“No.” Fegan shook his head. “I’m not going back inside. I’ll die first. Besides, McGinty can get me just as easy in prison as he can outside. Easier.”
Campbell leaned forward, his face upturned and pleading. “Just think about it, Gerry, eh? Just take a minute and—”
“Shush.” Fegan pressed the Walther’s muzzle against Campbell’s lips to silence him. “You know I’m crazy, don’t you?”
Campbell gave a nervous laugh as Fegan raised the gun slightly, but he didn’t answer.
“I’m away in the head; you know that, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” Campbell said, his voice cracking.
Fegan sat on the edge of the bathtub, giving in to the insistent pains in his midsection. He kept the Walther trained on Campbell’s forehead. “Then why try reasoning with me?”
Campbell blinked sweat away from his eyes.
“I wanted to know who the cop was,” Fegan said. “I wanted to know why he deserved it. But I know why
deserve it.”
“Deserve what?” Campbell asked.
“To die,” Fegan said.
The shadows tightened around them.
Campbell shook his head. “Gerry, I—”
“Those two UFF boys,” Fegan said. Campbell’s head became still. “They were nothing more than cheap hoods, a pair of smart-arses selling dope for beer money. They couldn’t have got McGinty in a million years. They couldn’t even have dreamt of it. They were too busy getting stoned off their own merchandise.”
Campbell’s shoulders rose and fell. Blood and spittle hung from his lip.
Fegan said, “You know what that lot were like, the fucking UFF, and the rest of the Loyalists. All of them. Nothing more than jumped-up thugs with a bit of organisation. They were great at killing their own. They were even better at taking out civilians who had nothing to do with us or them. The easy target, that’s what they were best at. Even the top boys couldn’t have gone after McGinty, let alone those two bottom feeders.
“But somehow it turns out Francie Delaney struck a deal with them. Francie Delaney, an even bigger prick than Eddie Coyle, clubs together with two apes from the UFF and hatches a plan to get to McGinty. Funnily enough, the only person Delaney spills his guts to is you. And you beat him to death in the process of finding that out.”
“He sold McGinty to the Loyalists,” Campbell said. “Everyone knows that.”
“Because you said so, and they believed you. You fingered those two boys to complete the picture, didn’t you? You set it up for me to do them to cover your own tracks. What were you up to? Why did you need to get rid of Delaney?”
“They were going to get McGinty,” Campbell said. “You and me, we saved him.”
“Bullshit,” Fegan said. “You remember. They weren’t killers. Not like you and me. They died like women, crying and begging.”
“Shut your fucking mouth,” Campbell said.
“What, you hear them too?”
“Shut up.”
“When you close your eyes at night, do they scream?”
Fegan felt something vibrate against his chest and heard a high chiming sound. The phone in his pocket. Only one person knew the number. His eyes flicked downward.
Mistake.
Campbell had his wrist, pushing it away and upward. Reflexively, Fegan squeezed the trigger and plaster dust sprinkled down from the ceiling and into his eyes. He was pushed backwards and his head cracked on the tiles over the bath. As spots and dust danced in his eyes he felt himself slide into the tub. He concentrated all his strength on his right hand, the hand Campbell was grappling with, trying to claim the gun. Fegan’s feet hung over the edge of the bath and he kicked out, feeling his foot connect with Campbell’s groin. He heard the other man grunt, his grip weakening for just a moment and Fegan forced his hand down, pushing against Campbell until the Walther was between them.
The pistol’s angry shout boomed against the tiles, and Campbell fell backwards, his face twisted in pain, a scorched strip torn from the side of his shirt. The mirror dropped in pieces from the wall behind him. Fegan strained to drag himself from the bathtub while a hundred knives in his stomach fought to keep him there. He fired at the blurred shape of Campbell making a crouching sprint for the door. The bullet split the wooden frame.
Fegan spilled over the lip of the bath and onto the floor, crying out as pain roiled in his abdomen. He heard Campbell’s quick, light footsteps on the stairs. Fegan used the washbasin to pull himself up as he heard his front door wrenched open. Feet pounded along the street outside as he lurched down the stairs.
Sunlight burned Fegan’s already stinging eyes when he got outside. Through the glare he saw Campbell running to the row of parked cars. He aimed and fired, putting a spidery hole in a windscreen. He squeezed the trigger again and a wing mirror splintered, leaving plastic shards and wires dangling. Campbell reached his car, his hand clasped to his ribs. Fegan fired once more and Campbell fell against the hood. A dark circle spread on the back of his thigh. He pulled the door open and was inside the old Ford Focus before Fegan could aim again.
Fegan began to run, but the churning inside weighed him down. The car’s engine came alive and Campbell pulled away from the curb in reverse, clipping another parked car. The Focus rocked on its suspension as it swung in a tight circle to face the other way, and its engine squealed along with its tires. Fegan fired one last time, putting
