Part 31 (1/2)
”You're smart, Harry. I had faith in you.”
”I'm touched. I'd imagine Katie is too. Touched in the head, she looked pretty fried when I dropped her off at the hospital. I presume you were going to ask how she was doing, seeing as how you were knocking her off?”
”Katie can look after herself.”
”Maybe. She looked after me pretty well.” I ignored the affronted look Denise shot me. ”See, she looked after me too well, someone she hardly knew, some lunatic who turned up at that hour of the morning telling her that his brother had been murdered. I was grateful, don't get me wrong, and it's nice to see that Irish hospitality is still alive and well. But still.”
Galway was s.h.i.+fting in his seat, edgy. His breath was coming short and I could almost hear him sweat. I knew, and Gonzo knew, that he was going to do something desperate.
”Get Dee out of here, Gonz. For Ben's sake.”
He shook his head, motioned with the gun, which was still pointed at Galway.
”On the floor. Now. Face down, hands out. Do it slow.”
Galway eased himself off the couch, spread-eagled himself on the s.h.a.g-pile. Gonzo looked at me.
”Katie's a friendly girl. So she's friendly to you. So what?”
”So she thinks I'm mixed up in a murder attempt. That's the kind of friendly you buy and the last time I checked my stock was rock bottom. Friendly to some stranger who won't go to the Dibble about being shot? Who's that friendly? No one, that's who. Not unless they know there's no murder.”
”You knew I wasn't dead.”
”Not until tonight.”
”What can I say, Holmes?” he drawled. ”You're a f.u.c.king genius.”
I ignored him. While I was talking I was still alive, and Ben was still alive, and Denise was still alive. Gonzo had to be alive too, to do the listening, but then you can't have everything.
”So I'm supposed to think you're dead, which was fine and dandy by me. People die every day, even brothers. Galway and Brady even turned up the next morning to keep the show on the road. The only person who knew I was at Katie's was Katie, she had to let them know. Had to let you know, rather, and you told Galway. They could have looked around while they were there but they didn't, because they would have found me. And that wouldn't have done at all. So off they toddled, job done, waiting for me to make my next stupid move. It was only a matter of waiting.”
I looked back at Denise.
”Anyway, Gonzo's dead. Sad but true. I was more worried about the living, which was why I got Ben and you out of town. Once I knew you were safe I started worrying about Herbie, who wasn't answering the phone. So I take a stroll around to Herbie's and the boy's in bad shape, because someone told Sheridan that Herbie had the photos of him and Helen Conway. How did they know Herbie had the camera? Katie knew, because I told her. So Galway gets on the blower to Sheridan, tells him this could wreck the deal, and Herbie gets the s.h.i.+tty end of the stick. They don't find the camera, because I have it, but what I couldn't work out was how they managed to find Herbie. Who knew where Herbie was? Dutch.”
Gonzo looked away from Galway, stared at me, eyes hooded, lips pursed. Then he went back to Galway.
”I don't blame Dutch, he did what he had to do. But once I knew he was offside he was offside for good. And Dutchie would have worked out where Denise and Ben were, which meant Gonz could find you if he looked hard enough. That was okay, though, because you were safe until the s.h.i.+t hit the fan, which it did tonight in The Odeon. As far as Gonzo was concerned, I'd get a bullet and he could nail Sheridan for murder. Worse case scenario, I'd walk away with the camera and Gonzo would take it off me. Either way, Gonz was quids in.”
I shrugged.
”It didn't happen that way and now the gig's f.u.c.ked. Brady wants Galway, there's no c.o.ke, and there are no ATMs where Helen Conway and Tony Sheridan are going.”
Gonzo nodded, satisfied, as if his plan was working out perfectly.
”They'll keep. They'll be out soon enough, if they ever go in.”
”Besides,” I said, ”the money was only ever a bonus.”
The temperature dropped a couple of degrees. Galway twisted to stare at Gonzo.
”What the f.u.c.k is he talking about?”
I grinned a cold one.
”Jesus, Galway, get with the programme. Gonz didn't have to come home to sting some sleazebag politico for beer money. He could have done that anywhere in the country, and in any country you care to mention.”
Gonzo looked suddenly tired, his eyes even more sleepy than usual.
”Gonzo's home for something money can't buy. Kill two birds with one stone while he's at it.”
They were a rapt audience, Denise especially. I said, to Gonzo: ”I always thought the best thing you ever did for me was screw Celine because if you hadn't I'd never have met Dee. But that wasn't the best thing you did. The best thing you did was not turn up for the christening. How could you? G.o.dfather and father of the same child? Even you're not that sick.”
Denise goggled. Gonzo just stared, cool and hard.
”Think I didn't know, Gonz?” I laughed, but not for long, because the branding iron slipped back into my side. ”Jesus, just look at him. The eyes are the giveaway.”
Denise was shaking her head, a fruitless denial. Gonzo didn't react. Galway stared at Ben, still snuggled asleep in Denise's arms. Then he looked at Gonzo.
”It's yours?”
”Gonzo did the easy part, but Ben's mine.” Gonzo was still staring at me. ”Think again, Gonz. If you're planning on leaving here with Ben, make a new plan. I'll kill you first. Believe me, I'll do time before I let you take him away. Because bad as I am, you're poison, and I'll be d.a.m.ned if I'll let you touch him again.”
He sat forward, lazy and slow.
”Nice speech, Harry,” he drawled. ”But you're forgetting one thing.” He changed the angle of the gun, so it was pointing at me instead of Galway. ”Don't make promises you can't keep.”
”I'm only making the one.”
”Don't push it.”
”You're taking him?”
”I'm taking him.”
”You'd better be better than you think you are.”
”Whatever,” he said, lifting the gun and firing in one smooth, practised movement. It clicked. Then it clicked again. Then he went for the floor, for Galway's gun, and as he went there was a confused expression of admiration and fear on his face.
He didn't get far. The pro's gun was already c.o.c.ked, safety off, deep in the pocket of the zip-up fleece. All I had to do was squeeze. I squeezed. It caught him high in the chest, the impact slamming him back against the cus.h.i.+on. He rebounded, flopping, useless.
”Harry!”
Denise screamed. Galway lunged up off the carpet, going for his gun, a scrumhalf in a loose maul, but he was too late, by then it was too late for anything but a prayer before bedtime. Brady was kicking in the door, two Emergency Response Unit wallahs behind him, machine-pistols to the fore, all three screaming conflicting instructions to freeze, lie down, put our hands behind our heads. Galway froze. I froze. Ben screamed, Denise huddling over him, also screaming. One of the ERU wallahs dragged Galway's arms behind his back to handcuff him. Then he started to read him his rights.
Brady prised the gun from Gonzo's grip, pulled his head back, Gonzo's breathing coming in gurgles. Denise lurched to her feet, a hand to her mouth, retching, making for the door. The second ERU wallah threw out an arm to block her way. Brady nodded her past, and I heard the sound of her bare feet padding up the hallway as the din from the gunshot faded.
Brady looked at me, the burn mark on the pocket of the fleece, then looked at Gonzo. He had fallen to one side, a hole the size of a boxing glove punched through his back, a pool of blood seeping between his legs.
”Sibling rivalry,” he sneered.