The Killer II (6 page)
Liam stared back at the huge biker.
‘And you’ve got to understand we are fighting a fucking war.
Any weapon that doesn’t shoot right results in one of our boys dying, not a
fuckin
’ black mark in a
fuckin
’ financial ledger.
Have you
fuckin
’ got that?’ he snarled back at the biker, pushing his chin aggressively into his bearded face.
‘OK, OK relax man,’ Chopper said.
‘I’m just saying, there’ll be no refunds, that’s all.’
‘The boys neither want nor expect any
fuckin
’ refunds.
They want guns that fire
fuckin
’ bullets, that’s all.’
‘Look, chill out man, take it easy,’ said Chopper, smiling uneasily as the rest of the gang looked on.
‘Follow me.
You can check every one in this load for yourself.’
He pointed towards an old barn where one of the gang members was unlocking a large padlock securing a thick, heavy chain to the doors.
He looked at Chopper for final approval and then pulled the doors wide open.
The group of men walked into the barn and Liam watched as three of them dragged
a greasy old tarp from a pile of wooden boxes.
‘Help
yourself
,’ Chopper told him as the other bikers began removing the crates, placing them down individually in neat rows and levering the tops from the heavy wooden boxes.
Liam took his time and carefully checked the contents of each crate in turn.
The revolvers, automatic pistols, assault rifles and a couple of pump action shotguns he found there were all in perfect condition, every single one of them.
They were exactly as he assumed the last shipment had been.
Glancing up, he looked into the expectant face of Chopper.
‘All these are fine.
You just make sure that every shipment is of the same quality or you can expect another visit.
If the boys get any more surprises it won’t be a chat you’ll be having,’ he whispered.
‘Lock it up,’ the big man ordered and they walked back to the waiting motorcycles.
Chopper took hold of Liam’s arm, pulling him close.
‘Hey Paddy, threaten me in front of my brothers again and you’re a fucking dead man,’ he snarled.
‘I’m not threatening - I’m fucking promising,’ Liam told him. ‘I may well be a dead ‘
un
, but there’s plenty more men who’ll be willing to take my place.
You just make sure they’re all good in future, every single one of them.
Then there’ll be no need for any threats, or any shootings, or any fucking bombings.
Have you got that mate?’
The biker scowled as he spat in the dust, but nodded his agreement. ‘
Animal’ll
take you back,’ he snapped.
Well, at least that answered that question.
Animal was a name.
Liam watched as Chopper mounted his bike, kick-started it and rode away spraying dust and pebbles behind him.
The other bikers followed.
‘Get on, and use the goggles,’ snapped Animal and a few seconds later Liam was again in darkness as the powerful motorcycle spun its rear wheel furiously and they left the barn in a cloud of dust, heading back towards the open road.
The return journey didn’t seem to take all that long and Liam was soon deposited back on the curb outside the
Sunbrite
.
‘Helmet,’ demanded Animal.
Liam passed it to him and then, without another word, he was gone, the sound of thunder decreasing to nothingness.
7
Liam was thirsty.
It had been a dusty ride and the ‘Ice Cold Beer’ sign on the bar door was tempting.
‘Jesus, a beer would go down well just about now,’ he thought as he licked his parched lips, but he had more important things to do.
‘Right now man, you need to think, not drink.’
He bypassed the bar and took the short, brisk walk back to the privacy of his hotel room.
He needed to be alone somewhere quiet, somewhere he could think, somewhere he could plan.
Once inside the room he made a coffee and sat and thought.
He had the extra intelligence Turner had requested, so now it was time to take McKee out – but where? ‘I don’t think I’ll ever find that fucker by himself.
If he’s smart, and he doesn’t seem to be a stupid man, he’ll always have at least one other guy with him.
How do I get at him alone?
His home?
No, there has to be security in the house, and possibly a wife too.
The NORAID offices?
No, that place will be crawling with security men, and they’d have guns.
Way too
fuckin
’ dangerous.
You need to kill him, not yourself.’
He was getting nowhere fast.
He closed his eyes tightly and lay flat on the bed, his hands pressed to his temples.
‘The car?
Hmm, how about the car?’
It was the obvious choice – the only choice.
‘This is how I do private,’ he recalled McKee saying.
He had the chauffeur, but he also had that thick glass partition.
‘Still, a gun would be too loud.
It’s got to be up close and it’s got to be
The Killer
.’
A grin spread across his face at the thought.
This was when he was happiest.
All this stupid espionage stuff Turner had him doing wasn’t his thing - but his knife, his trusty knife!
