The Killer II (14 page)

‘Thomas, what the… Jesus Christ, what are you… Who the fuck’s called
Laa
Laa
?’

‘OK, listen.
Ignore the name,’ Thomas went on at speed.
‘There’s this guy, right.
Good as gold, he is.
He’s a smuggler shipping marijuana from Spain to England and then over to here.
He’s English and doesn’t give a fuck about who’s on what side over here.
He’s just a good guy to know.
He knows who you are, or
who
you used to be when you were alive, and he owes me a favour and he could get you out on his boat.
See?’

‘Aye, that sounds like a plan,’ Liam agreed, though he still felt a little confused.
‘Where’s he at?’

‘Cork.
Grant’s
bar down on Washington Street; he practically lives in the place like.
If he’s not there, then he’s in Spain or England and we’d have to wait.
If he’s not in Spain or England, then he’s dead or locked up.’

‘Well, let’s hope he’s in the bar then.’

‘Aye.’

‘So, hold on a minute, we’re going to a bar to ask for
Laa
Laa
.’
Liam’s brows were raised in consternation.

‘Aye.’

‘For Christ’s sake, Thomas, I
gotta
know.
Why the fuck’s he called
Laa
Laa
?’

‘Oh, simple.
His name’s Larry.’

‘So wh
y don’t you call him Larry then?
’

‘Ah well.
Feller’s got a wee bit of a stutter,
ya
see?’

‘He can’t say his own
bleedin
’ name?’

‘You’ve got it.’

‘So it’s
Laa
Laa
Laa
Laa
Larry then?’ Liam asked, trying his best to control the laughter growing inside him again

‘Aye,’ Thomas confirmed, his belly beginning to shake once more.
‘And the more you look him in the eyes, the more he stutters.’

‘Oh, the poor
fuckin
’ bastard.’

And that was that.
No more planning.
No more sense.
Laa
Laa
had finally done for them and their laughter was uncontrollable as they polished off the bottle of Jameson’s.

It was only when Thomas let out a loud sob that Liam realised his tears were no longer those of amusement.
‘Jesus, mate, what’s wrong?’ he asked in concern.

‘Oh Bush, I didn’t half
mish
you when you were dead,’ Thomas slurred as he rose from his chair and wobbled towards Liam.
‘I cried for days, man.
I
mished
ya
.’

‘I missed you too,
ya
fat fucker,’ Liam confessed as he stood to steady his drunken friend.
Truth be told, he felt a bit the worse for wear himself.

‘What’s
yer
name?’

‘What?’

‘You
shaid
you had a new name.’

‘Aye, it’s Liam.’

‘Liam?’
Thomas blinked his eyes rapidly in an effort to concentrate and focus.
‘Nah, don’t like it.
Bush.
You’ll always be Bush to me.’

‘Thomas, man,
are
we about to cuddle?’ Liam asked in concern.
‘Bec
ause if we are, maybe it’s time for bed instead.’

Thomas furrowed his brow, bounced his head down to his chest and then swung it back up again before asking, ‘You come back to life as a poofter?’

‘What?
Fuck, no man.
I’m just saying, like, it’s time to call it a night.
You to your bed, me to mine.
Jesus.’

‘Mm, that’s OK then.
Wouldn’t like me mate being a
poofter.
Yesh
, mm, bed’s a good idea.’
Thomas agreed.
‘I’ll just go see about
Tiddles
.’

Oh Fuck.

He could hardly stop him, so Liam waited and listened as Thomas crabbed his way into the kitchen and fumbled to open the back door.
There were two loud belches and one very long fart that suggested there might have been an unfortunate follow-through and Liam found
himself
beginning to giggle again.
And then he froze.
A black and white
cat walked into the room, stretched in front of him, jumped onto the chair and curled up to sleep.
‘
Tiddles
?
Oh fuck, now
I’m
seeing ghosts,’ Liam whispered as he crossed himself.
‘If you’re here, then who…?’
His addled brain was trying to comprehend the situation as Thomas stumbled back into the room with a wide-legged gait.

‘Bog,’ he muttered as he headed to the stairs.
‘Think I’ve shit
meself
.’

1
4

The Morning After

The next morning Liam was cooking bacon and eggs and he’d found some fresher bread in the larder.
‘Hurry up you bog Irish git,
yer
breakfast’s ready,’ he called upstairs.
Thomas appeared a few moments later dressed only in a bath towel.
‘Ah, fuck me mate.
Get some clothes on.
You’ll put me off me food.’

‘
Urrr
,’ said Thomas.
‘How can you be so wide awake after last night?’

‘Get some grub in you and you’ll be fine.’

‘
Urrr
.’

They ate in silence and then Thomas went to dress.
‘It’s a fine figure of a man I am,’ he said sullenly as he walked away flexing his non-existent biceps.

