do you have any Foille I could borrow?’ asked Danny, wiping a droplet of blood from his cheek with the back of his hand.

‘It’s not my apartment,’ she replied, trying her best to sound in control, ‘so I wouldn’t know.’

‘What did you do with my gun?’

‘Left it in the bedroom.’

‘You can put yours down if you like,’ said Danny. ‘I know you’re all out.’

Marie squeezed the trigger.

The recoil jarred her wrist as the .45 ACP hollow-point blasted a three-inch hole in the floor beside Danny’s foot.

The loud percussion made both of them jump.

Marie struggled to keep her voice steady as she said, ‘Different gun.’

‘Okay,’ replied Danny. ‘Well, that’ll teach me.’

Danny was annoyed with himself for not noticing that she’d switched from the Snub Nose.

‘Where did the Glock come from?’

‘The bedroom. Belongs to the guy who owns the apartment.’

‘Is he here?’ asked Danny.

‘No.’

Marie slugged at the Skeeter Bite till she’d nearly finished the bottle.

‘D’you mind if I ask you some questions?’ continued Danny.

‘Seems like that’s all anyone wants to do these days,’ replied Marie. ‘How about I ask you some first?’

‘Well as you’re the one with the gun, I suppose it’s only fair.’

‘Let’s start with some easy ones and then I’ll throw in a few curve balls,’ said Marie, aware that her hand was still trembling and her heart rate was pounding way above normal.

There was more banging on the wall.

‘Where you from?’

‘Northern Ireland,’ replied Danny.

‘What were you doing on the balcony?’

‘Looking for a guy called Finn O’Hanlon. I was told this was where he lives.’

‘Why didn’t you try the front door?’

‘I did, but there was no answer.’

‘So you thought you’d climb onto the balcony?’

Danny didn’t have an answer for that one, so he shrugged instead.

Marie said, ‘Why‘d you start shooting at me?’

‘You started shooting at me,’ replied Danny. ‘I was returning fire. At least I was aiming to miss.’

‘I thought the rule was to keep firing till the other guy stops breathing?’

‘Did O’Hanlon tell you that?’

It was Marie’s turn to shrug.

‘If you check you’ll see I was firing at the ceiling,’ continued Danny, pointing behind her.

Marie stopped herself from turning to look. She’d seen enough movies not to fall for the sucker punch. ‘It’s okay, I believe you,’ she said. ‘Are you here to kill Finn O’Hanlon?’

‘I’m here to ask him what he knows about my brother. I was given his name by a guy in Ireland called Lep McFarlane, told me O’Hanlon could help.’

‘And you’ve travelled all this way just to
talk
to him?’

‘Listen, I don’t even know who the hell you are. The only reason I’m answering these questions is because you’re holding the weapon and I’m hoping that – at the very least – you might take a message to O’Hanlon for me, or better still, take me to see him in person. My brother was murdered and I’m told
he
knows something about it; that’s why I’m here.
Yes,
I just want to talk to him.’

If Finn’s story about behavioural science was right, so far the guy seemed to be telling the truth.

Marie took her time before asking the next question . . . ‘You think O’Hanlon murdered your brother?’

She was hoping the answer would be no.

‘I didn’t say that. I said he knows something about what happened.’

‘What’s your name?’

Danny’s eyes flicked down to the left before he answered. ‘Mr Leonard.’

Marie decided to pick him up on it straight away. ‘You don’t want to tell me your real name?’ she asked.

Danny looked up; maybe he’d underestimated her, but for now it was the only name he was going to give. ‘Do you know the Lakeshore Hotel . . . “Delores”?’

‘The one on Coker that’s nowhere near a lake?’ replied Marie.

‘As far as I know, it’s the only hotel in Tuscaloosa called “Lakeshore”,’ replied Danny. ‘I’m in room 261.’

‘Why you telling me?’ asked Marie.

‘I’m guessing the chances of you taking me to O’Hanlon right now are pretty slim, so if it’s all the same to you I’d like to head back to the hotel and pick the glass out of my face: get myself cleaned up. You can tell O’Hanlon where I’m staying and if he’s interested he can get in touch: if he’s not, then no harm done and all I’ll have wasted is the price of a plane ticket. If you tell him it was Lep who passed on the message to me, he’ll know that I’m genuine. It was O’Hanlon who contacted me in the first place.’

‘Lip?’ said Marie, finding the guy’s accent difficult.

‘Lep,’ replied Danny. ‘Short for Leprechaun.’

Danny made to stand up.

Marie’s voice sounded strangely hollow to her. ‘Just stay right where you are, Mr “Leonard”. You seem like an okay guy, but I’m twitchy as hell right now. I’d hate to shoot you by mistake.’

The music coming from next door stopped. The sudden silence seemed to heighten the air of tension in the room.

‘Now,’ she continued, ‘I have a couple of things to pick up, then I’m going to leave –
before
you. So you might as well sit back and enjoy your beer.’

Danny kept his eyes on her while he took another slug of beer and sat back down in the armchair.

Marie walked over and lifted a family-size box of cornflakes down from one of the shelves in the kitchen. She was surprised at how heavy it felt.

As she started backing out of the room she could hear more thumping noises on the wall, this time louder, more urgent. Suddenly, Danny was back on his feet, moving towards her.

‘Give me the gun, Delores.’

Marie pointed it straight at the middle of his chest, but he was still coming.

