The Killer II (15 page)

The Sunday traffic was light and he drove on without incident passing turning after turning.
He really wanted to be off this road, but he needed to put some more distance between him and the incident.
He
knew the
Provos
wouldn’t take kindly to being fired on at one of their roadblocks and when they found the Granada they would widen their search to the surrounding area.
He needed to be far enough away from “surrounding”.
Eventually he saw a sign for
Tullyallen
that looked like just the kind of small town that he was after.
He carried on to a rough looking housing estate and saw a small gang of youths loitering about.
Perfect.
He parked round the corner so as not to be too obvious, collected his bag, pocketed the .38 and a handful of shells, left the rest of the arms where they were and walked away from the car.
‘It’s a jammer for sure,’ he thought and he was still within earshot when it was “stolen”.

That was one problem out of the way, but now he had no transport and was miles from where he needed to be.
He also felt on edge and he made a conscious effort to walk casually, though a
door slamming
close by caused him to duck and he couldn’t shake the memory of the gunshots that had taken his friend.
‘Snap out of it Liam,’ he told himself sharply.
‘If they’re going to shoot you, they’ll
fuckin
’ shoot you and there’s nothing you can do about it.’

He walked for quite a while until the area looked more upmarket and finally rounded a corner to see a hand written sign offering Bed and Breakfast.
Just what he
needed.
Within minutes he had secured a room and something to eat as he spun the landlady a tale about going to see his sister but having
car trouble.
She was very sympathetic and organised a hire car for the following day.
He considered ringing Turner, but decided against it.
The payphone downstairs was a little too public.
Besides, that English bastard who had flown off with the chopper and left him stranded had been under Turner’s orders and, right now, he didn’t feel like trusting anyone but himself.

He lay on the bed and tried to take a siesta, that wonderful habit he had picked up in Spain, but it was useless.
He paced restlessly round his room, constantly checking through the window and listening for anything that sounded out of place.
A car driving up at speed, raised voices, anything to suggest the
Provos
might be searching this town.
He should be far enough away, but he daren’t allow himself to relax just yet.
He moved the .38 from under the pillow to the dresser, to his pocket and then
back
to the pillow throughout the day, always wanting it at hand.
A shout from outside had him racing to the window, but it was just a couple of lads playing in the street.
A creak or groan from the rickety stairs of the old boarding house saw him poised, gun ready and aimed at the door.
Every tiny sound stretched his already frayed nerves and he knew he would have no rest until he was out of Ireland and back in Derbyshire.
He had no great love for the old manor house, but right now he would give anything to be there.
When he finally did doze off as night came, it was a short, fitful sleep filled with images of
Thomas, his face covered in blood, and the words of his dead Ma who had always made him promise to stay out of the Troubles.
Stay out of them?
He was in them right up to his neck.

The following morning finally arrived and he had a quick breakfast, hoping he presented a calm exterior, while he waited for his car.
A spotty youth arrived with a Toyota Corolla, apologising that it was all they had left.
‘It’s fine,’ Liam assured him.

‘On holiday are you mister?’ the lad enquired pleasantly.

‘Aye, just off to Cavan to see my sister and then onto my brother’s place in Sligo.’

‘Phew, that’s quite a drive.’

‘Aye, well,
it’s
only once a year,’ he said, handing back the completed paperwork before climbing into the car and heading off.

The shiny Toyota went smoothly down the road attracting no attention whatsoever and Liam finally began to relax a little.
He was heading to
Cork
to find
Grant’s
pub and ask for a man called
Laa
Laa
.

1
5

Cork: The Pub and Meeting the M...M…Man

It was a long drive south but Liam finally arrived in Cork as night was falling and followed the signs straight into the city centre.
A quick enquiry of two pleasant passers-by produced directions and he was soon entering
Grant’s
bar.
It was a dingy, old-fashioned place and the dark interior pleased him.
It was unlikely that any civilian here would know of him, but he was still on edge.
He ordered a pint of Murphy’s and waited at the end of the bar.

Several men came and went, ordering drinks and taking them to their seats.
He wished Thomas had given him a physical description of the man he was looking for because this place was pretty full and it could be anyone, if he was even here at all.

‘
Gimme
a p…p…pint p…p…please Steve,’ said a voice to his left and Liam saw a slim built man clad in denims, a leather jacket and cowboy boots.
Not quite what he’d expected, but surely that had to be him.

