The Killer II Read online

  Thomas stared at the unblinking eyes and listened to the quietly spoken words. He’d come to know this man well over several years and they’d been in some intense situations together. He was a vicious man and he could be cruel, but he’d never known him be anything but honourable and loyal. Above all, he’d never known him to lie. ‘Why?’ he asked finally.

  ‘They said he was about to turn tout.’

  ‘No way. Not our Duggy.’

  ‘No, I don’t see it either, but that’s what they told Jonny and they gave the kill order.’

  Thomas didn’t respond and a dark silence spread between them. The gun lay limply now on his lap as he stared at it for a long time. Eventually he raised his eyes back to Liam’s face. ‘You’re telling me the truth, aren’t you Butch?’

  ‘Yes mate, I am. And I’m so fuckin’ sorry.’

  ‘What the fuck do I do now?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. You’ll have to come to terms with it in your own way, but right now I could do with some help. Now can you help me man?’

  Thomas slowly nodded his head. ‘Aye.’

  The two men sat quietly for a while until Liam decided he’d had enough. Thomas had always been prone to long periods of silence and it had always fallen to Liam to break them. ‘I’ve got a right throat on me mate. You got any juice in the house?’ he asked. Thomas remained deep in thought but indicated a cabinet across the room where Liam found a bottle of Jameson’s and what appeared to be the last two clean glasses in the house. ‘You’re gonna have to have a good clear up before yer Ma gets back,’ he suggested as he returned with the drinks.

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s a pig-sty in here, mate. Yer Ma’ll have a fit if she sees it like this.’

  ‘Nah, she’s gone Butch.’

  ‘Aye, but when she gets back…’

  ‘No, I mean she’s gone gone. Like dead gone.’

  ‘Oh no. How? When?’

  ‘About two weeks back. Some kind of embolism the doc said. Just dropped down dead. She wouldn’t have known a thing about it.’

  ‘That’s a blessing then, but I’m so sorry Thomas.’

  ‘Aye, well, we sent her off proper like and Mrs. Brown came round with a rose bush and we planted it out back in her memory. Took fuckin’ ages to do. The ground’s like rock out there. Aye, ‘tis what it is. All I’ve got left now is Tiddles.’

  Oh Fuck. Liam downed the rest of his whiskey in one gulp, his eyes rolling back in his head. He couldn’t tell him. Not now, not tonight. His friend had taken in a lot over the past hour or so and a dead cat on top of all that seemed too cruel for one sitting. Maybe it would be a comfort to know that Tiddles was buried with Mrs. Malone’s rosebush?

  ‘Talking of which, where is the little bastard?’ Thomas continued. ‘He’s usually come pawing to be let in by now.’

  Oh Fuck.

  ‘Fancy another mate?’ Liam suggested, holding out his empty glass in an effort to change the subject.

  ‘Aye, fill us up,’ Thomas agreed. ‘It’ll help me sleep. There’s a spare bed for you at the top of the stairs.’

  ‘That’d be fine. I could do with getting me head down in a real scratcher.’

  ‘Listen,’ said Thomas as Liam brought the Jameson’s over for a re-fill. ‘I’m gonna need some payback for our Duggy. But I reckon I’m gonna need some proof first.’

  ‘You calling me a liar?’ Liam didn’t care if he was. At least they’d moved off Tiddles.

  ‘No, I reckon I believe you, it’s just…’

  ‘Aye, it was the same for me,’ Liam assured him. ‘I can get you proof when I get back to England. I guess Turner will still have the recording.’

  ‘Your turner has the recording?’

  ‘Turner.’

  ‘That’s what I said.’

  ‘No, the man’s name is Turner.’

  ‘You were turned by a man called Turner?’

  ‘Good God!’ Liam paused for a second. ‘Holy Christ, that never occurred to me. I guess that’s irony then?’

  ‘Guess so,’ Thomas agreed with his first real smile of the night. ‘Anyhow, you get me that proof and I’ll take the bastards out. I’ll do the fuckin’ lot of ‘em.’

  ‘Now slow down me old skin,’ Liam cautioned him. ‘That was my first reaction too when I found out about me Ma. Luckily someone talked some sense into me. It’s far better to take ‘em out one by one, and for that you need support. The kind of support that only the Brits can give.’

  ‘The fuckin’ Brits, ya say?’

  ‘Aye, that’s right, the fuckin’ Brits. They’ll give us the arms, intelligence and resources to get the lot of ‘em. So what d’you say mate? Come back to England with me and, together, we’ll take ‘em all out.’

  ‘Have you gone altogether fuckin’ crazy?’ Thomas stared at him. ‘Me, trot off to fuckin’ England, and play bleedin’ cricket on the fuckin’ village green. What the fuck are you talking about you bleedin’ eejit?’

  ‘No one said anything about playing fuckin’ cricket, ya scutterin’ gobshite. God forbid.’ Liam smiled at the mental image of his overweight friend in whites chasing a ball. ‘I’m talking about me and you going back to my house and planning each and every kill instead of you faffin’ around Ireland like some sort of John-fuckin’-Wayne and getting your friggin’ head blown off.’

  ‘Oh, it’s a house you’ll be having now, is it?’

  ‘Thomas,’ Liam began, the smile now threatening an all out laugh. ‘I live in a fuckin’ manor house. Me. Can you believe it?’

  Thomas said nothing as his belly began to shake, the tremble spreading up his body until it emerged in a snort and a guffaw. It was the tension breaker they both needed and the two men laughed together. The more they laughed, the funnier it seemed until tears were rolling down Thomas’ cheeks and Liam could hardly hold the bottle steady as he poured another refill. ‘Hey Thomas,’ Liam finally managed between hiccups, ‘we gotta make a plan before this whiskey does for me brain.’

  ‘Aye,’ Thomas agreed, controlling himself with effort. You say you got stuck here?’

  ‘There was this helicopter to get me out after I’d killed Mad Dog, but the fucker went off and left me.’

  ‘That’ll be your new British friends then?’

  ‘Thomas, don’t start.’

  ‘OK, OK, leave me be to think a while will ya? Can you keep that gob of yours closed for a bit?’

  Liam nodded as he quelled the final rumblings of laughter and watched as his friend went into deep concentration.

  Several minutes later Liam was becoming bored, but he made the effort to remain silent and he glanced round at the furnishings in the room to distract himself. He was thinking about Mrs. Malone and poor old Tiddles when he jumped out of his skin at an exclamation from the chair opposite.

  ‘Laa Laa!’

  ‘Jesus, Mary, mother of God. What?’

  ‘Laa Laa.’

  ‘What? Thomas, have you lost it man? This ain’t no time for singing.’

  ‘No, we need Laa Laa.’

  ‘What the fuck’s a Laa Laa?’

  ‘Not what. Who.’

  ‘Laa Laa’s a who?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘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 Englan
d, 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 why 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. ‘Because 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.’

  14

  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. Jus
t 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.