When they were ready to leave Liam smiled to
himself
as he watched his friend carry out a familiar ritual.
Thomas never left the house without reaching to a shelf for his special bottle of Holy Water, dipping his index finger and drawing the sign of the cross on his forehead.
Then, as always, he flicked the excess at Liam who had lost count of the number of times he’d witnessed this little display, and it always made him laugh.

Today, however, as the tiny droplet of water hit him, he clutched his hands to his
face and screamed, ‘It’s burning me man, get if off me,’ as he sank to the floor in apparent agony.

Thomas recoiled and crossed himself several times.
‘Oh, Jesus Christ, I knew it.
You
are
a dead man.
You
are
a
fuckin
’ ghost.
Oh sweet Jesus and all the saints, help me.’
The colour drained from his face and as Liam peeped between his fingers he couldn’t believe the man had fallen for such a little joke.

‘Ha ha, got you then didn’t I, you
friggin
’ superstitious
culchie
twat,’ he laughed.

Thomas glared at him.
‘You
fuckin
’ stupid eejit, Butch.
You almost gave me a
bleedin
’ heart attack.
What the fuck is wrong with you man?’

‘Aw, come on skin.
Can’t you take a joke?’

‘You don’t make jokes where the Lord’s concerned,’ Thomas said angrily as he picked up his overnight bag and marched through the door.
Liam followed pulling a sourpuss face behind him.

‘I know what you’re doing and I’m still not laughing,’ said Thomas as he arrived at the car and tried the boot.
‘What’s it locked for?
No one locks anything around here.’
Liam threw him the keys and Thomas opened the boot, letting out a long, low whistle.
‘Jesus man, what have you got in here?
Is that a
fuckin
’
Widowmaker
?’

‘Aye, and there’s an AK 47 in the front.
Told you, the Brits know how to provide.’

‘Fuck me.
Better not get pulled up with this little cargo.’

‘Nope.
Now come on, we’ve
gotta
get moving.’

As Liam started the engine he looked across at the small mound of earth in the yard and said a silent prayer to the tomb of the unknown feline.
‘Should be good for your roses,
Mrs.
Malone.
Amen.’

They were soon out driving along the Dundalk Road.
‘Hit the N2 and it’s Cork bound we’ll be,’ said Thomas.
‘You know, Butch, I got a bit mushy an’ all last night, but it is good to see you again.’

‘Aye, you too, you soft Irish spanner.
But listen, you’re
gonna
have to start calling me Liam.
If you drop my old name in the wrong place, it could be pretty hazardous to my health.’

‘Mm, see what you mean.
I just don’t like it though.
Doesn’t suit you.’

‘Aye, you told me that last night.’

‘I did?’

‘Yeah, you called me a poofter too.’

‘I did?
Oh, shite, sorry Butch –
er
, Liam.
Anything else I should know about?’

‘Nothing worth mentioning,’ Liam assured him and they drove on in silence.

They were approaching a roundabout just before the main road when Liam eased off the accelerator and began gently braking.
‘Shite,
what the Hell’s that ahead?’

‘
Fuckin
’
Provos
.
An R.A. roadblock,’ Thomas replied in disbelief as he saw several
hooded men ahead.
‘You reckon I can talk us through it?
They are my guys.’

‘Not a chance mate.
They clock my face and there’ll be nowhere to run.
We’ll be dead for sure.’

‘Only one thing for it then,’ said Thomas as he picked up the AK and wound down the window.
‘You put
yer
foot down and I’ll warn ‘
em
off.’

Liam hit the accelerator and headed straight for the roadblock as Thomas fired automatic rounds in the air.
The
Provos
, hearing the distinctive popping sound of the AK, ducked for cover as the Granada crashed through the roadblock and sped away.
‘Are we clear?’ yelled Liam, his eyes fixed ahead.

The exploding rear window gave him his answer as bullets assaulted the car and Thomas let out a squeal.
‘Oh fuck, bollocks, they’ve
bleedin
’ shot me,’ he yelled.

‘Shite, are you OK mate?’ asked Liam, his eyes swivelling between the road and his companion.

‘Aye, it’s only a flesh wound.
Just drive and get us out of here Butch’ said Thomas, his hand pressed tightly to his shoulder, his voice rising an octave as he continued in disbelief.
‘Jesus, I’ve been shot by the R.A., me own boys.
Unbe-fuckin-lievable
.’

Liam had his foot to the floor, the engine screaming, as they hurtled down the road.
There were another couple of dull thuds, but finally they were out of range.
‘Can’t
stop yet
,
mate
.
Gotta
get away and off this road, then we’ll take a look at that shoulder.
Hold
on,’ he ordered while he kept the car on course.
‘Shite, skin, that was
bleedin
’ close,’ he laughed.
‘I thought they’d got us for a minute.
Ah, there’s a turning.
You still OK mate?’