‘Nice little pub isn’t it?’ Liam asked him as he noted the classic dope smoker’s scars and blisters on his fingers.

‘Oh yes.
This is m…my f…f…favourite p…p…pub.
I l…l…love it h…h…h…h…h…’

‘Here?’ offered Liam.

‘Yeah, and they g…get good bah
bah
bands playing at n...n…night too.’

‘This seat’s free,’ Liam offered, pushing a stool in the man’s direction.

‘Oh, thanks,’ said the man, holding out his hand.
‘The name’s
Laa
…
Laa
…Larry.’

‘Butch,’ said Liam in return and it felt strange using his old name again.
‘I’ve been looking for you Larry.’

‘What the
fer
…
fer
…
fer
…
fer
…
fer
…fuck
fer
…
fer
…
fer
…
fer
…
fer
…for?’
The stutter swung into full gear and Liam remembered what Thomas had said about eye contact making matters worse.
Trouble was, he needed to look at the man’s face to gauge his reactions and his reliability.

‘Thomas sent me.’

‘T…T…T…T…Thomas M…M…M…M…M…M…M…’

‘Malone, aye, that’s right.’

‘H…h…h…h…how
i
…
i
…
i
…
i
…
i
…’

‘Is he?
Not so good I’m afraid.
The R.A. shot him dead yesterday.’

‘
Wh
…
wh
…
wh
…
wh
…
wh
…
wh
…
wh
…’

Liam broke eye contact then and deliberately looked at his pint.
It was one thing trying to weigh a man up from his facial expressions, but it would take all night at this rate.
‘I’ll give you the details later, but right now I’m in trouble and Thomas said his friend called Larry could help me.’

‘T…T…Thomas told you to ask
fer
…
fer
…for
Laa
…
Laa
…
Laa
…Larry?’

‘No, actually he told me to ask for
Laa
Laa
.
I was just being polite.’

‘Ah,
th
…
th
…that’s b…b…better.
Wh
…
wh
…what’s your n…n…name again?’

‘Butch.’

‘You’re
th
…
th
…that B…B…
Ber
…
Ber
…B…B…B…
Ber
…
Ber
…B…’

‘Aye, I’m that Butch.’
Eye contact or not, the realisation of who he was talking to had sent
Laa
Laa’s
stutter into overdrive and Liam felt like he was listening to Morse code.
He waited patiently for the man to get a grip,

‘Fuck me,’ said
Laa
Laa
finally.

Ah, that was better.
‘So, can you help me then?
I need to get over to England.’

‘Is
th
…
th
...this to do w…w…with T…T…Thomas getting
sh
…
sh
…shot?

‘That’s part of it.’

‘
Wh
…
wh
…who you say k…k…killed him?

‘The R.A.’

‘You m…m…
mean
the I.R.A.?’

‘If you like.’

‘Then
wh
..
.
wh
...
why
…do you c…c…call…’

‘Look, Thomas said you’re English, right?
So what do you call the your army?’

‘
Th
…the army.’

‘Exactly.
You don’t call them the English army because you are English.
So I call ‘
em
the Republican Army because I am Irish.’

‘Ah.
I g…g…get it.’

‘Anyway, I don’t have much time
Laa
Laa
.
Thomas said you have a boat and can get me out of here.’

‘Yes,
th
…
th
…there’s a run to W…W…Wales tom…m…morrow.’

‘Wales?’

‘Well it’s n…n…not Ireland.’

‘Good point.’

‘Fuck me.
T…T…Thomas dead.
Fucking b…b…bastards.’

‘Aye.
To Thomas,’ said Liam as he raised his glass.

Laa
Laa
returned the toast.
‘You know, h…h…he said you were like
ber
…
ber
…brothers B…B…Butch.’

‘Aye.
Different mothers, but brothers none the less.
I
friggin
’ loved that man.
By the way mate, could you do me a favour and call me Liam?
The name Butch is a little dangerous for me over here.’

Laa
Laa
drained his pint.
‘OK.’
He leaned over to his companion and whispered, ‘Jesus, I need a smoke.
Come on Butch,
er
Liam.
Come with me.’

‘You should whisper more often,’ Liam returned in the same conspiratorial tone.

‘Why?’

‘Because you didn’t stutter once then.’

‘I d…d…didn’t?’

‘Oh, I give up.’

