She stepped back out into the hallway, the baby wriggling in one arm, and pointed upwards with the other. Her fingers formed a pistol. The butcher stood alongside her and did the same.
Together, they took aim at Paul McGinty, firing again and again, their mouths twisted and their teeth bared.
“I know,” Fegan said, feeling a warm trickle down his left arm. Weariness gnawed at the edges of his clarity. “I know.”
57
Fegan listened to the sounds of McGinty’s hard breathing and Ellen’s soft cries. Three shots left. If he didn’t have more ammunition, that was. Fegan had to gamble on that. He had to make McGinty waste them.
It was dark at the foot of the stairs. The only light came from the window behind McGinty and, even then, it was the thin glow of early morning. McGinty knew Fegan was a poor shot and he couldn’t risk hitting Ellen while trying to wing the politician. But McGinty also thought Fegan was crazy enough to try.
Fegan looked around the room. The chairs lay scattered across the floor, and beyond them was a pile of old curtain material. He righted one of the chairs and draped a thick sheet of dark velvet over it. It was heavy, but he could manage with his good arm. He took quiet steps towards the door and raised the chair so it was level with his own shoulders. The woman and the butcher stepped back to give him room.
He extended his arm, letting the curtain-draped chair’s shoulder creep out into the shadows of the hallway. Inch by inch, centimeter by centimeter, he let the oblique shape reveal itself to McGinty, hoping the folds of darkness might make it seem—
A boom filled the hallway, and the chair jerked from Fegan’s grip to fall to the floor with a wooden clatter, the torn curtain fabric fluttering after it.
Ellen’s scream was followed by seconds of silence, and then McGinty hissed and cursed. One more shot wasted.
“You’ve only two left, Paul,” Fegan said.
“That’s one for each of them, Gerry. You don’t want that to happen. Don’t make me do it. Don’t come up here.”
“I have to, Paul.”
“Don’t! Don’t, or I’ll . . . I’ll . . .”
“You’ll what?”
“Christ,” McGinty said.
“Killing isn’t easy, Paul. Not when it’s your own finger on the trigger.”
“I’ll do it. Believe me, I’ll do it.”
Fegan stood back from the doorway. He saw McGinty’s shadow against the wall as early light made its way down the stairs. “You’ve never had the guts to do it yourself, Paul. It was always people like me. The ones you filled full of hate. You never got blood on your own hands.”
McGinty’s shadow moved back and forth as he paced above, Ellen locked in his grip. “Don’t push me, Gerry.”
“You used people like me. You told us we didn’t have a future. You said we had to fight for it. You put the guns in our hands and sent us off to do your killing for you.”
“You volunteered, Gerry. Just like the rest of us. Nobody made you do anything.”
“You lied to us.”
“Nobody made you pull the trigger, Gerry. Nobody made you plant that—”
“You lied to me.” Fegan rested his forehead against the wall, feeling the cold dampness against his skin. “You said there was a Loyalist meeting above that butcher’s shop. You told me there was UVF and UDA, all sitting together. You said the timer was set for five minutes. Time to get the people out.”
“It was a war. Sometimes innocent people get hurt.”
Fegan laughed. “Sometimes. It’s never the guilty, is it? But everybody pays. What day’s today?”
“What?”
“It’s Sunday, isn’t it? Is it a week ago? Jesus. This day last week an old woman told me everybody pays, sooner or later. A woman whose son I killed. Michael McKenna paid for him. Now you have to pay. Three of them died. A butcher. A baby, for Christ’s sake. A mother and her baby.”
Fegan lifted his forehead from the wall and looked back out to the hall. McGinty’s shadow was still now.
“Just go, Gerry. Just get out of here. No one else has to get hurt.”
“She’s here, Paul.”
“Who?”
“The woman. And her baby. Christ, I don’t know her name. She’s here and she wants you. Her and the butcher. You remember how it happened? It was on the news at the time. He went to pick it up, probably thought someone had forgotten their shopping. Him and the woman were closest.”
“Don’t, Gerry.”
“And what was it for?”
“I was told the same as you. The Loyalists were meeting above the shop.”
