, Fegan told himself,
. . .
He pulled the handle the moment he heard Toner open the driver’s door and slipped quietly onto the back seat as the solicitor lowered himself in. Fegan waited for Toner to pull the driver’s door closed. When it thudded home, Fegan pulled his own door shut.
“Fucking Christ!” Toner twisted in the seat, his mouth open wide, his eyes gaping first at Fegan’s face, and then at the pistol in his hand.
“Hello, Patsy,” Fegan said.
He made Toner drive first east, then north. Horns blared on the Westlink as a rusted red van bullied its way through traffic ahead of them. The congestion eased as they climbed towards the M2’s long sweeps. Fegan risked one glance across the river to the Odyssey complex, its lights coming to life for a busy Saturday night. Less than a week ago he had pulled the trigger and settled Michael McKenna’s debt. He realised it had been no more than a hundred yards from this stretch of road.
“Hurry up,” he said to Toner.
Twenty minutes took them to an industrial estate north-west of the city. As the sky darkened, Fegan instructed Toner to park up between the low buildings, out of sight of the rumbling motorway. He had been here before, nine years ago, when the two UFF boys died badly. Now those same UFF boys paced in the drizzle, hate and pain on their faces, touching themselves in the places where Fegan had opened them. He couldn’t return their stares.
The estate lay derelict now, just rows of concrete and steel skeletons on waste ground, waiting to be demolished and replaced by a housing development. They looked like giant mourners at a graveside.
“Give me the keys,” Fegan said.
Toner passed them back, his eyes flitting towards Fegan and away again. “What do you want, Gerry? You’re scaring the shite out of me.”
Fegan slipped the keys into his pocket. “Who’s the cop?”
Toner blinked. “What cop?”
“The one you have inside. You told me about him the day I got lifted. The one who beat the shit out of me.”
Toner held his hands up. “I don’t know, Gerry. Just some peeler. I’ve never met him.”
“You’re lying. Davy Campbell told me he was your contact.”
“No, that’s not true. I swear to God, Gerry, I don’t know who he is.”
“Give me your hand.”
Toner slowly shook his head. “No.”
Fegan raised the pistol with his right hand, steady now, and extended his left.
“No,” Toner said.
Fegan pressed the Walther against Toner’s temple. The solicitor screwed his eyes shut and held out his left hand.
“I’ll ask you one more time,” Fegan said as he gripped Toner’s little finger. “Who’s the cop?”
“Aw, Christ, Gerry. Please, I don’t know anything. I just run errands for McGinty when he needs me. I take his cases for him, that’s all. I don’t go near any of that other stuff.”
Fegan placed the Walther on the seat beside him, well out of Toner’s reach, and took the lawyer’s wrist in his right hand. With his left, he twisted the finger back and up, first feeling the stiff elasticity of the joint, next the jolt of it giving way, then the looseness of the broken bone.
Toner screamed.
“You could’ve just told me, Patsy. That didn’t have to happen.”
“Ah, fuck!” Toner tried to pull his hand back, but Fegan squeezed and the solicitor screamed again.
Heat gathered around the break, the puffy swelling already filling Fegan’s hand. He felt it pulse through the thin membrane of the surgical gloves. “Who’s the cop?” he asked.
“Please, Gerry, oh God, please.” Tears rolled down Toner’s flushed cheeks. “I can’t tell you. McGinty. Oh Christ, he’ll kill me. Please, Gerry, don’t.”
Fegan gripped Toner’s ring finger. “Who’s the cop?”
“Gerry, please, I can’t.”
Toner screamed again, drowning out the sound of cracking bone.
Fegan sighed. He was surprised at Toner. He’d always taken him for weak; the solicitor was anything but. He ground the bones together.
“Who’s the cop?” he asked. Toner’s screams drowned out the question, so he asked again, louder. “Who’s the cop?”
“Stop! Jesus, stop!”
Fegan released the fingers and moved his grip to Toner’s wrist. The heat from the solicitor’s hand seemed to fill the car, along with the thick smell of sweat and fresh urine. Nausea came rolling in, but Fegan pushed it back.