Liam followed
Laa
Laa
from the pub and they headed down Hanover Street where the Englishman found a bench and lit a potent smelling
spliff
.
Liam refused a hit, preferring a regular cigarette.
The evening was surprisingly pleasant for the time of year and they smoked in companionable silence for a while until
Laa
Laa
suddenly sat bolt upright.

‘
Fer
…f…f…f…
fer
…f…f…f…
fer
…f…’

‘Fuck?’ guessed Liam as four muscle-bound skinheads approached.

‘It’s that stuttering old cunt from last night,’ the lead guy said in a thick
Liverpudlian
accent.
‘Got a little friend with you this time?’

‘You looking for trouble?’ Liam asked as he rose from the seat to stand before the man who was twice his size.

‘And what are you going to do about it?’ asked the skin, grinning over his shoulder at his friends.

‘I’m going to suggest that you kindly fuck off.’

‘Oh, is that right?
Youse and whose army?’

‘It’ll just be me.’

‘Maths a bit cack-handed with you is it, you carrot-crunching Paddy twat?
Stop mithering me.
This fucker did me ‘
ead
in last night with all his
st
…
st
…stuttering.’

‘I find you rather unpleasant,’ Liam said and a small laugh escaped him as he realised he had sounded just like Turner.

‘What’s so fucking funny?’
The man was rapidly becoming angry, which suited Liam just fine.

‘Nothing you’d understand you Paddy bashing spastic.
Pick on the Pakis back home as well, do
ya
?’

A muscled arm rose and aimed straight at Liam’s face, but within seconds the arm was twisted behind the broad back and its owner lay on the floor clutching his free hand to a broken nose.
The rest of his face and several of his teeth hadn’t fared too well either.
The other three men stared and
Laa
Laa
managed a stutter-free, ‘Fuck me, that was some move.’

‘Too much time pumping iron in the gym, and not enough speed-work,’ Liam offered in explanation as he let go of his victim’s arm and casually pulled
The Killer
from his pocket.
‘Now, how ‘bout the rest of you
friggin
’
Scouse
gits?
You fancy a go, do you girls?’
Apparently they didn’t as they shook their heads and reached to collect their injured friend.
Only a minute later and they had skulked away.

‘Fuck me, T…T…Thomas said you were a handy b…b…bastard, b…but I c…c…can’t believe that.
Too
fa
…
fa
…
fa
…fast to be true.
How’d you d…d…do that?’

‘Just practice.
Listen, we need to get away from here.
I don’t see anyone else about, but I could do without attracting attention right now.’

‘You have anywhere to s
..
s
..
s..
sleep
tonight?’

‘No, not yet

‘I’ve got
a
sp
…
sp
…spare room at my p…p…place.
You’re m...m…more than welcome.’

‘Thanks
Laa
Laa
.
That’d be fine.’

***

Chez
Laa
Laa
proved to have a good supply of Jameson’s and the two men drank a couple of rounds to their departed friend.
They chatted as much as the stutter would allow and Liam filled his new mate in on the
basic details of Thomas’ death.
He left out his own reasons for being there and
Laa
Laa
didn’t ask.
It was still early when they retired and Liam managed to catch up on some of his missed sleep from the night before.
Here felt a lot safer than his previous billet, but he still couldn’t truly relax until he got out of the country.

Long before dawn the following morning the men were in a Transit van heading for
Bantry
.
‘Because it’s T…T…Tuesday,’
Laa
Laa
had explained and Liam decided not to push for more detail.
He liked this man, but asking for further information proved exhausting.
It took forever.
Tuesday meant
Bantry
, and that was fine by him.
He had been curious about one thing though.

‘Thomas told me you work out of Spain.’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you speak Spanish?’

‘A b…bit.’

‘Do you stutter?

‘Not as m…m…m…much.’

‘Weird.’

They arrived at
Mizen
Head and
Laa
Laa
drove to the end of the point, leaving his headlights on to illuminate the coast and the sea.
It wasn’t long before the sound of powerful outboards interrupted the peace and quiet of the morning and
Laa
Laa
took the van down a dirt track ending at a small, rocky cove.
Liam had been a little disappointed to learn that it wouldn’t be
Laa
Laa
himself who would take him over.
The fewer people who knew about his presence,
the better, but he had been assured that he would be in safe, trusted hands.
The sound of the outboards continued to grow until a large RIB, or rigid-inflatable boat, came into view, slowing just before it beached, and two men climbed out, stopping short as they saw the stranger.