The Killer II (7 page)

‘Aye,’ said Liam, checking himself in the mirror and wiping off the evidence.

‘None of my business, man,’ Tommy assured him, ‘but he’s
gonna
be missed real soon.
Not that I think
anyone’ll
care much.’

‘No one will mind.’

‘What?’

‘Nothing.’

‘So, you’ll be needing to leave now?’ Tommy guessed.

‘Soon enough,’ Liam agreed.
‘Look mate, I really appreciate the help but if you can drop me somewhere I can get my bearings, you need to fuck off.
Best if you forget you ever met me.’

‘I’ll fuck off when you’re leaving and forget you when you’ve gone, promise.
Right now you’re the most interesting thing that’s happened around here in a long while.’

Tommy grinned broadly as he looked over at his passenger, but the smile quickly faded when he saw the angry eyes facing him.

‘You stupid little wanker,’ Liam spat at him.
‘This isn’t a game, son.
This is real life and I’m your worst nightmare.’
He reached for the door handle.
‘Drop me here, now, and get lost,’ he ordered.

‘OK, OK, I get it.
Chill Paddy.
I’ll drop you at the airport and then we’re done.
That do
ya
?’

‘The
airport’ll
be fine,’ Liam said more softly.
He felt guilty for shouting at the lad, but the last thing he needed was a hero-worshipper.
‘Like I said, anywhere I can get my bearings.’

‘So that means you’re not going yet then?’

‘There’s one more thing I need to do first.’

‘Then I’m not leaving you until you’re done.
Look,’ he continued quickly to forestall any further outburst from this unpredictable Irishman, ‘I owe you.
You could have killed me the other night, but you didn’t.
Instead you taught me a lesson and bought me pizza.
Now I don’t know why you’re here and I don’t want to know.
Seems you had a problem with that McKee guy and that’s fine by me.
Most everyone had a problem with him.
All I know is there’s something about you, I owe you and I’m watching your back while you’re on my turf.
You may be a tough cookie back in Ireland, but you’re not in Ireland.
This is New York’

‘How old are you?’ Liam asked, the trace of a smile at his lips.

‘Twenty.’

‘That figures.
I was twenty once.’

‘Say what?’

‘Forget it.’

‘So how old are you now Paddy?’

‘Twenty-eight.’

‘Jesus, you look a lot older than that.
I thought you were at least thirty-five.’

‘Fuck you, Tommy.’

They rode along in silence for a few minutes, then Tommy asked, ‘So, we’re cool now?’

‘Yes, we’re cool.’

‘Then where do you need to go?’

‘Fucked if I know.
I don’t even know where to start.
Don’t suppose you’ve ever heard of a guy called Jimmy Mal?’

‘Yep.
Never seen him though.
Got a bit of a reputation as a hard case.
He’s bad news too.’

‘I need to find out where he lives.’

‘Try the phone book.’

‘What?’
Liam looked at the lad.
‘Don’t be stupid.
He wouldn’t be listed in the book.’

‘Why not?
He’s
all legit
as far as I know, at least on the surface.
It’s got to be worth a shot.’

‘Well then, let’s give it a go,’ Liam agreed.
‘Can’t hurt.
It’s not as if I’ve anything else to go on.’

The car pulled up at the next public box and Liam jumped out and grabbed the dirty phone book hanging there.
He flipped to the
Bs
and was immediately faced by hundreds of
Brennans
.
Shite!
Brennan, J – still loads of them.
Brennan, James – still quite a few.
Brennan, James Malcolm – just the one.
Could it really be that easy?
‘Jimmy Mal, I think I’ve found you,’ Liam whispered.
‘You’re mine, you bastard.’
He ripped the page from the book and jumped back in the
car.
‘Can you drop me in the Bronx?’ he asked Tommy.

‘Sure, let’s have a look at that address,’ replied the youth as he removed his distinctive leather jacket and, at the questioning glance, informed him, ‘The Bronx.
Unfriendly territory, get my drift?’