‘Give me the fucking gun.’ He was shouting at her now. ‘Someone’s coming for Christ’s sake,
give me the gun
.’

Danny had only just realised that the banging noises were Ardel and Hud trying to warn him something was wrong, but it was too late.

Suddenly there was a noise like a cannon going off and a ragged hole the size of a watermelon appeared in the front door. Marie screamed and almost lost her grip on the Glock 21 as she lunged forward out of the line of fire.

The lock on the front door exploded across the corridor and slammed into the wall opposite. The whole room seemed to shudder and shake.

Marie screamed again: someone was kicking hard against the front door. Danny made a grab for Marie’s hand but she anticipated the move and pulled the gun out of reach. The Glock caught him on the forearm knocking it from her grasp. As it bounced along the corridor out of reach there was one final splintering crack and the front door flew open.

Danny ran back to the kitchen and grabbed a large carving knife from one of the drawers, slid it up the sleeve of his jacket and quickly sat back in the armchair.

When he looked up a tall skinny black guy was standing exactly where Marie had been just a few seconds earlier. In one hand he was holding a 9 mm, in the other, the Glock 21. The guy’s left arm looked stiff and swollen and his face appeared to have taken a few bad beatings in its time. Even before he spoke, Danny could tell from the lazy eye movements and the stench of alcohol that he was drunk.

Danny glanced over the guy’s shoulder looking for signs of Marie, but she was nowhere to be seen.

‘Mr O’Hanlon, you sittin there all cool like you was expecting me. You alone?’

‘Just me,’ said Danny.

‘I heard a woman’s voice. She the one shooting at you a minute ago and doing all the screaming, or was that you acting all pussy?’

Danny let the question sit for a moment before answering. No point arguing with a drunk pointing a couple of shooters at you, he reasoned. The guy was tall, six foot two at least, carrying no excess weight, more like an underfed horse than an athlete. Looked like he had a brain the size of a walnut too.

‘Where’d she go?’

‘Who?’ asked Danny.

‘You throw the bitch out for taking a few pops at you, huh? Or is she the one went running into the bedroom just as I made my entrance? You got to show them your knuckles every now and then, Mr O’Hanlon. Teach them they get a smack, they start shooting at you in your own home. Just ain’t correct. Once I’ve delivered the message you got coming I’ll go and sort her out for you. She pretty?’

Danny didn’t answer – he was watching the guy struggle to stay focused, figuring out if there was enough time to throw the knife before the guy could get a shot in.

‘My name’s Vincent Lee Croll, I’ll be your Whack-ster for today. You lookin at me like you weighing up your odds on something, Mr O’Hanlon,’ said Vincent as he stood there swaying back and forward. ‘Unless you is Matt Helm and you got a cigarette lighter fires missiles or something, I’d say you is well and truly screwed, so don’t even consider it. There anyone else in here I should know about cept you and your girlfriend?’

Danny shook his head.

‘What I can’t figure is why you’d want to come back. If I had someone after shooting my ass in a bar, I don’t think I’d go home . . . Unless I’d left something of value I needed to pick up. You got anything of value you want to give me, Mr O’Hanlon? If you tell me where it is I might just turn round and walk out what’s left of the front door.’

‘I’m not O’Hanlon,’ replied Danny.

Vincent cackled sarcastically. ‘Yeah, and I’m not going to shoot you in the fucking head in a minute. You think just cause you shaved your beard and got your face beat up a little you become a whole different person?’ Vincent lowered his voice. ‘To be honest I don’t care if you’re O’Hanlon or not,’ he continued. ‘I been through so much shit the past few days I’m gonna kill you anyways – although before I do, I would like to thank you for showing my partner Culo where the big golden stairway is, cause he was messing my head to the point I couldn’t think straight. But now he’s gone I got a whole world of opportunities opening up in front of me. If you bump into Culo Conrado on your travels be sure and tell him I’m doin good. Tell him I always thought he was an asshole. You do that for me, Mr O’Hanlon, and I’ll make sure I get you with the first bullet.’

Danny felt the blade jab into the palm of his hand as he let the knife slip from his sleeve in readiness. He sat waiting, hoping the right moment would present itself before Croll did something stupid like pull the trigger. He needed Croll to lower the guns so that they weren’t pointing straight at him: that way – even if Vincent fired back – he’d have less chance of hitting anything.

‘You want one?’ Danny held up the bottle of beer. He wanted to keep Vincent talking. ‘Skeeter Bite! Got a bit of a kick: brewed locally.’

‘Thanks, but I got a busy night ahead. Got a visit planned with your neighbours, and a big jug of margaritas across the street, ain’t getting any cooler. So – much as I’m sure we’ve got plenty to talk about – I can’t hang about.’

Out of the corner of his eye Danny noticed a movement on the balcony, but Vincent had caught it too. Suddenly Croll turned and started firing with both guns at whatever was out there. In the same instant Danny raised his arm in a small, but powerful upward movement and flicked his hand forward, releasing his grip on the knife. The dark bone handle spun through the air and delivered the blade deep into Vincent’s throat. It struck him with such force that the shiny steel passed clean through his windpipe and out the other side.

Vincent lurched backwards, clawing at his throat. He immediately started retching and coughing as his airways filled with blood.

In the same moment Danny heard a loud, mechanical, rasping noise coming from the balcony.