“From the look of it, you’re not working out much either. State of the belly on ye.”
“’Tis the portion sizes over here,” says Bunny. “I’m telling everybody.”
Whiteside raised the white T-shirt he wore with his overalls tied around his waist to reveal a toned physique covered in tattoos. “You want to get yourself to the weights section, ye fat prick.”
Bunny looked at the tattoos. Blood and honour. A swastika. The number 18 for Hitler’s initials. He nodded. “Ah, I see you really have re-invented yourself. So you’re a racist now, Shitty, are ye?”
Whiteside dropped his shirt. “I’m a proud member of the Aryan Brotherhood, if that’s what you mean.”
“I suppose it must be.”
“For too long, the mongrel races have been allowed to crush the right-thinking white man under their oppressive boot. Stealing the lands and opportunity that should be ours by right.”
Bunny rolled his eyes. “Pull the other one, it’s got my sweaty bollocks stuck to it. You grew up in Dublin in the seventies and eighties. It was as white as white could be. Sure, we’ve diversified now, but back then, if it snowed we couldn’t feckin’ find each other. There would have been more racially diverse KKK rallies. So what? Black people stole your opportunities, did they? I can think of only two who were in Dublin at that time. Out of curiosity, did you think you would have been the pearl at the centre of Ireland’s most successful international football team, but Paul McGrath took your place? Or do you reckon you were next in line to be the lead singer and bass player in Thin Lizzy but Phil Lynott swooped in and took it in some, I dunno, affirmative-action thing? Exactly how are the – how did you put it? Oh, yeah – ‘mongrel races’ responsible for you ending up being the useless waste of toilet roll you’ve become? I’d love to hear it.”
Bunny leaned forward and Whiteside took a couple of quick steps back.
“I’m not afraid of you.”
“Course you’re not, Shitty. I’m a white fella. We’re natural allies.”
Bunny was tense, hot, and as on edge as only a lifelong copper can be when finding himself on the wrong side of the bars. Still, take all that away and he reckoned he’d still be dying to kick the living crap out of Whiteside.
“Let’s see how much you like it when word gets out, hey, Bunny? Whatever they’ve sent you in here for will be shot to hell. I’m guessing whatever it is, it’s a big deal if they’ve brought you all the way from Ireland. Probably a whole investigation about to go up in smoke. Years of work.”
Bunny said nothing.
Whiteside laughed. “Not so full of yourself now, are ye? Do you reckon you can give them the signal to get you out before something really bad happens? There’s a lot of lifers in here, y’know? Guys with nothing to lose.”
Bunny nodded and looked down at his feet. “And what exactly would you be looking for in return for your silence, Shitty?”
“For a start. Say my name properly.”
Bunny looked up. Whiteside was grinning at him while still standing on the balls of his feet, ready to run.
“Say. My. Name.”
“Are you enjoying yourself, Shitty?”
“Right, I’m out of here. People to see.”
Bunny leaned back again. “Ara, calm down, Alan.”
“That’s better. Now, in answer to your question, a full pardon. You open the gates and I walk the fuck out – today.”
Bunny nodded. “How long have you got left on your sentence?”
“Six years.”
“What are you in for?”
“Never you mind.”
Bunny scratched his beard. “Right so. Not armed robbery or something like that, as you’d be bragging. Same with murder. Drugs?”
Whiteside said nothing.
“I’m not going to go with the obvious and say drugs. Rape?”
Whiteside flinched ever so slightly.
“Jesus. Congrats, Alan – you’ve managed to sink even lower in my estimations.”
Whiteside turned. “I’m out of here.”
“Give me the day,” said Bunny.
He turned back around.
“Twenty-four hours,” continued Bunny. “I’ll talk to my people.”
“Or you’ll just get yourself taken out of here.”
Bunny rolled his head around his shoulders and sighed. “It’s like you said, Alan. You got us between a rock and a hard place. They can’t afford to mess this operation up. I’ll try to get you your release, but in the meantime, I need you to promise me you won’t breathe a word.”
Whiteside folded his arms. “I can do that.”
Bunny stood up slowly. “And I need to know that you’ve not said a word to anyone else. If you have, we can still fix it, but I need to know right now.”
Whiteside mimed locking his lips with a key. “I know how to keep a secret.”
“Fair enough,” said Bunny. “As long as I have your word that it’ll stay that way, I’ll do all I can. You hold all the cards here.” He took a step to the left and extended his hand.
Whiteside looked at it suspiciously.
“C’mon, Alan, we’ve had our differences in the past, but I know you’ve always been a man of your word.”
Alan “Shitty” Whiteside ran his tongue across his dry lips, then stepped forward and shook Bunny’s hand.
Bunny grasped it firmly and kept shaking, glancing over his shoulder quickly. “And one more thing, Shitty – smile for the camera.”
“What the—”
Bunny was betting everything on having figured the angles right. He reached out his left hand and grabbed Whiteside’s shirt, pulling him towards him. The only camera now on them was behind him, and he was banking on it looking as if Whiteside had just head-butted him. That was certainly what it felt like.
Bunny crumpled to the ground, selling it harder than a soccer player in the penalty box. He cupped his face in his hands.
“What the fuck?” said Whiteside, trying to catch up with the bizarre left turn reality had just taken.
Bunny said nothing, concentrating on ramming a concealed thumb up his own nose.