‘Ah yes,’ he sighed and decided he could now have that drink.
It was 9pm, so he took a quick shower and headed out.
Just two hours later he was back in his bed trying to sleep and preparing himself for the meeting he had arranged for the following afternoon.
The weather had changed and Liam shivered, the light New York drizzle chilling him as he patiently waited outside the bar.
Finally the long, black limo came cruising down the street in his direction, decelerating gently until it came gliding to a halt in front of him.
A black, tinted window slid down a few inches, then closed again as the rear door swung slowly open.
He climbed in and took the seat opposite the American, looking directly into McKee’s face.
As the car pulled away from the curb and into the main flow of traffic McKee leaned forward and pressed a button.
The glass screen slid up and the men had privacy in the back.
‘So, how’d your meeting go with The Soldiers?
Everybody happy now?’ McKee asked.
‘Aye, it seems so,’ replied Liam.
‘We’ll put the problem down to a one-time thing.’
‘So, what else can I do for you?’
‘You’re Irish American, right?’ quizzed Liam.
‘Yeah, my folks came over here more than a hundred years ago, but I’ve supported the cause ever since I left high school.
I do everything I can to help get the Brits out of the old country.’
‘So, how do you feel about the Troubles and all the killings,’ Liam asked him.
‘Fuck ‘
em
.
Anyone killed by the I.R.A. deserves everything they get.
The more kills they make, the better as far as I’m concerned,’ he smiled back.
‘So, you don’t get into the politics of it then?’
‘Fuck politics.
There are plenty who hide behind that, but to me it’s simple.
You need to get the Brits out and you need funds and arms to do it.
I supply both.’
‘You’ll be unpopular in some circles then,’ Liam suggested.
‘Look, where are you going with this?’ asked McKee, a small trace of doubt creeping into his voice.
‘Sure there are some people who wouldn’t mind if I just went away, but not you guys, eh?
I’m good with you guys, right?’
‘No one will mind,’ thought Liam, remembering Turner’s words, but he kept that to himself.
Instead he fixed the American with an icy glare and dropped his voice to a whisper.
‘Mary Jeanette McCann.’
‘Who?’
‘Mary McCann.
She was killed in Belfast.’
‘By the Brits?’ asked McKee, desperately trying to figure out where the conversation was headed.’
‘No, she was a good Catholic woman killed by the Republicans.’
‘Informer then?’ suggested McKee in confusion.
‘Look, if you guys took her out she must have deserved it.
Why are we talking about one woman of no consequence?’
‘So, you reckon me Mammy was of no consequence and deserved to die, do you?’ Liam said slo
wly in a low, menacing voice.
‘
What? What the fuck are you talking about man?’
The doubt and confusion in Ryan McKee’s voice were quickly giving way to fear.
‘I don’t know what you’re on about.’
‘Mary McCann was my mother.
The
Provos
had me Ma beaten half to death, then they slashed her throat open and murdered her,’ Liam hissed, ‘and people like you helped them to do it.’
‘Hey, Paddy, I don’t know anything about that, I swear.’
McKee raised his palms in a gesture of innocence then slowly lowered his hands, one of them moving inside his jacket.
He wasn’t quick enough.
Liam flew across the car to grab McKee’s hand, forcing him backwards and kneeling on him, pinning him down in his seat.
‘Sorry son, no gun for you today.’
He stared at the man below him, returning the look of terror he saw in the eyes with hatred from his own.
‘You know McKee,’ he went on, ‘I had a little speech all prepared for you.
It was all about the misery, death and suffering that you and your kind cause as you earn fortunes from skimmed donations and arms dealing at massive mark-ups.
But now, as I look into your pathetic frightened face, I can’t be fucking bothered.’
Ryan McKee trembled.
Unable to move, he faced the man above him.
‘Who are you?’ he managed.
‘You’re not one of our guys, are you?’
‘Oh go to the top of the class,’ Liam sneered.
‘Did you manage to work that out all by yourself?
London sent me mate.
They sent me to find who’s supplying you, and you were very useful in helping me to find out.
Then they sent me to kill you.
And they sent me to kill your fucking mate, Jimmy Mal.
He’s going too.’
‘
Me and Jimmy,
why?’ stammered McKee, his face now drained of colour. ‘We’re not I.R.A.
We’re, we’re Americans.
You can’t kill us.
We, we’ve never killed anyone in Ireland.
We just supply money and guns, that’s all we do.
We don’t kill anyone.’
His voice cracked as he saw Liam reach into his pocket and draw out a cruel looking blade.
