The Killer II Page 6

  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.

  9

  Jimmy Mal

  Back in the Bronx and half an hour of searching in the gloom had thrown up nothing of interest. ‘There’s got to be something here,’ Liam had snapped more than once. ‘You don’t have all that security for nothing.’

  ‘What’s this?’ asked Tommy. ‘There’s a funny hole down the back of this desk man.’ Liam was at his side in an instant as Tommy pulled out a sheaf of papers. He moved to the window where the glow of a distant street lamp offered the only light. ‘Provisional I.R.A.,’ he read.

  ‘You’ve got it, lad,’ Liam beamed. ‘Now let’s get out of here and see what those papers tell us about where he goes and where to find him.’

  ‘Right behind you,’ Tommy began, then the two men froze. The sound of a dog barking aggressively was accompanied by loud, angry voices.

  ‘God damned faggot,’ they discerned. ‘…shoot you dead. You wouldn’t be the first,’ was also clearly audible.

  ‘Jimmy Mal,’ Liam whispered. ‘Fuck. Get ready Tommy. You’re in this up to your neck now lad.’

  The key turned in the door and a huge shadow stepped quickly through. Even before he reached for the light Liam could tell the man was shaking with anger and he heard him cursing the dog and his neighbour. He braced himself for the confrontation he knew was about to come. A switch was flicked and the man froze as the room was illuminated and he saw his two intruders. ‘What the…?’ he began.

  ‘Jimmy Mal, you bastard,’ hissed Liam, The Killer ready in his hand. ‘You’ve shipped your last gun.’

  ‘What?’ said the man, his eyes wide.

  ‘And you can say goodbye to your NORAID pals.’

  ‘NORAID? Oh no. I didn’t mean… You haven’t found… Oh no.’ A briefcase fell from the man’s hands and papers scattered across the floor.

  ‘Jimmy Mal?’ Liam repeated, his blade dropping a little in his confusion. This wasn’t the reaction he had expected.

  ‘Who? I’m not – who?’ stammered the man as a wet, gurgling sound came from his direction.

  Liam jumped back in surprise. A sloppy brown liquid emerged from the trouser leg of the man opposite before James Malcolm Brennan, otherwise known to his students as The Bug, fell to the floor in a dead faint and his own shit.

  ‘Paddy,’ whispered Tommy at his side. ‘I have a funny feeling that ain’t Jimmy Mal.’

  Liam looked at the man on the ground, then at Tommy and then at The Killer as he spread his arms wide in disbelief. ‘What - the - fuck?’ As his eyes moved back to the ground, his fists clenched and his eyes narrowed. ‘This bloke’s a schoolteacher, a fuckin’ schoolteacher. He is not my fuckin’ Jimmy Mal.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Look,’ yelled Liam, indicating the papers strewn across the floor. There, in the middle of the mess, lay a laminated I.D. card. “Mr. J. M. Brennan. Faculty of Humanities and Social Sciences.”

  Tommy let out a long, low whistle. ‘Jeez, man, I can see why you had to take this tough guy out. I bet he gives really bad grades.’

  ‘Tommy, shut the fuck up,’ hissed Liam, his voice beginning to shake as he turned his anger towards the man on the floor. He kicked out at the prone body. ‘What’s all that I.R.A. crap? What are you up to, you stupid bastard?’

  ‘Christ, Paddy, it’s not his fault he’s a teacher with the wrong name.’

  ‘Gimme those papers.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Those fuckin’ I.R.A. papers you found in the desk.’

  As Tommy handed them over in confusion, the man on the floor groaned. ‘Paddy, you’re gonna have to look at ‘em later, man. We need to get out of here.’

  Once more the patio door slid open and Liam controlled his breathing as the two men walked carefully out and made their way quietly back through the shadows. Jack was lying at the fence next door and he let out a small whine as they passed. ‘Shush boy, be quiet, that’s a good feller,’ Liam whispered as they made their way, stealthily, to the car. Jack wagged his tail and then settled down to his dreams of the sexy Marie-Claire.

