“What time did Crossan phone again?”
“Half an hour after you left for the pub. Maura asked me first. I told her to tell him you worked better around food. Twelve o’clock, the Old Ground in Ennis, tomorrow.”
“I was obviously working under the delusion that we were on a holiday of sorts here,” he muttered. “But you seem to have my schedule well in hand. The set-up at the pub with Mick and Eoin-”
“Ah go on, would you. I gave you twenty quid to kill the pain there.”
“-and now you’re setting up appointments with Crossan-”
Kathleen pursed her lips and shook the book as though to wring more satisfaction from it.
“Why don’t you go back to reading what he sent you in the envelope,” she murmured. “Can’t you always say no to him?”
“Shit,” he whispered. He felt the pliers still in his back pocket as he hunkered down. Be a really stupid thing to be running and drop them and have the bloody Guards find them and trace the tool to them. He drew them out, put them in his jacket pocket and buttoned it.
“What?” said the other man.
“Nothing.”
He had snipped the phone line easily at the gable-end of the house where it came down from the pole. Scurrying back toward the ditch, however, he had slipped in the wet grass. He was angry and embarrassed at looking clumsy. He searched his companion’s face for any sign of a smile. As if he himself had been drinking and deserved a going-over this time-a taste of his own medicine. His companion waited, preoccupied, the gun under his jacket. He patted the pocket to feel the pliers secure now and looked back toward the car they had parked in a recess by the wall. He could just make out the dark strip of its roof.
“Jesus. Pitch-black tonight,” said the one with the gun. His friend was pleased to hear the tension in his voice. No drink on the job tonight. Maybe he was coming around at last.
“That’s because you were looking at the lights in the house. Your eyes’ll get used to it in a while.”
“They’d better…”
“We’re gone inside of a minute now, right?” The other man nodded. “Hold it up near as you can to the sight, remember. There can’t be slack in the strap. Okay?”
“Okay, chief.”
“Otherwise it could fly all over the place or go high.”
“Yes, boss.”
“Shut up with the smart remarks. Have you set it?”
“‘Course I have.”
“Check it-”
“I did fucking check it! Ten times! Give over, can’t you, for Christ’s sake.”
“No closer than about twenty feet now,” the other went on, his voice strained with the effort to remain patient. “I don’t want you hitting anyone in there. That’s not the idea.”
“I heard you the first time,” snapped the one with the gun. “Wouldn’t want the little man to be getting hurt now, would we?”
He took the gun out from under his jacket, shouldered the strap and stood up.
“Just let me get on with it, for fuck’s sakes! Go on back to the car, you.”
The curtains were drawn in both lighted windows. The gunman looked back down at his companion.
“Go on, fuck you! Don’t be worrying! Git!”
The other moved off reluctantly. He reached the wall and looked back toward the house. Then he cleared the wall and got into the car. It took enormous effort to control his urge to stay by the wall and make sure his companion wasn’t screwing up. Both windows in the Escort were rolled down. He stuck his head out and looked up at the sky. A patch of stars had appeared. He looked across the passenger side then. No sound. Christ, he had screwed up. He looked at his watch and the jolt of fright beat hard in his chest. Four minutes already. Lonely as the place was, a car could come by. He mentally reviewed the way home and tested his night vision by staring at the outlines of the walls. He knew he’d have to drive up to a mile with the lights off, and smartly too.
Jesus, do it, or get to hell out of there! He swore and slapped the passenger seat. He was about to get out and head for the cottage when he heard the hammering stutter of the gun. His heart leapt. Not too loud, he thought with relief. Glass tinkled and what sounded like a ricochet followed. The silence after the shots seemed even deeper. He strained to hear running feet. The burst had been about two seconds. He hadn’t given in to the temptation to be a cowboy about it. The gunman came over the wall wide-eyed, his teeth showing. The driver had the door pushed open. The gun clattered against the door and the chortling man fell into the seat, breathing hard. The driver had the engine started. He let in the clutch and moved smoothly away onto the dark road.
“Make sure the safety’s on.”
“I did it already before I headed back,” the other whispered breathlessly, and began giggling. He fought to get his breath back as it turned to laughter. “Just after you went, the light in the jacks went on. Here’s me chance, I said to meself!”
He paused to laugh again.
“Keep it down!” said the driver, his eyes boring into the darkness ahead.
“I gave him a few seconds to get the trousers down-ha ha ha-and then I gave him the surprise of his life, so I did. Oh, Jases, such timing! Perfect!”
“You didn’t shoot in the window of the jacks, did you?”
He wanted to clatter his companion but he couldn’t take his eyes from the road.
“No, I didn’t! Don’t be getting yourself in a state. I went for the living room. But you can imagine the state your man is in now, ha ha ha…!”
He laughed again and couldn’t seem to regain control. The driver smiled. His passenger drew up his knees and panted, helpless with laughter. Relief, he knew, must have been very tense, of course, he must have been. He’d done all right-they’d done all right.
“All right, all right,” he said. Ahead he could make out the coast road. “Don’t get carried away now. Let’s drop it off.” He nodded toward the submachine gun resting in the passenger’s lap.
The gunman turned suddenly calm and his eyes grew wide again.
“That’s some gun, that,” he said with whispered fervour. “It’s the best fucking thing since-”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“What are you fretting about? We did great. Don’t be fretting, for Jases’-”
“I’ll fret if I fucking want to!”
The sudden return of his anger surprised the driver. He immediately tried to lighten it.
“Someone needs to fret about you, you bollocks,” he murmured.
His passenger folded the stock and laughed. The driver turned the headlights on and sped up.
“Sounds to me like you need another bit of how’s-your-father… Wouldn’t you try a pint or something instead?”
The driver felt some relief taking the place of his anxiety. Why get annoyed now?
“Are you buying, is it, for a change?”
“And fuck you too,” grinned the passenger, and he slapped the driver hard on the thigh.
CHAPTER THREE
Minogue awoke early to the sounds from the yard. It was seven. He must have fallen asleep immediately last night. He did not try to get back to sleep but lay still for ten minutes, the eiderdown up to his nose. Faint dawn light brought depth to the forms in the room, sharpening the corners and picture frames. He listened to the rhythmic humming suction of the milking machine before he tiptoed into the hall. Maura was setting the table. She smiled at him and went to crack eggs into a bowl. He wondered if she had slept at all. “Howaryou, Matt?” she whispered. “Are you good?”
“Powerful,” he said. He put on his coat. “The air here is mighty.”