8

The Bronx

The Thunderbird cruised slowly along
Dyre
Avenue to the offbeat tune of its muted exhaust and made a quick left turn before coming to a halt opposite a row of small, wood-clad houses.
‘That’s the address in the phone book,’ confirmed Tommy as he pointed over to one of the houses.

The sun was just setting and most of the homes had soft light coming from their windows, but the one Liam was interested in was in darkness.
‘I’ll check it out.
You stay in the car,’ he told Tommy.
This looked like a decent neighbourhood and didn’t scream “scary Bronx” as Liam would have expected.
The little homes were neat and welcoming and Liam was deciding that this couldn’t be the home of
the
Jimmy Mal as he walked quietly up the drive.
Then he stopped in his tracks.
The
tell-tale
blink of a tiny light caught his attention.
It was a sure sign that the house was alarmed, just like his in Derbyshire.
Then he noted the thick bars at the windows.
He peered at the houses either side.
No bars there.
Just this one house done up like a fortress.
An innocuous little neighbourhood and a house with excessive security precautions - how very telling.
‘Oh, Jimmy Mal, I really have found you,’ he whispered.

He moved quietly to the front of the house but stopped as a small sound caught his attention.
Then a hand grabbed him on the shoulder and he swung round in panic.
‘Jesus Tommy,’ he breathed with relief.
‘I told you to wait in the
fuckin
’ car.’

Dreams of a French Girl

– Interrupted

At the house next door Jack knew he should be on guard, but he had sneaked a couple of hours off duty and was in the middle of a deep sleep.
At one point something woke him but, as he strained his ears to catch any noise, there was nothing, so he went straight back to sleep with a contented snore and happily returned to his rather erotic dream.

‘Ah, Marie-Claire my love, you really do have beautiful legs and the most alluring walk.
I can’t wait to s...’
The sound was back again.
He lifted his head and yawned, his ears twitching and swivelling in an attempt to locate the sound.
Yes, there it was.
He sprang up from his bed and angrily shook the sleep away.
The haunting images of the beautiful Marie-Claire, the sexy French
poodle from down
the block, disappearing rapidly from his mind as he stretched and prepared for action.
A low growl escaped his throat and he pawed the ground a couple of times before launching himself directly at the high fence in full-on snarl mode.
He could smell the two strangers just beyond the boundary of his own territory and wanted to
pounce but then a long, low haunting whistle reached his ears and he felt an immediate calm.
He sank to the ground and, of its own volition, the tongue lolled from his large, German
Shepherd
head and his tail wagged.

A door opened behind him and he saw his master march angrily onto the porch.
‘Shut it, Jack,’ he yelled after a few seconds.
‘There’s no one there.’
Jack turned his attention to the fence again, sniffing the air through the chain links, but the stranger had gone.
He hoped he could return to his dream.
Now where was he?
Ah yes, smelling Marie-Claire’s beautiful butt.

***

‘That’s some mad skills you’ve got there,’ whispered Tommy from the safety of the rear of the house where they had quickly retreated after being surprised by the dog.

‘Gypsy whistle,’ Liam whispered back.
‘Learned it from a friend of me Mammy.
Always works.
Anyway, what the
fuck are
you doing here?
You’re supposed to be back at the car.’

‘Thought you may be needing this.’
Tommy stifled a laugh as he pulled a short piece of metal from his jeans pocket.
The slim bar was around eight inches long with grooves and slots cut along its le
ngth.

‘What the hell’s that?’

‘It’s my key.
The place is empty right?’

‘Far as I can tell, but I’m prepared either way,’ Liam assured him,
The Killer
at the
ready.
‘If you’ve still got that pop gun on you, I’d keep it handy.’

