“Mm, well,” he said. “At one time, I had to be.”
We started walking. Staying put was foolish, as was going back to the pub. We had to assume that the boys had managed all right on their own so we headed downhill, back towards the hotel. I jammed my hands into my pockets.
The light was starting to go now, dusk softening the edges of the trees on the far side of the Narrows. The tide was running in fiercely, funnelling the water through the restricted gap into the Lough. The regatta of little boats clustered near the shoreline had all swung on their moorings to face into it.
“So who on earth rang this Davey bloke and told him to duff one of us up?” I wondered.
“That is an interesting one, isn’t it?” Sean said. “Our friend Eamonn has a fair amount of rental property and would undoubtedly know a few bailiffs.”
“But he’s living with Isobel. Why would he want to beat up her son?”
“Who says Jamie was the target? They could have been indulging in a bit of queer bashing and got the wrong man. After all, our boys didn’t make it easy for them to spot him.”
For a few moments we walked in silence. Then a sudden thought occurred to me. “If it was Eamonn, how did he – or those lads in the pub – know about Daz coming out? Now, apart from telling you on the ferry, he only made that one public this morning. So is this a new threat, or a continuation of the old one?”
“Good point.” Sean nodded. “Though without knowing what the hell it is they’re up to,” he said, “it’s hard to know
***
When we got back close to the hotel we found the rest of the Devil’s Bridge Club sitting on a bench on the edge of the harbour, licking their wounds.
They looked pretty sorry for themselves, even though the group who’d set about us
We might have come to Jamie’s rescue but he’d still taken a pasting. He was sitting with his arms wrapped gingerly around his body as though his ribcage would spring open if he let go of it. Tess was next to him, her arm across his shoulders. Daz sat a little apart from the others with his head tilted back and a wad of tissue pressed against a bleeding eyebrow.
“Well, well, where the fuck did you two piss off to?” Paxo demanded, flicking his cigarette butt over the harbour wall into the water.
“Finding out who that lot were who attacked us, and why,” I said.
“And did you?”
“The kiddie you picked a fight with was a bailiff called Davey,” Sean said to Daz. “It seems he had a phone call telling him all about you and instructing him to make sure somebody wasn’t in a fit state to get on their bike tomorrow.” He let his eyes pan over their shocked faces, then added, “Any ideas why that might be?”
Of all of them, Tess looked the most shaken but perhaps I was just being unkind to her. Even living with Slick she probably hadn’t been witness to too many skirmishes close up.
“Who would call this bloke and tell him to go after us?” she said, swallowing to firm up her voice. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Somebody did,” Sean said, eyeing her. “Someone who knew about Daz. You tell me.”
She threw her hands up in frustration and anger. “We were all there when he admitted what he was!” she snapped. “Grow up, Sean – it wasn’t me.”
“He never said it was,” I said blandly. “Guilty conscience, Tess?”
“So did everybody in this fucking place know about you before you told your mates, then?” Paxo wanted to know. “Laughing behind our backs, were you?”
Daz rolled his uncovered eye in Paxo’s direction but before he could answer I noticed a police car appear at the far end of the harbour and start to cruise slowly in our direction.
“I would suggest we continue this conversation inside,” I murmured. “Seems a waste to pay for a hotel bed and then spend the night in the local nick, doesn’t it?”
Once you had a room key you could enter and leave the hotel by a side door that opened out into a stairwell leading directly to the rooms on the upper floors. At least it meant we didn’t have any explaining to do to whoever was on the reception desk. Paxo was limping slightly on his right leg as we walked in and Daz’s eye was still bleeding.
“You ought to get that sorted out,” Sean said to him.
Daz’s eyes flicked in the direction of his mates for a moment, then back again. “Yeah, well, it’ll be fine.”
“I’ve got my first-aid kit upstairs if you want some help?” I offered.
He hesitated for a second, then nodded, looking grateful.
“OK,” he said then. “Thanks.”
We took Daz to the room Sean and I were sharing. It had been recently renovated by the looks of it, with striped wallpaper and antique pine furniture, and there was still a faint smell of new paint. Daz eyed the double bed but sat down on one of the armchairs by the window while I fished my kit out of my tank bag. Sean filled the small kettle on the side table and started putting together coffee from the little packets provided.
Daz threw the sodden tissue into the waste paper basket and folded up a fresh piece. He watched me unpacking disinfectant and Steri-strips and his lips twisted.
“You not going to put gloves on before you deal with me?” he wanted to know, his tone taunting. “The others seem to have developed a sudden strange reluctance to get my blood on them.”
