And then he sees him, Roland. He’s sitting on the beach wall, legs dangling, head handing low, almost onto his chest. Lev looks at the stranger that has his arm familiarly around Roland’s shoulder. He looks to be comforting him and Lev bites down on his bottom lip. Who is the man, Roland’s father, perhaps, or an uncle? And why is he comforting Roland? What has the stupid son of a bitch told him?
It’s time to go, he knows it, he had known it since they found the dead body of Cilla, but Lev had liked it here, like the ambiance and the party-boy lifestyle. He thought he could stay, he could become the new Monaghan, he had the apartment and he had the drugs; the friends would surely follow.
But he’s been spotted, it’s too late. The pair of them stand up and look in Lev’s direction. Roland waves happily, the other man, the one with Roland, he stares curiously at Lev.
Lev darts a look behind him, wondering if he could run. But his passport is in the apartment, he wouldn’t get very far. Best to act natural, find out what the kid has said to this man. Whoever he is, this stranger, Lev can charm him.
Lev can charm anyone.
48
ROLAND
March 14th 2000
I wasn't sure if I woke, or simply came to. The room was in darkness but I knew I was back in Mark Braith’s apartment, simply by the touch of the sofa arm underneath my hand. I struggled to my feet, wondering about the ache in my legs and my stomach. I shuffled to the window and dragged the heavy curtains apart, blinking rapidly at the unexpected sunlight. For some reason, I thought it would be night time.
I stared out, looking at the space on the pavement where Smith had been yesterday. Was it really just the day before? Or had it been earlier this very day? And what had happened? I searched my memory but all I could remember was the sudden appearance of The Colonel. After that, everything was blank. It wasn't even a blur, there was nothing in my recall at all.
As though just thinking about him had conjured him up, I heard the grainy, deep voice of The Colonel. He spoke my name. Not just my forename, but my surname too.
I jumped, my heart skipped up to my throat and my belly cramped as I swivelled around. He sat in the straight backed chair in the corner, his left hand wrapped around an empty glass, his right hand casually on the table.
“I didn't know anyone else was here,” I said, stupidly.
“I wanted to make sure you were all right, you had me worried last night,” he replied, his tone mild, his eyes never leaving my face.
I reddened, wondering what he meant. What had I done last night that had him worried about me? Almost in the same instant, despite my mortification about my unknown actions, I felt a rush of pride. The Colonel had been worried about me!
“What about … Smith?” I lowered my voice to a whisper as I mentioned his name.
The Colonel flapped his hand in a dismissive gesture.
There was a silence that I didn't know how to fill, so I edged back to the sofa.
“You're very loyal, aren't you, Roland Van Brom?” He said after a beat.
I looked off into the distance. It became apparent that he expected a reply, so eventually I nodded.
“And your friend, Mark, is he loyal?”
This wasn't a difficult question and I nodded, eagerly this time.
“And your young paddy friends, are they loyal?”
For a moment I was confused, then it clicked together; he meant my Irish friends. I scowled at the mention of them, and The Colonel picked up on this.
“Mark has been kind to me,” I said.
“And the Monaghan’s?”
I paused, wondering how to explain. “They were good friends, my best mates. But… they were a bit mean.” I finished lamely and I went back in time to the day at the Halel factory. It still burned me, that day.
“And Mark is looking after you now.” It wasn't a question, simply a statement, so I kept quiet.
From somewhere in the house I heard a moan. The hairs stood up on the back of my neck and a chill ran through me. I knew it was Smith.
“What's going to happen to him?” My voice was thick with sudden, inexplicable tears.
The Colonel flapped his hand, dismissive again. “Roland,” he said, and leaned towards me. “If you ever feel worried, about anything that happens, will you come to me?”
That rush of pride again, that I was important enough to warrant The Colonel’s attention. I nodded, smiling now, the tears that had clogged my throat a moment earlier forgotten.
“In fact, perhaps it would be nice to keep in contact with you, even if you're not worried,” he smiled. “You know where you can find me, don't you?”
I paused, unsure if I was supposed to know his real persona. “At the office?” I named the street and exhaled in relief as he nodded.
I thought I was smart, back then. I thought the three Irishmen were the bad guys, and Mark, though slightly crazy, and The Colonel were the ones looking out for me.
How wrong I was.
Hindsight is a wickedly cruel thing.
Smith lived for another week after the whole street debacle. At some point, after The Colonel had gone and it was just the three of us in the apartment, Mark tampered with Smith’s brain again.
I had gone to bed, my relief at being alone in my small box room palpable. I lay fully clothed on the bed, exhausted, my eyes closing into welcoming darkness when I heard the whine of Mark’s drill. I sat up, a hand
