Malone sipped at his coffee and nodded at the phone.
“Beats playing Relevio on the radio,” he said. Minogue shifted in his seat.
“Okay,” he said. “We have a crew waiting behind the ESB place.”
He had moved the Citroen around the block into the shade of the Bank of Ireland.
“Ryan has the office out in Howth. Weddings, school pictures, etcetera. I wonder if he does the smut himself or is he just a middleman.”
Malone cleared his throat and spat halfway out into the street. Caught between admiration and revulsion, Minogue looked away. Boxing habit, he wondered.
“Hope to God he doesn’t check up on Balfe and the other head banger,” said Malone. He checked his watch. “Uch. I’d better go out and try this stunt.”
Minogue tapped him on the arm as he yanked the door handle.
“Are you okay, Tommy? Even the slightest inkling he might turn Turk…”
“What’s he going to do to me? I’m a big boy now.”
“He might go haywire if you have to lay the card on him.”
“Like hell he will,” said Malone. “I’ve got his fit. Mr. Semi-detached. Fuckin-excuse me, sorry. Bloody hair-do on him. Bet you he was never in a barney in his life.”
“I’ll be on the street with the car.”
Malone moved off down the path. Minogue pulled away from the curb. He coasted by the parked cars and pulled in within sight of the pub. No sign of the white Celica. He turned off the engine. Five minutes passed. His mind began to wander again. Weddings, Iseult. He let his head back on the headrest. There was a warren of streets here, lanes plenty wide for a car. He rubbed his eyes. The canal was behind those buildings there. He stopped rubbing and looked down at the sweaty pads on his fingertips.
The white car coming down the street had dark windows. Minogue stayed still and watched the Celica. Ryan stepped out of the passenger side and stood stooped in the open door talking to the driver. Then he slammed the door and strode empty-handed into the pub. Minogue saw the driver indistinctly behind a half-opened window: a man, sunglasses. The Celica drove off but came to an abrupt halt and was reversed into the curb. The driver got out and looked up and down the street. Mid-twenties, chunky and sunburned, liked his clothes. Film director gold- rimmed sunglasses. He strolled to the footpath, put a foot against the wall behind him and lit a cigarette.
He eased away from the wall and began pacing slowly up and down the footpath. Occasionally he kicked at things he found in his study of the path. The head came up and the sunglasses swivelled with the head as he looked up the street. Minogue shoved his head back into the headrest, closed his eyes and let his jaw sag. He counted to six and allowed the eyelashes to part a little. The sunglasses were still facing his way. Bugger, he thought: sussed. He couldn’t look away. Sunglasses took out keys and opened the driver’s side. Minogue reached for the phone and glanced down to locate the memory button for Mobile Dispatch. He’d asked for the squad car to stay off the street. Sunglasses was winding up the window. He stepped back, slammed the door and set the alarm on the car. Minogue dithered and dumped the call. Sunglasses had sauntered into the pub. Minogue would go in after him himself.
He eased the Citroen out onto the road, reversed and parked it across the front of the Celica. He walked around the back and stuck his face against the glass of the Celica’s hatchback. He shifted around and cupped his hands better against the reflections. He even tried standing back. All he could make out was his own disgruntled frown.
The pub was air-conditioned. He let the door swing shut behind him and tried to adjust his eyes. A barman wearing a dress shirt nodded at him. Minogue moved through the pub, trying to remember if there were other doors out. There was a dozen or so customers but no Malone. He rounded a partition wall and saw Ryan walking away from the bar. Behind him he saw the driver, his glasses dangling in one hand. His other hand, fingers spread, was almost touching Malone’s chest. Malone’s eyes went from Minogue to the driver and back. He took a step but the driver blocked him. Ryan slowed and his eyes searched Minogue’s face. Malone said something to the driver. Minogue saw the splayed hand push at Malone’s chest, the sunglasses being flicked away from the other.
Ryan’s mouth was open now. Minogue had his card up.
“Ryan,” he said. “Hold your horses there, pal-”
The driver’s hand flashed up but Malone was ready. His head darted across and down to one side and came up again. The sound of a grunt and breaking glass caused Ryan to look back. The driver’s legs were up and rolling across a low table.
“You’re under arrest!” Malone called out. “I’m a Guard!”
The driver wriggled off the table. Malone kicked him under the ribs as he came up. Ryan’s eyes bulged. Minogue pointed at a seat. Ryan said something but Minogue didn’t hear him.
“Fucking stay there this time,” he heard Malone say.
FOURTEEN
Warrant for what?”Minogue asked. Ryan looked over at the squad car. The Guard standing by the open door, a red-haired recruit with pimples and a mobile jaw, looked to Minogue for guidance. Ryan’s sidekick-and Minogue recalled the tremendous kick that Malone had given him-sat next to another Guard in the back seat.
“It’s my car,” said Ryan.
“Of course, it’s your car, Mr. Ryan. That’s why I’m going to examine it.”
“I haven’t done anything. Charge me.”
“All right,” said Malone. “Assaulting a police officer in the course of his duties.”
“I didn’t touch him! Matter of fact it was him did the-”
“Resisting arrest,” said Minogue.
“Obstruction of a Garda off-” Malone added.
“Oh, come on,” Ryan gasped. “You must be fucking joking!”
“Swearing,” Minogue went on.
“What?”
“Breach of the peace,” said Malone.
“I’m going to fucking phone a solicitor!”
“More cursing and swearing.”
“It’s my right to call one!”
“Fire away-but don’t use that car phone. We have to impound it too.”
“I’ll go to another phone then.”
“Phone from the station,” said Minogue. “But only after we have full confidence that the call you make won’t allow related criminal and indictable acts to be concealed or engaged in.”
Ryan began to say something but stopped himself. Minogue studied the patterned shirt. Fifty quid, he guessed.
“You can’t do this,” Ryan said. “It’s entrapment!”
The Guard holding the door of the squad car shifted his feet.
“Let us into the car, Mr. Ryan,” said Minogue. “The stuff you brought.”
Ryan looked at the Garda by the open door, sighed and held his hand out. Minogue handed him the keys he had taken from the heavy. He nodded at the Garda. “Go ahead there. Hold him on assaulting a Garda in the course of. We’ll be in touch by tea-time.”
The alarm beeped once and the door locks popped up.
“Get in the back there,” said Malone, “and start handing us the goods.”
The interior smelled of a soapy aftershave. Minogue took in the leather seats, the sound system, the phone from Star Trek. He sat behind the wheel. There were tapes of rock groups he’d never heard of.
“Nice,” said Malone. He took a folder from Ryan. “How’d you pay for it?”
Ryan folded his arms and looked out the window.
Minogue began leafing through a photo album. He wondered but didn’t much care about whether Ryan or Malone would notice his reactions. He realized that he was holding his breath and he made the effort to breathe normally.