  Back in the car Liam’s mood quickly darkened. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck,’ he hissed as he repeatedly punched the dashboard. He’d messed up twice in one day. What the Hell was happening to him and how had he got it so wrong? He turned on the interior light and Tommy watched as he flicked angrily through the papers they’d found. ‘What the fuck are you playing at, you stupid, stupid, stupid…? Christ, look what you did. I don’t fuckin’ believe this.’

  Tommy glanced across. ‘Christ, man, was he the right guy after all? Was all that teacher crap just a cover?

  Liam let out a hollow laugh. ‘Tommy, you couldn’t be more wrong,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Jesus, I couldn’t have been more wrong. You know of NORAID?’

  ‘Yeah, I heard you mention it back at the house. I put money in their bucket every Paddy’s Day. They send it for the families back home, don’t they. Everyone’s an Irishman on March 17th, you know.’

  ‘And I bet everyone’s a fuckin’ Mexican on May 5th too, you morons. Still, the Mexicans aren’t killing anyone. You know where all that money in the bucket goes, do you?’

  ‘I think I’m starting to guess,’ Tommy offered, not wanting to upset this guy any further.

  ‘Yeah, that’s right, you guess away.’ Liam’s chest was heaving and he breathed deeply while he spoke, his eyes narrowing in an effort to control his anger. ‘My boss, right? This guy knows a lot of stuff. He says you Americans are tricked and haven’t a fuckin’ clue what’s really going on. But you know what? I think we’ve just met one poor bastard who does. These papers,’ he threw them on the floor in disgust, ‘they’re about links to terrorism and how to stop it. The guy’s a fuckin’ subversive?’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘Kind of unpatriotic. He has a fine old Irish name. Jesus, it was his name that took us there. This just makes it fuckin’ worse.’ Liam had his hand to his brow now as his face moved from side to side in disbelief. ‘You know what I think? I reckon all that security was because he was scared. He’s a stupid paranoid fuck scared of his own shadow.’

  ‘And his neighbour,’ risked Tommy feeling the tension die a little.

  ‘And his neighbour,’ Liam agreed.

  ‘And the dog.’

  ‘Aye, all the world and his fuckin’ dog.’

  The drive continued quietly for a while and there was no more punching of dashboards. Occasionally another ‘Fuck’ escaped the Irishman’s lips and Tommy decided he had met the one man who swore more than he did. ‘Didn’t think that was fucking possible,’ he considered, and the thought amused him. ‘Hey Paddy,’ he began.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You heard the one about the hit-men waiting in a house?’

  ‘Fuck you mate.’

  A minute’s silence followed. ‘Hey Paddy, two killers walk into a house…’

  ‘Look Tommy, I’m not in the fuckin’ mo
od,’ Liam snapped.

  Tommy pursed his lips together in an effort not to grin, but it was useless. ‘An Irishman and an American go for a drive to the Bronx,’ he finally blurted out with a laugh.

  Liam closed his eyes and shook his head slowly, but the smile began to form on his lips. ‘You know Tommy mate, that was fuckin’ funny, wasn’t it? Christ I hope the guy’s OK. It stank in there.’

  The mood lighter now, they drove on until Tommy noted, ‘We’re nearly back at the bar Paddy. Are we done for the night or what?’

  ‘Aye lad, that’s it for good I’m afraid. Yer man’ll have to be put on hold, for now anyhow.’

  ‘You know,’ Tommy offered, ‘me and the boys could take him out for you. This is the sort of work we like to do - for decent pay of course.’

  ‘No lad, forget him. That fucker’s untouchable now, and will be for some time to come.’

  ‘You sure ‘bout that?’

  ‘Absolutely sure,’ Liam confirmed. ‘There’ll be extra security once McKee is found.’

