a Kalashnikov assault rifle with a folding stock hung from a nylon sling.
‘Nice,’ said Rose. The file had mentioned the gang’s links to former paramilitaries so the Kalashnikov wasn’t a surprise. ‘So, if the shit does hit the proverbial, it’s going to get very noisy and very messy. I’m just here to sell the gear and get back over the water. It’s good stuff, and it’s pure as the driven, so you’re getting a hell of a good deal.’
‘Youse could be the cops,’ said the boxer.
‘I could be, but my accent alone should let you know that I’m not working for the Garda. And the fact that I’m cradling a MAC 10 in my hot little hands sort of puts paid to any undercover police operation, doesn’t it?’
The boxer nodded slowly. ‘So now what do we do?’
‘I show you the gear. You show me the money. When we’re both happy, we exchange and go our separate ways.’
‘Where is it?’
‘The boot. Where’s the money?’
‘Back seat.’
‘Okay. Why don’t you get into the seat here next to me while your mate with the heavy artillery checks the gear?’
‘Youse wouldn’t have an itchy trigger finger, would you?’
‘I know what I’m doing,’ said Rose.
The boxer sighed, opened the passenger door and climbed in. He had his gun in his lap, the barrel pointing at the dashboard. Rose popped open the boot and watched in his rear-view mirror as the guy with the Kalashnikov went to the back of the car.
‘Youse came alone?’ mused the boxer.
‘I just want to sell the merchandise,’ said Rose. ‘I don’t want to start a gang war. I thought if I turned up mob-handed you’d get jumpy and that’s the last thing we need.’
‘Where did youse get it from?’
Rose tapped the side of his nose with a forefinger. ‘Need to know,’ he said.
The guy with the Kalashnikov bent down and disappeared from Rose’s view. Rose was relaxed, but he kept his finger on the trigger.
‘Youse look like a cop.’
‘Yeah, everyone says that.’
‘Except you’re as nervous as a cat in a kennel right now, which you wouldn’t be if youse had backup.’
‘I’ve no back-up. Trust me on that. But I do have a gun that can fire eleven hundred bullets a second so tell your mate to get a move on, will you?’
The boxer gave him a curt nod and shouted something in Gaelic to his colleague.
‘English,’ said Rose. ‘If you don’t mind.’
‘How does it look, Kieran?’ shouted the boxer.
Rose took his eyes off the rear-view mirror and checked out the Mercedes. The driver had his hands on the steering-wheel. The front passenger was sitting stony-faced, chewing gum.
‘Looks good,’ said Kieran. He walked to the passenger side of Rose’s car.‘Ten kilos. Good stuff. The man walks the walk.’
‘So far so good,’ said the boxer. ‘Now, how do youse want to play it?’
‘You and I walk over to your car and check the money. Kieran stays in front of us and keeps his hands away from the Kalashnikov.’
The boxer climbed slowly out of the car. Rose did the same, sliding the MAC 10 under his jacket as he closed the door. Kieran walked to the Mercedes, his long coat flapping behind him. Rose accompanied the boxer, his finger still on the MAC 10 trigger. He scanned the windows of the flats overlooking the car park but no one was watching. Two plump teenage girls pushed prams away from the block entrance, smoking and swearing.
They reached the Mercedes and Kieran pulled open the rear doors. There were two black Adidas gym bags on the back seat. He pulled them out and swung them on to the boot.
‘Watch the paintwork, will youse?’ snarled the boxer.
Kieran unzipped one of the bags and stepped to the side. He kept his hands free, a faint smile on his face. Rose peered inside the bag. It was full of bundles of fifty-euro notes. He pulled one out at random and flicked through it. Then he sniffed it.
The boxer laughed. ‘Think we printed them ourselves?’
Rose put back the bundle and unzipped the second bag. He checked another bundle at random. It seemed genuine, and all the notes were used. If they had been counterfeit they would all have been new, Rose thought. He stepped back from the car. ‘Everything looks cool,’ he said.
‘Youse don’t want to count it?’
‘I trust you,’ said Rose, deadpan. ‘Plus, you rip me off for a few grand, so what? I didn’t see you weighing the gear to see if I’m a few ounces short. It’s all based on trust at the end of the day. Trust and artillery.’
‘Trust and artillery,’ said the boxer. ‘I like that.’
‘Kieran can put the bags in my boot, and take the gear.’
The boxer nodded at Kieran, who transferred the money and carried the heroin to the boot of the Mercedes and slammed it shut.
Rose backed towards his car, ready to swing out the MAC 10 at the first sign of a double-cross, but Kieran slid into the back seat of the Mercedes. ‘It’s been a pleasure doing business with youse,’ said the boxer, throwing Rose an ironic salute. ‘Have a safe trip home.’ He got into the back of the car, slammed the door and the vehicle rolled slowly out of the car park.
Rose watched as it drove away, white plumes feathering from the exhaust. His heart was hammering in his chest but he wanted to throw back his head and howl in triumph. He’d done it. He’d bloody well done it.
The bad guy popped his head up from behind a crate and Liam fired twice with the shotgun. The man’s skull exploded with a satisfying pop and brains splattered over the wall behind him. Two more bad guys appeared from behind a row of oil barrels, brandishing axes. Liam reloaded smoothly and blew them away.
‘Don’t those things carry parental warnings?’ asked Moira. She was carrying a tray with a glass of orange juice and some fig rolls on it.
‘Parents don’t play video games, Gran,’ said Liam, his eyes never leaving the screen. His thumbs flashed over the handset and two more villains slumped to the ground.
‘You know what I mean, young man. Don’t be cheeky,’ she admonished him, as she placed the tray on the coffee-table.
‘Sorry, Gran,’ said Liam. He reloaded and waited for a bad guy to appear at the top of the stairs, then shot him in the chest.
Moira sat down on the sofa next to Liam. ‘Did your father buy you that?’
‘Nah, he got me two racing games. I got this with my pocket money.’
‘An hour we said, remember? An hour a day.’
‘Okay.’
‘Would you mind switching it off and talking to me?’
‘Gran . . .’
‘I’d like to talk to you.’
Liam sighed and switched off the console. He reached for his orange juice and gulped it down.
‘You know your granddad and I love having you here,’ she said.
Liam wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.
‘And you’re happy at school?’
‘It’s okay.’
‘But it’s a good school, isn’t it? And there’s a better mix of children in your class. Not as many . . . well, you know what I mean, don’t you? It’s not like London.’
‘The teachers are nice,’ said Liam, ‘and I like walking to school.’
‘There you are, then,’ said Moira. ‘You like your room here, too, don’t you?’
Liam nodded, and bit into a biscuit.
‘Your granddad and I were thinking that perhaps you’d like to stay with us.’
