“I’m not a fucking shopping centre, pal.”
“Well, all I want is to get an idea of what stuff I can get.”
“You want rough trade. What else?”
“Christ, I don’t know.”
“You’re new, are you?” He swilled the beer around in his glass.
“Well, I like the outdoors and stuff,” said Malone.
“The outdoors.‘ Motorbikes? Farm shit? Girl-girl? Black and yellow? I don’t care what you’re into. Just make up your mind.”
The anger rose up in Malone’s chest.
“Well, I like them to look like, you know. Girls you’d meet. Next-door types, I suppose.”
“Ugly, you mean.”
“Well, I mean… I just broke up with someone. She wouldn’t, you know. Turned her off and stuff, like? If I could find ones that remind me or, well, look a bit like her.”
He stopped. The blond-haired guy was eying him again.
“So you’re going for a resemblance or something, is it?”
Malone let go of his glass.
“You looking to leave through that fucking window, pal, just keep talking like that. All I fucking said was-”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Relax. So you’re not the expert. Okay, okay.”
Malone settled back in his stool. Blondie finished his glass and slid off his stool.
“So how is Painless anyway?” he said.
“Same as ever. You know yourself.”
Blondie gave a half-hearted grin and dipped his chin to release a gassy belch.
“Come on then.”
Malone gulped more lager and followed him.
Minogue followed the two men’s progress with one eye open until they turned the corner. Then he started up the Citroen, reached for the phone and let it rest in his lap. A bus let him out. He made the turn down toward Mount Street and cruised by on the far side of the street. The blond-haired fella didn’t seem to be bothered. He moved quickly. Malone kept up with him. Minogue placed them in the side mirror as he passed. Minogue stopped at the end of the block and took a torn manila envelope from the back seat. With the phone in his pocket, he stepped out onto the curb and began looking up at the office windows and down at the envelope.
Blondie stopped by a Celica and squeezed a remote. The sidelights flashed on the car and Minogue saw him nod Malone over to the passenger side. Minogue put on his best pissed-off look and got back in the Citroen. He dithered with the phone. Was the blond guy going to take off or do the business there and then? He adjusted the mirror and deciphered the registration plate. He clicked the call button and stared at the Celica while he waited. It looked as if the sky had been pasted on the windscreen. Damned tinted glass or something: he couldn’t even see an outline through it..
“Ah, Eilis, a stor. Key in this car number, will you. I’m in a wicked hurry.”
“Fire away then, can’t you.”
He stared at the Celica, willing it not to move. Maybe this Ryan gazebo had a mobile office full of smut. How was Malone playing it? Eilis’s voice sounded from his lap.
“Yes, sorry, Eilis. I’m just staking something out here.”
“Like the real police do? That’s nice. Here it is.”
He scribbled on the envelope.
“And it’s straight?”
“Yes, indeed, your honour. All paid up and properly belonging to same.”
“I’ll get back to you. Thanks.”
The Celica hadn’t budged. Dermot Ryan, Howth. No record. He looked back down at the address. The Moorings was swanky, wasn’t it? Way to hell out in Howth. Malone was out of the car. He walked slowly along the footpath back toward Baggot Street. The Celica pulled out abruptly and was driven hard in the opposite direction. Minogue drove after Malone, passed him and turned on to Baggot Street where he pulled in. Malone took his time crossing the street.
“Enjoy yourself?”
“Not much,” said Malone. “He showed me a few magazines. German or Danish or something, asked if I wanted to get some.”
“Can we can him, Tommy?”
Malone breathed out heavily, making a whistling sound against his teeth.
“He was vetting me. He says he’ll be back here in an hour. Same pub.”
“Careful, so he is.”
“Yeah,” said Malone. “He has his little car phone and all. Not the grubby little bollicks in a raincoat you’d expect.”
“Dermot Ryan, Howth. He’s not the only fella in Dublin with a phone in his car.”
A double decker bus slid by within six inches of Minogue’s mirror and let off its passengers.
“Get this,” said Malone. “He wanted references, if you don’t mind. I fed him Balfe and Lenehan. He knew their idea of fun too.”
Malone’s head swivelled around and he looked into the Inspector’s eyes.
“Rough stuff with girls.”
Minogue noted the clouded look in Malone’s eyes.
“Well, now,” he murmured. “Isn’t that the curious piece of information to be sure.”
“Maybe I should have put the heavy hand on him in the car,” Malone said. “Then tossed the gaff out in Howth, see what turned up.”
Minogue leaned heavier into the armrest and looked about the street.
“We’ll see. Don’t be worrying.”
The policemen fell silent for several moments.
“Let me ask you something, Tommy. Patricia Fahy?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you think she’s good looking?”
Malone looked over his shoulder at the Inspector.
“Why?”
“I’m not asking if you want to marry her. Do you think she’s good looking?”
“I suppose.”
Malone frowned.
“You put her in the game too?” he asked.
“What if?”
Malone stretched.
“It could explain why she’s clammed up, I suppose.”
Malone began stroking his chin harder. “Who paid the rent, like.”
Minogue nodded. Malone stopped rubbing his chin.
“What do you want to do?”
“About fifty things,” said Minogue. A fireball had been trapped where the small of his back met the seat. “All at the same time. Number one is to keep this going with Ryan.”
“If he shows up here, he’s moved from just having it to selling it, right?”
Minogue paused before answering.
“That’s right. See what he can give you here on the spot. Or in the car. Then he’s ours if we want him.”
“And if I think he’s holding out?”
“Well, then, in my judgment, Garda Malone, Mr. Ryan is asking for it.”
“Curse-of-god device,” Minogue grumbled. “You get so’s you actually depend on the thing.”
