Branches clanged and scraped along the side of the van as Campbell mounted the verge to let the oncoming cars pass. Old four-by-fours, muddied and dented. Farmers’ cars, some towing trailers just the size for a large dog. Some of the men swigged from bottles as they drove. Some of them raised their forefingers from their steering wheels as they passed. The old country greeting, the one that said:
Campbell returned the gesture and drove on. The barn rose up at the top of the slope, light pouring from its innards. The child stirred in her mother’s arms.
“How do you live with yourself?” Marie McKenna asked.
“Shut up,” Eddie Coyle said.
“How can you bring us here? How can you do this to women and children and call yourselves men?”
“Be quiet,” Campbell said. “There’s worse people than us. You’re about to meet one of them.”
“I’m not afraid of you.”
“Yes, you are.”
“You tell yourself that. Make yourself feel like a big man. I won’t—”
Campbell stood on the brake, pitching Marie forward. She jarred her forearm against the dashboard as she shielded her child. The girl squealed. Campbell reached out and grabbed a handful of Marie’s hair.
“Listen, I’ve had enough, right? I’ve had enough of this shit. I want it over. It’ll be over quick enough for you and your kid if you don’t be quiet. Now, keep your mouth shut.”
Coyle reached across and gripped Campbell’s wrist. “Go easy, Davy.”
Campbell looked hard at Coyle. Coyle dropped his eyes and released Campbell’s wrist. Tears ran down Marie’s cheeks as the little girl buried her face in her mother’s bosom.
“Just be quiet,” Campbell said. He let Marie’s hair slip through his fingers. “You can get through this if you’re quiet and do what you’re told.”
Her eyes reflected the headlights of one last oncoming car. She speared him with them and he hated her. His own eyes grew hot as he stared back. No, he didn’t hate her, he didn’t even know her. But hate was in his heart. Who for?
When the answer came, as hard and sure as any single thing he’d ever known, he could hold her gaze no longer. He looked straight ahead, put the van in gear, and began climbing the hill again.
The ground levelled onto a farmyard. The barn and house faced each other across potholed concrete, and a row of stables joined the two. Empty wire cages completed the square. Layered odors drifted on the night air; the low smell of dog feces coupled with the higher, acrid sting of chemicals. The copper stink of blood and fear mingled with both at the back of Campbell’s throat.
Six men gathered in the shelter of the empty barn’s doorway. McGinty was there, and his driver, Declan Quigley. Two more Campbell didn’t know, but the two tall, stout ones - they could be no one else but Bull O’Kane and his son. Campbell’s heart fluttered in his chest at the sight of O’Kane’s bulk. Marie had become still and quiet. He wondered if she knew who stood in front of the van, shielding his eyes from the headlights. The engine rattled and shook as it died. Campbell opened the door and climbed down.
The group of men stepped out into the stuttering rain, O’Kane at the fore. “You’re Davy Campbell?” he asked.
“That’s right.”
O’Kane stepped forward and extended his hand. “I’ve heard about you.”
The fingers were coarse and thick. Campbell fought to keep from wincing at the old man’s grip.
“Aye,” O’Kane said, with a slanted smile. “I know all about you.”
Campbell’s stomach twitched. “It’s good to meet you, Mr. O’Kane.”
“Call me Bull. Now, how’s our guests?” He released Campbell’s hand and walked to the van’s passenger side where Coyle waited. O’Kane ignored him and reached into the cabin. “C’mon out, love. You’re all right.”
Marie slid along the seat, the girl in her arms, and stepped down to the ground. She didn’t pull away when O’Kane took her elbow. McGinty stepped forward and Campbell saw his and Marie’s gazes meet, something cold passing between them.
O’Kane slipped his hands under the child’s arms. “And who are you?”
Marie didn’t let go of her daughter. “Don’t.”
“What’s your name?”
The girl held on to her mother’s sweater, but O’Kane pulled her free.
“Her name’s Ellen.” Marie’s voice cracked as she spoke.
“You’re a pretty wee girl, aren’t you?” O’Kane took Ellen in his arms and pinched her cheek. She reached for her mother, but O’Kane stepped away.
“Do you like doggies?”
Ellen rubbed her eyes and pouted.
O’Kane walked towards the stables, holding her close. “Do you? Do you like doggies?”
Ellen nodded. Scraping and whining came from the stables. Campbell’s mouth dried.
“Wait till you see this nice doggie.” O’Kane unbolted the upper half of a stable door and let it swing open. A low whine came from inside.
