Once the flat was quiet, he circled the room, switching off lights. Blackness owned him until he opened the curtains. The street light outside coated the room in a dim orange. He sat down at the table by the window and waited.
Occasionally cars moved along the street outside, their headlights illuminating the old houses, making their facades seem to turn and watch the travellers go by.
Now and then, people would pass the window, oblivious to Fegan’s vigil. Sometimes they were couples, young men and women clinging to each other, moving as one. The sight of them opened paths in his mind, paths he did not want to follow. He would only find regret and self-pity there.
Instead, he thought about the chill of moisture on his cheek. He brought his fingertips to that place, remembering the warmth before the cold.
Almost three hours passed before the chill crept to his center, a tingling began in his temples, and the shadows around him came to life.
25
Eddie Coyle drove in silence. Campbell had greeted him with a friendly hello when he got into the car a few minutes before, but Coyle had not replied. Now they travelled along the Malone Road, approaching the Wellington Park Hotel and the right turn into Eglantine Avenue just beyond.
“So, you’re going to do the business, then?” Campbell asked.
Coyle stared ahead. The swelling over his eye had lessened, but the gauze pad on his brow carried an angry red rose.
“I’ll just stay in the car and let you get on with it, will I?”
Coyle’s mouth twisted. “Shut the fuck up, you cunt,” he said. “You’ve no call to be here. There’s plenty of boys could have come with me. Fuck, I’d sooner do it on my own than have to listen to you.”
“Don’t blame me if McGinty doesn’t trust you to do it right,” Campbell said.
His body leaned forward as Coyle stood on the brake pedal.
“You what?”
“McGinty thought you might make a balls of it, so he told me to go along,” Campbell said. “Believe me, I’ve got better things to do than put the frighteners on women and wee girls, but I do what I’m told. Now, get moving before the cops come along and wonder why we’re sitting in the middle of the Malone Road. The turn’s just there.”
“I know where the fucking turn is,” Coyle said as he gunned the accelerator. He pulled hard on the steering wheel, forcing oncoming traffic to brake. He let the engine drop to a low rumble as they moved slowly along Eglantine Avenue. The Vauxhall Vectra puttered quietly until they reached the woman’s place. The flat was in darkness, but her car was parked outside.
Coyle reached behind Campbell’s seat, into the foot well, and retrieved two halves of brick. This sort of thing happened all the time in Belfast. The cops called it ‘low-level intimidation’. It was just a way for paramilitaries of all shades to keep the locals in line, nothing special, nothing to get excited about. Unless you were on the receiving end, of course. Coyle opened the door, and went to climb out.
“Careful you don’t miss,” Campbell said.
“Aw, fuck off,” Coyle said. He walked around the front of the car, a half-brick in each hand. He cried out, almost dropping them, when Gerry Fegan emerged from the shadows of the small garden to block his path.
“Leave her alone,” Fegan said. Campbell could just hear his calm voice above the engine’s idling.
“What are you doing here?” Coyle asked.
“I said leave her alone.” Fegan took two steps closer to Coyle, the car’s headlights glinting in his hard eyes.
Coyle turned to look back at Campbell. Campbell eased himself out of the car.
“Don’t look at him, look at me,” Fegan said. “Leave her alone. Get out of here and don’t come back.”
Campbell thought quickly. He had no gun with him; carrying one on an errand like this was too risky. If the cops stopped them, a brick was easier to explain than a loaded weapon. He wondered if Fegan was armed. Probably not, he thought. Fegan knew the risks just as well as he did.
But then again, Fegan was crazy.
“Get out of the way, Gerry,” Coyle said. “This has nothing to do with you.”
“One last time,” Fegan said, his face impassive. “Leave her alone. Go away and don’t come back.”
Campbell watched with grim fascination. A man like Coyle couldn’t hope to take a man like Fegan. Fegan would rip him to pieces. Christ, if Fegan had been in shape, Campbell wasn’t sure he could have taken him, either. Even now, it wasn’t a certainty. Crazy can make up for a lot. He waited, part of him relishing the idea of seeing Coyle taken apart.
Coyle raised a half-brick above his head. His voice was shrill. “I mean it, Gerry. Fuck off before I do you one.”
Campbell saw shapes and movements at some of the windows. The police had probably been called already. The Lisburn Road station was barely half a mile away. They’d be here in minutes. “Fuck,” he said, stepping towards Coyle. “Leave it, Eddie.”
“You fuck off, too,” Coyle said. “I was sent here to do a job, and I’m going to do it.”
“Don’t, Eddie. He’ll break you in two.”
Fegan stood silent, his eyes locked on Coyle.
“Eddie, come on.”
