looked up at the window of Aisling’s room — a box-room it should be called.
His legs were still rubbery. He wondered if his fear showed on his face. He wished he had that Swiss Army knife again, the one that had gone missing on him after Christmas. But what use would that be? He wasn’t thinking straight at all.
Cully looked tired and drawn, with dark patches under his eyes. This surprised Fanning, and for a moment he felt some weird sympathy.
Cully rolled down his window.
“You didn’t knock, did you?” Fanning asked. “Right?”
Cully shook his head.
“Let’s go somewhere to talk,” Fanning said. “Brid might be awake. I don’t want her seeing us.”
Cully seemed in no humour to dispute anything.
“Get in,” he murmured. He parked by the shops. He and Fanning waited until a long articulated lorry went by, and the road was empty again.
“Hanging up on people is bad manners,” said Cully.
“I switched it off actually.”
Cully looked up from his hands.
“You know, you’re getting cheekier and cheekier. Talking back? Snappy answer for everything?”
“Just stating a fact, that’s all.”
Neither man said anything for several moments. Fanning did his best to swallow without making any sound.
“So,” he said then. “What are we going to do?”
Cully stopped tapping his fingers on the wheel. “You’re asking me?”
“We should do something.”
“Like…?”
“Work something out.”
“What are you talking about here, ‘work something out’?”
“An agreement, I suppose.”
“Go on.”
“To go our separate ways, I suppose.”
Cully threw back his head and laughed.
“That a script you’re writing? ‘To go our separate ways.’”
“We decide on what to do, and stick to it.”
“Oh, bossy now.”
“You asked me for a suggestion. I’m giving it. Remember, I don’t have any experience in this sort of stuff.”
Cully glanced over, but resumed his slow tapping on the wheel.
“There’s a lot you don’t know,” he said. “I’ll grant you that.”
“Look, you take over then. I’m in no fit mind right now probably.”
“You mean it? I take over?”
“I’m not thinking straight. I’m tired.”
“Oh. You like the ‘up’ part, but you’re not so keen on the afterwards bit.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“That little bit of white powder you took a liking to?”
“I didn’t. And it didn’t work for me, didn’t work much anyway.”
“Tell that to the bloke back there, the one you put the boots to.”
“Me? You mean yourself. It wasn’t me did that.”
“Really. That’s what you’re going to say to them?”
A chill grabbed at Fanning.
“I’m not telling anyone. Didn’t I say that?”
Cully shook his head.
“Well don’t get that idea,” said Fanning quickly. “There’s no way I’d want to tell anyone about that, ever.”
Cully said nothing.
“Ever,” Cully added.
“Never, ever, ever,” Cully murmured.
“Why would I want to do something so stupid as that? Like tell them to throw me in jail or something?”
“They wouldn’t throw you in jail. They’d probably give you a medal.”
Fanning stared at him, but Cully kept his gaze on the empty roadway.
“Or put you on the payroll,” said Cully. “Like Murph.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. No idea.”
“Oh but you’re the ideas man, and you have no idea? You make it up as you go along. You said so yourself.”
“That’s about scripts, and story ideas. It’s not about real life. Come on.”
Cully looked over with the beginnings of a smile. Fanning realized that there was a plaintive tone to what he had said.
“I’m never going to talk to anyone about it. To tell you the truth, I’m appalled-”
“Appalled, are you.”
“Ashamed. Shocked. The things I said, I can’t believe it was me saying them. Racist, even. I can’t believe it.”
“He pulled a knife on you. Did you notice?”
“Of course I damned well noticed. I have a cut here on my leg, here I’ll show it to you.”
“No. Don’t.”
“I wouldn’t tell anyone. Not even my wife.”
“Well I know that.”
“What do you mean? Why did you say that, like that…?”
“Well she told me where to go, didn’t she.”
“You spoke with her?”
“Can’t say as I blame her either, can I.”
“You talked to my wife. When? Tonight, I mean this morning.”
Cully sighed and looked at his watch.
“Half an hour ago.”
“Why did you speak to her?”
“Actually I didn’t speak to her. She did the talking. Yelling, I should say-”
“What did you say to her?”
“…telling me I was the cause of this thing, you showing up all dirty, with that cut and so forth. To stay away from her husband. And so on.”
“What did you tell her?”
“Nowt. Nothing. Nada. Couldn’t get a word in, could I.”
“You had no call to be phoning her, especially that hour.”
“Whoa there,” said Cully and he rubbed at his eyes. “This isn’t Falluja or somewhere. It’s not a crime to talk to a woman, is it?”
“Falluja? What’s that about? It’s four in the morning, I just told you, so why are you phoning my wife at four in the morning?”
“Which question do you want answered first?”
“You can’t do that, it’s not part of our arrangement. Our deal.”
“Oh. We have a deal, do we? An arrangement?”
“You know what I mean. Leave her out of it. We settle this ourselves.”
Cully seemed to consider it. Then he resumed tapping his fingers on the wheel.
“This is important,” he said, “isn’t it.”