  ‘Could’ve been found already,’ Tommy suggested. ‘We’re back,’ he announced as he pulled the car to a halt outside the hotel.

  ‘Drive on Tommy!’

  The sudden urgency in the Irishman’s voice left no room for questions and the young Druid set off again with barely a beat, quickly rounding a corner and heading out of town.

  ‘This the way to the airport?’ Liam finally asked.

  ‘Can be,’ Tommy confirmed, ‘but what about your stuff?’

  ‘Fuck that. I could see my room from the street and there was a light on. I didn’t leave any light on.’

  ‘Time to get out of Dodge,’ Tommy agreed.

  10

  The Airport

  The car pulled up in the short stay parking area and the two new friends climbed out. ‘You know mate, I’m going to miss you and the other three boys,’ Liam smiled.

  ‘Me too Paddy, me too,’ said Tommy, as he offered his hand to the Irishman.

  Liam ignored the outstretched hand and bear-hugged the lad instead. ‘If you ever come across to Europe,’ he said, ‘call this number. They’ll find me and I’ll meet you.’ He pulled a pen and scrap of paper from the pocket of the badly stained jacket he still carried over his arm, quickly scribbled down the number and handed it across. It had felt good to have a friend again. He didn’t have that many left.

  ‘Europe? I can’t see me or the others ever getting out of New York City - let alone going to Europe,’ laughed Tommy, ‘but the next time you’re here call the Sunbrite and leave a message. Just tell ‘em Paddy wants a ride. We’ll collect you and find somewhere better to stay.’

  ‘I can’t see me coming back here either. Doubt I’d be that welcome. That’s assuming I get out of here to start with.’

  ‘Talking of which, I reckon you’d better dump that jacket. It’s a bit – er – bloody. And that shirt. You don’t look all that respectable Paddy.’

  ‘I know it. My first job in there will be to buy some new clothes.’

  ‘You got enough money?’

  ‘That’s one thing I’m not short of and I’d better get some more in my back pocket before I go in there. Stand in front of me for a minute so no one can see, will you?’

  As Tommy shielded him from prying eyes he watched in amazement as the Irishman pulled a large wad of notes from the lining of the jacket. ‘Fuck me, Paddy. When we went for you back in the bar I thought we’d get a couple hundred bucks and some travellers’ cheques. Christ, if we’d have known.’

  ‘Yeah, well, it ain’t really mine. This is so I can get out of here. It all comes from the boss, and I reckon he can afford two-hundred dollars.’ Liam peeled off a couple of bills and handed them to Tommy. ‘For your time and trouble, lad.’

  ‘Hey, you don’t have to…’

  ‘You earned it.’

  ‘Thanks man,’ said Tommy taking the money. ‘Wow, what you could do with all that loot. Can’t beat cash, eh?’

  ‘Strangely my boss would disagree with you.’

  ‘Say what?’

  ‘He says one day cash will get you into trouble and we’ll have to find a way to operate without it.’

  ‘How could cash get you into trouble? Your boss has got some strange ideas.’

  ‘Tommy, you don’t know the half of it,’ Liam agreed. ‘Look lad, gotta go. Thanks again.’

  ‘You take care Paddy.’

  ‘You too Tommy.’

  They shook hands briefly and Tommy watched as Liam walked into the airport. ‘Hope I see you again you mad Irishman,’ he said out loud as he got into his Thunderbird and drove away.

  ‘I’ll never see you again, lad,’ Liam whispered under his breath as he walked into the terminal. ‘You’re just dying to get yourself into trouble, and that will never end well.’ It was a sobering thought and one he could do without right now. He shook himself and looked round for a gift shop. He found one selling T-shirts and purchased several, plus a small carry-on case, while the neighbouring shop provided some basic toiletries and a couple of paperbacks. In the gents he quickly washed, changed and transferred his codebook and more cash to the case, covering it with the extra things he’d bought, and then dumped his old shirt and empty jacket in the bin.

