‘No,’ Fegan said. ‘That’s not my name.’
‘Gerry, what’s he talking about?’
‘I’m not Gerry,’ Fegan said. ‘I’m Paddy. Paddy Feeney.’
‘Wi, li Paddy Feeney,’ Pye said. He pointed at Fegan. ‘Paddy Feeney, li fuck you up.’
Murphy wrung his hands. ‘Gerry, Paddy, whatever the fuck your name is, I don’t give a shit, just please tell me what the fuck he’s saying to me. What does he want?’
‘I’m not sure,’ Fegan said. ‘Pye, what are you saying to him?’
‘Lajan!’ Pye shouted. ‘Doyles want they lajan.’
‘What’s ‘lajan’?’ Fegan asked.
‘Lajan!’ Pye opened his arms wide. ‘Dollar, motherfucker. Dime, quarter, buy stuff, you understand?’
‘Money?’ Fegan asked.
Wi, money!’ Pye grabbed his own hair in exasperation. ‘Lajan, money. What the fuck I say?’
‘Money?’ Murphy asked. ‘What money?’
‘I don’t know,’ Fegan said. ‘What money, Pye?’
‘Doyles’money,’ Pye said. He started to pace. ‘You say jewels worth sa much. You buy jewels off Doyles, wi? But you know jewels worth
‘What?’ Murphy said.
Fegan leaned down to Murphy. ‘I think I know what he’s getting at. Did you buy some jewellery off the Doyles?’
‘Yeah,’ Murphy said. ‘They had some stuff to move. They always have stuff to move. I don’t ask where it comes from, I just find a buyer for it. So what?’
‘I think Pye reckons you told the Doyles it was worth less than it was,’ Fegan said. ‘And then you sold it to someone else for what it was really worth, and you kept the difference. Does that sound right?’
Murphy nodded first, then shook his head. ‘Yeah, no, that wasn’t it. That wasn’t it at all. The market, you know, what you call it … fluctuates.’ He turned back to Pye. ‘The market fluctuates. I paid the Doyles market price, right? When I sold the stuff on, the market was in my favour, that’s all.’
‘Doyles want they lajan, they money,’ Pye said. He took a knife from his pocket, a big hunter’s piece with a serrated blade. ‘This knife mwen. Money. Now, motherfucker.’
Murphy turned back to Fegan. ‘Gerry, tell him—’
‘I’m not Gerry,’ Fegan said.
‘Whatever the fuck your name is, tell him I paid the Doyles a fair price, and I made a fair profit.’
‘I don’t think he’ll listen to me,’ Fegan said.
‘I haven’t got the money,’ Murphy said. He lowered his voice and stretched up to Fegan. ‘You know how much the rent is on this place? It’s only Jersey, I know, but Christ they charge for it, Gerry. I’m one week away from being put out on the street.’
‘That’s not my name,’ Fegan said. He looked up at Pye. ‘He says he doesn’t have it.’
Pye raised his eyebrows. ‘Non? Okay.’
‘Okay?’ Fegan asked.
‘Okay?’ Murphy asked.
‘Wi, okay,’ Pye said. He took two steps forward and stuck the blade in Murphy’s upper arm.
Murphy screamed.
Fegan stepped back.
‘Lajan, blood, no different,’ Pye said. He pulled the blade from Murphy’s arm and stabbed him in the thigh.
Murphy screamed.
Fegan said, ‘Jesus, Pye.’
Pye stood back and said, ‘What? Li no got money, li get knife. No different. Doyles happy.’
Murphy wept. ‘Listen to me, Pye, I got no money. Fuck, I’m bleeding. It hurts. Jesus, I need a doctor.’
‘Get lajan, mwen get doctor, wi?’
‘I got no money,’ Murphy said. He pressed one hand against his thigh and the other on his upper arm. ‘Jesus, look at the blood.’
Pye stabbed Murphy’s other thigh. ‘No lajan, no doctor.’
Murphy screamed again. ‘Pye, you bastard! Fuck!’
Pye leaned close, his hands on his knees. ‘Mwen say last time. No money, no doctor. Konprann? Understand, motherfucker?’
‘Oh God,’ Murphy said. Sweat mixed with tears on his cheek. ‘I got a couple hundred downstairs in the safe. Take any stock you want. Whatever you can carry, all right? Take it all. Just don’t cut me no more. Please.’
‘That not enough, Murphy.’
‘Please, Pye, I don’t got it. Please, no more.’
‘Fuck,’ Pye said. He grabbed Murphy’s hair, forced his head back to expose the throat. He drew back the knife, ready to open Murphy’s jugular.
Murphy said, ‘Please don’t.’
Pye put his shoulder behind the blade.
Fegan leaned across the back of the chair and grabbed Pye’s wrist. ‘Don’t,’ he said.
Pye stared at Fegan. ‘What you do, Gerry?’
‘Don’t,’ Fegan said.
Pye tried to pull his wrist free, but Fegan held firm. Murphy shrunk away from the blade. Pye tried to prise Fegan’s fingers from his wrist. ‘Let go,’ he said.
‘No,’ Fegan said. He pushed down and to the side, taking Pye’s balance.
Murphy slid to the floor and crawled away, blood trailing behind him. He craned his neck to watch Pye and Fegan struggle.
Pye grabbed Fegan’s throat with his free hand, the chair still between them. Fegan kneed the back of it, taking Pye’s feet from under him. The Haitian fell forward and lost his grip on Fegan’s throat. Fegan smashed his forearm across Pye’s jaw. Pye’s head rocked to the side, and he blinked. Fegan shifted his weight, taking Pye’s body with him, and the Haitian slumped to the floor, his eyes blank. Fegan took the knife from his fingers.
‘Stick him, Gerry,’ Murphy hissed. ‘Fucking stick him.’
Fegan looked up from the blade.
Murphy lay in his own blood, hate and fear on his face as it dripped out of him. ‘Go on, stick that motherfucker.’
‘No,’ Fegan said.
Pye moaned and blinked. His eyes focused on Fegan and the knife. He gasped and scrambled backwards.
‘Get out of here,’ Fegan said. ‘Tell the Doyles I won’t do their dirty work.’
‘They kill you, Gerry.’ Pye wiped blood from his lip.
‘Maybe,’ Fegan said. ‘Go on, get out.’
Pye got to his feet. He opened and closed his mouth, worked his jaw from side to side. ‘For him?’ he asked, looking at Murphy. He shook his head. ‘Doyles right. You a crazy motherfucker.’
‘Go,’ Fegan said.
Pye walked towards the door. He paused at Murphy’s side. ‘Soon,’ he said.
Murphy crawled away from him.
Pye turned in the doorway. ‘See you round, Gerry.’
Fegan stayed silent and watched him leave. In the quiet, he became aware of Murphy’s ragged breathing.
‘Thank you, Gerry,’ Murphy said as he struggled towards the telephone.
‘That’s not my name,’ Fegan said. He crossed to the telephone, lifted it, and placed it on the floor by Murphy’s bloodstained hand. ‘Call an ambulance,’ he said.
He left Murphy alone and bleeding.
