He nods towards the two shirtless guys bashing their bare shoulders against the doors in a means to penetrate their own clubhouse. Ultimately destroying their sanctuary, Smyth struggles not to shake his head at their stupidity, instead opting to stay in character and chortle along with Macka.
“Bustin’ for a pint myself, might end up joinin’ them. But fuck am I waitin’ out in this. Told the wife I was only comin’ for the one. Give me a shout when you’re open.”
Macka nods, sucking the last remnants of his cigarette as Smyth bids him farewell with a gravelly ‘good man.’ Once out of eye and ear shot, Smyth plucks out his phone, desperate to inform the big bosses on what he’s seen. Something’s going on behind those closed doors. Something big. And whatever it is, there’s no way it’s good news.
Chapter Sixty:
The third glass of red wine is going down too smoothly. Opting to take on Ferguson’s joke, McNally had landed to their house with both a red and white, one in each hand as Ferguson opened the door. The two had laughed, before McNally got invited into the living room, where an uncharacteristically shy Niamh rested. Her legs crossed, red lips to match the wine in her glass. She had looked up at McNally with a protruded lip, the smirk forming on the corner of her mouth. He had taken her hand delicately, deciding not to kiss it. Too formal.
He’d been introduced to Jane shortly after, popping out of the kitchen with a bizarre apron covering her sparkly top. They had cheered as they clunked their glasses together, before settling down to Jane’s lovely spread. Sweet baby potatoes with an array of vegetables, and a piping hot steak. Medium/rare, just how McNally likes it.
Now, here they sit. Discussing their everyday lives and getting to know one another. Jane occasionally throwing Niamh a lifeline, telling her not to be so modest, as McNally smirks over the table towards her. Entranced by her beauty. Excited at the opportunity of getting to know her. She’s a beautician at Suzie’s Salon, although she studied a degree in psychology. Their mother and father had blatantly informed her that no child of theirs was going to be a beautician. ‘Not when she has brains to burn,’ Niamh and Jane had giggled, mocking their late mother’s apparent regular lecture.
After graduating, however, she decided she wanted to pursue her preferred career, and whilst claiming that she was actively looking for jobs to her parents, she took up a beautician course in the tech. Within ten months, she was hired and soaring in the beauty world. Getting requests for weddings and formals, and the money was nothing to be snubbed at, so eventually she won her parents over.
“I mean, surely studying psychology, you would’ve known how to get them wrapped around your wee finger anyway,” McNally winks at Niamh as she giggles into her hand, clasped around her mouth, her shoulders raised defensively.
“Awk, little miss perfect,” Jane scoffs, a few drinks in now, her words slurring, “couldn’t do wrong from doing right with her,” she hiccups, slurping more wine.
“What?” Ferguson turns to her, frowning and smiling in confusion.
Within seconds, all of them are laughing along, before McNally feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. Pulling it out, he puts down his glass and excuses himself.
“Incredibly rude,” he eyes Ferguson, so he knows it’s a work call, before stepping out into the hall to answer O’Connor.
“Sir, Smyth has just called in a mob of people from outside the Bull’s Horn. Turns out there’s a near riot going on because people can’t get in for their drinks. Members of Ardóimid are holding court, including Boyle. We’ve sent some officers over there now to see if they can see what’s going on.”
Sobering up, McNally rubs his stubble thoughtfully.
“Has there been a disturbance?”
“Well, that’s how they’re going to downplay it…”
“You think it could be linked with Parker?”
“I don’t know, sir. Smyth went there himself as he believed there’d be a big party with Taylor getting arrested… Something seems fishy to me.”
“Right… You’re right… Keep me in the loop.”
“I will, sir.”
Hanging up, McNally apologises again as he returns to the dining room, where Jane is bustling over the plates, Niamh in the toilet. The two ladies re-join them at the table just as McNally’s coming to the end of the story.
“But I don’t understand, why tonight?” Ferguson asks, “you’d think Boyle would know we’d be keeping a close eye on him.”
“Ignorance, or arrogance,” McNally shakes his head, lifting his glass to his lips before realising it’s empty, “my vote is for the latter.”
“Do you believe Taylor’s story though, Liam?” Jane leans back in her chair, bringing her foot up to get more comfortable.
McNally gives a side glance to Ferguson, who shrugs and holds his two hands up, palms facing forward.
“What can I say, sir. No secrets with us. And if there were any, she’d beat them out of me… She’s basically my sergeant in training.”
“I don’t know, Jane,” McNally blows a raspberry, “I don’t see why he would lie… I mean, he’d gotten what he’d wanted. Why try so hard to get it, just to take him out of the picture completely?”
“Maybe he’s just saying that, though,” Niamh sits forward, helping herself to a generous helping of wine, before offering to top up McNally’s glass too, “he knows you’re all onto him, so he made up the story that he complied. I mean, maybe he did kill him because he wouldn’t join them, and that was just his cover story.”
“I don’t know,” Ferguson shakes his head, “they’ve never hid bodies before, have the Jacks. They just leave them out in the