  An information desk provided everything else he needed and he was soon purchasing a ticket on the next available flight back to the UK. An attractive lady smiled sweetly at him as he handed over his money and he was soon heading to the boarding gate with his ticket in hand. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about, Turner,’ he silently told his boss. ‘Cash is king. Always will be.’

  The Departures Lounge

  - And the Man from Minnesota

  His passport hadn’t raised any eyebrows but, safely through, he hunted out a newspaper stand and bought the late edition of the New York Times. He found a seat next to a large grey ashtray, lit himself a cigarette and opened the paper. The report he was looking for was halfway down page five. ‘Jesus, it doesn’t even warrant the front fuckin’ page,’ tutted Liam when he eventually found the article and began to read:

  Mayhem in Midtown Today,

  Two Men Murdered in Manhattan

  The bodies of two men were discovered inside a parked car off Lafayette Street, Manhattan earlier today. Both men had been violently assaulted with what is reported to be a machete. A Police spokesman released the following statement:

  “The unknown killer or killers are still at large. At this time we have no suspects or motive for these murders.”

  However, an unofficial source informed this reporter that the grisly murders bore all the hallmarks of a violent Puerto Rican street gang slaying. Though at this time unconfirmed, the two victims are suspected of having links to the seedy underworld of organized crime within the city. Could this...

  Liam was momentarily distracted from his newspaper, aware of movement in the seat next to him as a portly man dressed in a suit two sizes too small sat theatrically waving his hands in front of his chubby, red face, coughing loudly and making mock choking sounds. Liam sighed as he closed the paper and glanced at the man. ‘What’s your problem mate?’

  ‘Your cigarette is the problem. I can’t breathe. Put that disgusting thing out this instant. Aren’t you aware that tobacco smoke can kill people?’

  Liam dropped the paper onto his lap and put his arm around the man’s neck, pulling the sweaty face close to his own and whispering in his ear. ‘You haven’t picked a good time for this and, if you don’t fuck off and leave me to my reading, you’ll find out exactly what’ll kill you - and it won’t be my fucking cigarette.’

  The man tried to pull away and opened his mouth to speak, but Liam cut him off. ‘I’ve had a really bad day. I need a cigarette. I sat next to an ashtray so that I could have a cigarette. If you don’t want to smell my smoke, then find yourself a seat that isn’t next to an ashtray. I don’t think this is fucking rocket science.’

  He released his grip on the man who stood quickly an
d waddled off calling out, ‘officer, officer,’ as he went. Liam shrugged his shoulders and returned to his newspaper article.

  ... be the beginning of a new drug war? Or could it be something more sinister? Could there be a new serial killer prowling the streets of New York? This reporter will learn the truth.

  That was a bonus he hadn’t expected. Whoever had put the light on in his room was probably one of McKee’s own men and he knew they weren’t the type to go to the police. So, the crime had been linked to the seedy underworld, had it? ‘Well you reap what you sew, McKee.’ Liam smiled to himself. Turner had been right – again. It seemed that nobody minded.

  An officer strode up and stood in front of him. ‘A threat of violence has been reported,’ he said.

  Liam glanced up into the young man’s face. ‘By that fat fucker over there no doubt,’ he said pointing his finger. ‘He sat right next to me and told me to put my fag out. I told him to fuck off. End of story.’

  ‘From the old country, are we sir?’ Liam nodded. ‘Well that “fat fucker” hails from Minnesota and they see things a little differently over there. Smoking in public is illegal in Minnesota.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Apparently so sir.’

  ‘But we’re not in Minnesota.’

  ‘No sir, we’re not.’

  ‘Then he needs to fuck off.’

  ‘Sir, you are in an airport with security so you should probably avoid causing a confrontation.’

  Liam pursed his lips and nodded. ‘You’re right officer, I’m sorry. I’ve just had one of those days.’