The Killer II Read online

  ‘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 slowly 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.’

  ‘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 length.

  ‘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.