There was no reply from the passenger seat and Liam looked over as he slowed to take the turn into
Nuremore
Hotel and Country Club.
His companion was slumped against the door.
‘Thomas,’ he yelled in panic.
‘You all right?
Thomas?’
He slewed the car to a halt on a grass verge of the long driveway and grabbed the man by the shoulder, pulling him over.
The head lolled to the right and Liam stared in horror.
His left ear and part of his cheek were missing and Liam looked into the cold, dead eyes of his friend.
‘
Noooooo
!’ he screamed as the reality hit him.
‘Fuck, fuck, fuck, no.
Not you mate.
No.
Oh Christ.
Oh Jesus Christ, no.’
He reached out his arm and cradled his friend to his chest.
He felt desperately for a pulse, but he knew it was hopeless.
Thomas Malone, his true, trusted friend and ally, was gone and he was sobbing like a baby before he realised it.

He didn’t know if seconds or minutes had passed, but the precariousness of his situation suddenly hit him.
‘You
bleedin
’ spanner,’ he cursed himself as he sniffed and wiped the tears from his eyes.
‘You’ve got to get out of here.’
He sniffed some more and then started the car, driving cautiously round to the back of the hotel.
A BMW, two Jaguars and an old, badly painted, four-door Ford
Escort sat in the parking area, but there was no one around.
It was still early in the day and places like these didn’t normally come alive until the afternoon on Sundays.
‘Thank Christ for small mercies.’

He saw a bench next to a bush displaying early spring flowers and it looked peaceful.
Liam knew what he had to do, but he didn’t like it one little bit.
It would be bad enough getting out of here in a car full of bullet holes, but a car with a dead body in it was another thing entirely.
He pulled the Granada close to the bench and then went round the passenger’s side, struggling with the dead weight of his already overweight friend, but finally managing to sit him on the bench.

‘Shite, Thomas, I’m so
fuckin
’ sorry,’ he cried.
‘I don’t want to leave you here like this mate, but I’ve no choice.
I know you’d understand.
Look,
someone’ll
find you soon and they’ll be able to give you a proper burial.
They’ll not know I was with you.
They’ll not know anything.
You’ll get your wake.
Oh, Christ, I don’t know what to say.
But you’ll be with your Ma now
mate
.
And look, I promise you, I’ll get those bastards.
I’ll get ‘
em
for me Ma, I’ll get ‘
em
for your
Duggy
and I’ll get ‘
em
for you, mate.
You have my
fuckin
’ word.’

He wiped the tears from his eyes and scanned the park.
He couldn’t hang around here, but he certainly couldn’t go back out on the road in the Granada.
There would be
Provos
looking for the car by now.
They’d be
up and down the road first, but it probably wouldn’t be long before they’d try places like this too.
The Jags or the Beemer would get him out of here fast, but they were conspicuous and he wanted to blend in.
The Ford was the obvious choice and he needed to work quickly.

He grabbed Thomas’ overnight bag from the Granada and then raced to some bins he saw in the far corner of the park, checking back to the windows of the hotel to make sure he was unobserved.
There was no sign of life yet.
He rifled through the waste and found an old spark plug and a short length of scaffold pipe.
That would do.
He smashed the plug, collected the broken porcelain insulators and the pipe and headed back to the car where he flicked the bits at a rear window making only the tiniest noise.
It was a trick he’d learned from a thirteen-year-old thief, Jimmy the Jammer, and the glass silently crazed over.
A little push on the damaged surface and the window gave way easily and quietly.
He reached through to the front, opened the door and he was in.

He felt around behind blinds and in pockets in case someone had left the keys in and noticed a zipper in the middle of the headlining.
That could mean only one thing – a siren bolting.
Fuck, this must have been a police car at some point.
He imagined an educated person would call that irony.
To him it was just
fuckin
’ weird.
He had no luck finding keys so he brought the scaffold pipe down hard and fast on the ignition lock,
breaking the plastic cowling, and a small amount of pressure and leverage forced the switch barrel from the steering column.
The Killer
blade was his last piece of equipment and he inserted it into the bottom of the damaged switch, turned it clockwise and crossed his fingers as the starter motor spun.
The engine spluttered noisily to life, cylinder by cylinder, and he could risk only a quick look back at his friend before he drove away as quickly as he dared.
‘I hope to see you in the next world, Thomas – but not just yet,’ he whispered.

He arrived back at the entrance to the club and slowed to walking pace.
This was the dangerous time.
Once out on the road this old rust bucket wouldn’t rate a second glance, not when the
Provos
were looking for a Granada, but it might seem just a bit suspicious if anyone saw it driving out of here so soon after an incident at a roadblock.
Everything was clear and he pulled out.
He would have to ditch this car too before it was reported stolen, but he should have given himself a breathing space to get away unnoticed.
Just a few minutes along the main road a car approached at speed and went straight past him.
The driver paid him no attention and Liam breathed more easily.