for your handler and I might make it even easier. I can’t be fairer than that.”
Campbell looked up from the floor. “I don’t know what you’re—” O’Kane drove his boot into Campbell’s ribcage with a solid thud. The Scot writhed in tortured spasms, his mouth wide in a soundless scream. Silent tears sprang from his eyes, giving O’Kane a sweet satisfaction. It took something to make a hard man cry, but he’d never found it difficult.
He looked at Coyle. “You want a go?”
“Too fucking right.” Coyle stepped forward, his battered face twisted in a pained sneer.
O’Kane moved back. “Work away, but stop when I tell you, right?”
Coyle reached down and grabbed a handful of hair. He pulled Campbell’s head upwards. “I’m going to enjoy this, you cunt.”
Campbell got his knees under him. “Fuck you,” he hissed.
Coyle swung his foot into Campbell’s crotch. The Scot gave a low groan and started to slip towards the floor, but Coyle held his hair firm. “Fuck me?” Coyle’s laugh was raw and savage. He leaned over and spoke into Campbell’s ear. “Fuck me? It looks like you’re the one getting fucked, Davy.”
Coyle drew his right arm back, made a fist, and punched Campbell’s jaw. The hard smacking sound made McGinty wince. O’Kane had to suppress a laugh when he saw Coyle grimace at the pain in his knuckles.
Campbell went limp, but still Coyle held him by his hair, keeping him from collapsing to the floor. He slapped the Scot hard across the cheek. “Come on, you fucker. Look at me.”
A small whisper came from Campbell’s lips. Unease pricked at O’Kane’s gut, but he held his tongue.
Coyle slapped him again. “What?”
Campbell lifted his eyes. His mouth moved as he mumbled softly.
Coyle leaned down, his ear close to Campbell’s mouth. “What?”
“Stupid bastard,” O’Kane said as Campbell’s teeth locked on Coyle’s ear. He sighed and shook his head at the scream. “All right, that’s enough, for Christ’s sake.”
Another kick to Campbell’s injured rib took the fight out of him and he sprawled on the floor, twisting his arms and legs, blood dribbling from his mouth. Coyle’s blood. Coyle fell to the floor beside him, crying and pressing his hands to his ear.
“Holy Mother of Christ,” O’Kane said to McGinty, ‘where’d you get this stupid shite? He’s as much use as tits on a boar.”
McGinty just shook his head as he ground his cigarette butt into the windowsill.
“Here.” O’Kane took a handkerchief from his pocket and tossed it to the floor. “It’s clean. Hold it against your ear. Padraig, help the silly cunt up, will you?”
“Right, Da.” Padraig heaved himself out of the couch and huffed over to Coyle. He picked up the handkerchief, wadded it into a ball, and held it to Coyle’s ear. “Come on, now. You’re all right.”
Coyle struggled to his feet and went to kick Campbell’s exposed cheek. Padraig held him back.
“I want to do him.” Coyle’s voice was choked by tears. “When you’re finished, you let me do him.”
“Get him out of here,” O’Kane said. “There’s bandages and stuff for the dogs over in the barn. There’s a bottle of chloroform in there, too. Bring it and some cotton wool over, there’s a good lad.”
“Right, Da.” Padraig led the weeping Coyle out of the room, into the kitchen. The sound of barking drifted in as the outer door opened to the night, and then disappeared as it closed again.
O’Kane stood over Campbell’s wretched form. “You know the score, Davy. You know there’s no getting out of this. You’re going to die tonight.”
He looked at his watch as he crouched down, his knees creaking. “Well, morning, actually. You’re going to die, and that’s all there is to it. The only thing you’ve got to worry about is how much you suffer. Can you hear me, Davy?”
He stroked Campbell’s sweat- and rain-soaked hair.
“Answer me, Davy.”
Campbell’s voice was a hoarse whisper. “I don’t know what you want.”
“The truth, that’s all.”
The Scot turned his head, a bloodshot eye fixing on O’Kane. “But I don’t know what you think I’ve done. Please tell me.”
O’Kane sighed. “You’re a tout, Davy.”
“No.”
“Don’t lie to me, there’s no point. It’s not a question; I know it for a fact. You’ve been sold out by the same cunts you’ve worked for all these years.”
Campbell pressed his forehead into the floor.
“I’ve got it straight from the NIO. A stuck-up gobshite, talks like he’s the fucking Queen’s second cousin. He says him and you sat in a car in Armagh just a few days ago, talking about what our friend Gerry Fegan was up to.”
Campbell made fists with his hands.
“He says you’ve been working for Fourteen Intelligence Company since the Nineties. He says you’re the best they’ve got. But you’re not that good, are you, Davy?”