‘Will do.
Now, watch this man.
You may have mad skills with dogs, but I’ve got ‘
em
with doors.
This’ll get you into the house and it’ll do it quietly without tripping any alarms.’
Tommy slipped the metal into the crack of the patio door then jerked it rapidly up and down several times.
A moment later the door slid open and he dashed in, pulled a piece of gum from his mouth and shoved it quickly above the door.
‘Neutralises the sensor,’ he whispered.
‘Da dah!’

Liam smiled.
The lad was good; the lad was smart.
They crept into the house, sliding the door closed behind them.
No alarm sounded.
Everything was quiet.
‘We’re in,’ Liam whispered.
‘Let me take a quick look round to make sure nobody’s asleep anywhere.’

The small house quickly proved to be empty.
‘Now we need to get our edge,’ Liam said.

‘How’s that?’ asked
Tommy.

‘I need something that’ll show me how to get to him, and quickly too.’

‘You can’t just wait for him here?’

‘I will if I have to, but I’d rather it was somewhere else.
Like you said, Tommy, it’s all about turf.
This is his and I’d sooner have him out of his comfort zone.’

‘
Ah, I get you.
So, what are we looking for exactly?’

‘Anything to do with arms deals.’

‘Really?
Well I can’t see much.
It’s a bit dark in here man.’

‘Yeah, but we can’t afford to put any lights on.
You got a torch in that
Thundercar
of yours?’

‘A what?’

‘A torch.
Have you got one?’

‘What the fuck’s a torch?’

‘A torch, man, a
fuckin
’ torch.
A small thing that you hold in your hand to shine light around.’

‘You mean a flashlight?’

‘Do I?’

‘Think so.’

‘OK, have you got a
fuckin
’ flashlight in your
Thundercar
?

‘No.’

‘Fuck.’

The Bug

As his workday came to a close, The Bug headed out to his car.
He’d had worse nicknames and didn’t really mind the one he’d picked up this week.
That was how long he’d had his new car, his lovely little VW.
His students had made fun of him, of course, but he’d managed to include it in his lesson on World Culture and Politics and the fact that this car was called a beetle all over the world, but a bug in their home country, had earned him the new name.
It was a damn sight better than
Mr.
Blob, which is what they used to call him.
He didn’t really like his
students.
They scared him.
In fact he didn’t really like being a teacher.

He arrived at his car and felt instantly happier.
This was the first time he’d had his own transport and it was so much better than the bus and the subway.
He never felt safe there and people were always glowering at him.
It wasn’t his fault he took up two seats when he sat down.
Now he had his own car and it was a lovely little motor.
Great gas mileage and he even liked the colour.
It had earned him a substantial discount at the dealership.
Apparently no one else wanted a second hand Volkswagen finished in shit-brown paintwork.

He pulled down his fashionable Yankees sweater, which immediately rolled up again.
Why didn’t they make these in bigger sizes?
It was important for him to appear trendy in class.
His previous attire of shiny beige suit had earned him nothing but ridicule.
Now he had his own vehicle he wanted to dress the part.
He hitched his pants up over his ample belly and got in the car unaware of the way the suspension groaned at his weight.

He drove slowly.
He liked to be safe and he was in no rush to get home.
He didn’t feel particularly safe there either, despite his best efforts.
But in this little car he was king and he could handle anything, even that neighbour of his.
‘One of these days I’m going to go round and thump you on the nose,’ he yelled at the dashboard that now served as his surrogate punch-bag.
‘You
Goddamn brute of a man.
You insolent Italian bully.
You just wait.
One day.’

He probably wouldn’t do it today, he thought.
He needed to plan it out.
The man was huge and that greasy hair and those arms, with so many tattoos that they looked black, really intimidated him.
It would need to be on a day when he’d had a long drive in his wonderful car so that he felt strong.
There wasn’t time for that after work.
The weekend, yes, that’s when he would do it, next weekend; or maybe the one after.

As he finally turned into the road leading to his home he cut his lights.
No use asking for trouble.
He coasted up his drive and exited the car as quietly as he could, the suspension sighing its relief, and then closed the door gently.
Now it was time to run the gauntlet.