far corner presumably led back to the kitchen, but the Traveller felt in his gut that the room’s stillness had not been disturbed for weeks. He straightened and backed out.
The door at the end of the corridor stood open, the kitchen beyond, its steely brightness dulled by grime. He walked towards it, ready to fire at any movement, but a new smell stopped him before he got that far. A sickly, chemical smell that tingled in his nostrils. He took three more steps and the smell deepened. But it did not come from the kitchen. The door to his left stood slightly ajar. He pushed it with the Glock’s muzzle, and the smell of fuel, petrol or something like it, washed up from the narrow staircase on the other side.
The Traveller spied a box of matches on a work surface just inside the kitchen. He smiled as he reached for them.
93
Lennon holstered his pistol as he picked his way through the semidarkness, avoiding the debris on the uneven floor. A few small windows up at ground level allowed thin light through their dirt-caked panes, but not enough for him to be sure of his footing. He’d already stumbled over a stack of cans, spilling something that smelled like petrol or white spirits. It had soaked into his trousers and begun to sting the skin on his shin and calf.
Arches led further into the cellar in all directions. Lennon had to hope there were more ways in and out. There, up ahead, he could make out a haze of light. He advanced towards it, ducking his head beneath an arch. Old furniture, cardboard boxes, papers and fabrics were stacked against every wall. The musty smell mingled with that of whatever he had spilled at the bottom of the stairs. Something wrapped around his ankle as he struggled through the gloom. He kicked it away, losing his balance in the process. The stacked chairs he grabbed collapsed under his weight, and he fell to the floor as they clattered around him.
Lennon lay still and listened. Small things scurried amongst the boxes, disturbed by his intrusion. Tiny clawed feet dashed across the back of his hand, a tail brushing his fingers, but he did not slap the creature away. Slowly, his breath held tight in his chest, he rolled over onto his back. He froze and watched a shape come closer, framed by the weak light from the windows. Lennon wondered if the other man could see him lying there amid the upended chairs. The noise would surely have drawn his attention.
The petrol smell grew stronger as the form dipped beneath the arch and closed in to where Lennon lay.
‘I know you’re there,’ the shape said.
Lennon recognised the voice. His heart lurched.
‘You should’ve shot me when you had the chance,’ the shape said. ‘They’ve got your woman and your girl upstairs. When I’m done with you, I’ll have a go on them. The mother’s not bad looking, even hurt as bad as she is. Tell you the truth, I don’t know if she’ll still be breathing by now.’
The silhouette swelled in Lennon’s vision. ‘Well, if she’s not, it’ll be a pity. I’ll just have to content myself with the wee girl. I’ll do her quick, though. No sense in stringing it out for a little ’un. Not her fault she’s got a useless shite like you for a father. No, I’ll go easy on her. But I won’t go easy on you.’
An arm swept out. Liquid splashed around Lennon. The petrol smell invaded his nose and mouth, made his throat tighten. He pushed himself back, his elbows and heels fighting against curtain fabric.
‘Ah, there you are,’ the silhouette said. He tossed the can in Lennon’s direction.
It clattered on the floor, throwing a streak of pungent liquid across his lower legs. Lennon scrabbled back, no longer caring about the noise, until his head and shoulders pressed against the cold brick wall. He pushed himself up on his feet and drew his Glock.
The silhouette dissolved into the darkness. ‘I’m going to burn you, Jack. I’ll watch you dance for a while. If you’re lucky, I might put you out of your misery before it gets too bad. If you’re lucky.’
Lennon aimed at the voice, trying to fix its position among the cellar’s reverberations.
There, a spark in the black, the killer’s face illuminated for an instant. Lennon’s finger tightened on the trigger. The spark again, but this time the match caught, throwing its yellowy glow just far enough for the killer to see the pistol aimed at his forehead.