The Killer
made contact with his chest and then a gentle pressure produced a small droplet of blood on his shirt.
Liam continued in a low growl.
‘But the money, arms and explosives you send do kill, you know that.
And you make a huge
fucking profit from it all.
That’s why you’re going mate.
Now, where can I find Jimmy Mal?’
McKee’s mouth moved but no words came out as
The Killer
slowly traced its way up to his throat.
‘Where’s Jimmy Mal?
Where do I find him?’ Liam pressed, his voice even and controlled.
Again McKee seemed unable to speak and Liam felt his hatred turn to disgust.
This was a pathetic little man out for his own pathetic ends.
He increased the pressure from his knife and saw McKee’s eyes widen as his lips once more tried to form words.
‘I don’t know,’ finally emerged in a whisper.
‘I don’t know where Jimmy is.
I don’t know anything.’
The man swallowed hard then, his throat tightening against the pressure of
the
blade as he made an effort to reason with his captor.
‘Jesus, man, you’re Irish.
You’re one of us.
We’re on the same side man.’
‘One of you,’ Liam hissed through clenched teeth as he increased the pressure of his blade a little more.
‘One of you, am I?
You know what?
You know what’s
fuckin
’ sad?
Do you, McKee?
Do you know what’s
fuckin
’ sad?’
The terrified man beneath him could only move his head slightly from side to side as the blood began to ooze from his throat.
‘I’ll tell you what’s
fuckin
’ sad, shall I?’ Liam continued.
‘I used to be one of you.
I used to believe in the cause until one day I realised there was no
fuckin
’ cause.
Jesus, it’s not even about
fuckin
’ politics.
It’s all about
money.
That’s it, plain and simple.
And people like you?
God help me, people like you are the worst.’
The man beneath him started to gurgle and blubber as blood dropped from his mouth.
‘You protest your
fuckin
’ innocence.
You never killed anyone.
Oh no, you’re all safe here at the other side of the Atlantic, aren’t you, just raking in all that lovely money.
Taking it from your own folks, people who probably still do believe there’s a cause, people who are as blind as I used to be, people who…’
As Liam’s words dried mid-sentence, his jaw dropped in horror.
‘Oh Fuck!
Oh Holy
Fuckin
’ Christ,’ he mumbled as he released
the
pressure from his captive and stared down into the open eyes. ‘Oh fuck me, fuck
me,
I’ve killed the stupid wanker.
You idiot, Darren McCann, you
fuckin
’ stupid idiot.’
As his old name slipped from his lips, Liam shook himself and knew he’d have to work fast.
He extracted the blade from deep inside Ryan McKee’s throat.
God only knew how he’d exerted that much pressure without realising, but he’d done it and that was that.
He reached across to press the button of the intercom.
‘Drop me here please,’ he told the driver.
The limousine slowed and pulled to the side of the road as the glass screen slid down.
‘Here you go sir,’ the driver told Liam politely.
‘Where to next
Mr.
McKee?’ he continued before turning to see the lifeless body of his boss in a pool of blood that was spreading across the seat.
Within seconds he was dead too as
The Killer
swept across his throat.
‘I’m sorry,’ Liam informed him.
‘I had no quarrel with you.’
Liam removed his blood soaked jacket and cut the wet cuffs from his shirt.
He wiped his blade and his hands on a clean area of McKee’s clothing, folded the jacket over his arm so that the stains weren’t obvious and then got out of the car, shutting the door quietly behind him.
The tinted windows concealed the scene inside and he looked round him to see that they had come to a stop in an upmarket neighbourhood so the car didn’t look out of place and that would give him a little time.
There was no one on the street, but he needed to get out of here quickly and he had no idea where he was or where he needed to go.
He’d done what he’d set out to do, but the timing was wrong and he had lost control of the situation.
He also had no idea where to find Jimmy Mal.
‘Fuck, fuck, fuck, you stupid cunt,’ he cursed.
The screech of tyres as a vehicle pulled up next to him made him jump.
‘Get in Paddy,’ came the voice from the “
Thundercar
”.
‘Tommy?
That you man?’
Liam could hardly believe his luck.
‘You’re a sight for sore eyes and that’s the truth.’
He jumped through the open door and Tommy drove away as quickly as he could without drawing attention.
A few blocks later, as the car slowed a little, Liam looked across at the
driver.
‘That wasn’t just lucky timing, was it?’
‘I told you, man, that McKee is bad news.
When I saw you leave with him I just thought someone should have your back, so I followed.
From that blood on your face I guess he’ll be news of a different kind now.’