Lennon’s Glock boomed as the killer ducked, the noise filling every corner and crack of the cellar. Lennon followed the match’s fall with his eyes. The flame sputtered before it caught the vapours from the can. Lennon threw his body to the ground as the heat surged around him and the killer screamed.
94
O’Driscoll said, ‘We should get you out of here.’
Fegan watched O’Kane chew his lip, possibilities flickering across the old man’s face, his eyes darting around the room. The heat in Fegan’s ear pulsed as warmth spread down his neck and over his shoulder. A hard line of pain ran along his cheek. He tasted the blood at the corner of his mouth.
‘Maybe we should get you to your room,’ O’Driscoll said. ‘Out of harm’s way, like. Just till yer man’s sorted things out.’
O’Kane glowered. ‘Don’t talk tome like I’m a child, for fuck’s sake. This is the one thing I want. This is all I want. Don’t fucking chicken out on me now. Don’t turn tail like every other bastard.’
O’Driscoll stepped away from Fegan, but kept a grip on his arm. ‘But, Christ, anything could be happening. You pay me to watch out for you and that’s what I’m doing. Now come on, we need to get you out of here and locked in your—’
‘Every one of you fuckers is the same,’ the Bull said, his voice cracking between high and low. ‘Them bastards in the North, they left me hanging. Everyone else abandoned me. Now you’re going to do the same?’
O’Driscoll held onto Fegan’s sleeve as he took another step towards O’Kane. ‘Jesus, no, Bull, I just want to make sure you’re safe, that’s all. I’m not going anywhere.’
Fegan’s instincts flew, measuring the strength of O’Driscoll’s grip, the distance between the men, the angles of their bodies, their centres of balance. He registered these calculations only as impulses, flashes in his brain before the act. But the act did not come. He suppressed it, a deeper and more trusted instinct telling him it wasn’t yet time to move.
O’Kane jabbed his thick forefinger at Fegan. ‘I’m not going anywhere till that fucker’s dead.’
‘You want me to do him?’ O’Driscoll asked.
‘No.’ O’Kane shook his head and met Fegan’s stare. ‘Bring him here.’
‘There isn’t time,’ O’Driscoll said. ‘We need to—’
O’Kane’s face reddened. ‘I said bring him here.’
The men led Fegan forward. He did not resist.
‘On his knees,’ O’Kane said.
O’Driscoll placed a hand on Fegan’s shoulder and pushed down. When Fegan didn’t submit, he kicked the back of his knee. Fegan went down hard, his kneecap cracking on the parquet flooring. The plastic sheeting rustled as the other knee followed.
O’Kane leaned forward in his wheelchair. ‘You could’ve killed me back there in that barn near Middletown. You had me at your feet. I was helpless as a pup, and you had a gun in your hand. Why didn’t you do it?’
‘Because I had no reason,’ Fegan said. ‘I was merciful.’
‘Merciful?’ O’Kane shook his head. You’re not making any more sense than you did back then, Gerry. Are the people still in your head? Are they still telling you what to do?’
‘I left them back there,’ Fegan said. ‘When I killed McGinty.’
‘McGinty was a cunt.’ O’Kane stretched a hand towards O’Driscoll. O’Driscoll placed a small semi-automatic pistol in it. It looked like a Walther PPK to Fegan. ‘Not too many missed that bastard after he died. I sure as fuck didn’t. You know, the politicians wanted me to let it go. They wanted the mess cleaned up, fair enough, but they didn’t see the sense in going after you. They said I should let it lie. But they don’t know you. They don’t know what you did to me. They don’t know how I haven’t slept a single night since then. I won’t live another fucking day with you in the world.’ He breathed hard as he pulled back the slide assembly to chamber a round. ‘So I told them, I says, I’m going after Gerry Fegan and that’s all there is to it.’
O’Kane pressed the Walther’s muzzle against Fegan’s forehead.
O’Driscoll shifted his feet, loosened his grip on Fegan’s shoulder. ‘Jesus, what’s that? Do you smell that?’
