A Prayer for the Dying - Jack Higgins [74]
The force of the shot lifted Donner off his feet, slamming him back against the ground, and in the same instant Fallon shot Harry in the back before he could turn, the bullet shattering his spine, driving him head first into the cart.
And as Jenny screamed, Fallon knocked her sideways, on his feet now, the Browning arcing towards Rupert as he turned in alarm, already too late, still clutching the shotgun in both hands.
His mouth opened in a soundless scream as Fallon's third bullet caught him squarely in the forehead. Blood and brains sprayed across the grey stones as the skull disintegrated and Rupert was knocked back against the wall, his finger tightening convulsively on the trigger of the shotgun in death, discharging both barrels.
Jenny sprawled protectingly across the child, still deep in her drugged sleep. There was silence. She looked up fearfully and saw that Fallon was standing quite still, legs apart, perfectly balanced, the Browning held out in front of him in both hands. His face was very white, wiped clean of all expression, the eyes dark.
His right sleeve was torn and blood dripped to the floor. She got to her feet unsteadily. 'You're hurt.'
He didn't seem to hear her, but walked to the cart where Harry sprawled on his face and stirred him with his foot. Then he crossed to Rupert.
Jenny moved to join him. 'Is he dead?' she whispered, and then she saw the back of the skull and turned away, stomach heaving, clutching at the wall to steady herself.
When she turned again, Fallon was on his knees beside Donner, fumbling in the dead man's breast pocket. He found the key he was looking for and stood up.
'Get me out of these things.'
The stench of that butcher's shop filled her nostrils, seeped into her very brain, and when she walked towards him, dazed and frightened, she stumbled and almost fell down.
He grabbed her by one arm and held her up. 'Steady, girl. Don't let go now. I need you.'
'I'm fine,' she said. 'Really I am.'
She unlocked the handcuffs. Fallon threw them to one side, dropped to one knee again and took the buff envelope from Donner's inside pocket.
As he stood up, Jenny said wearily, 'You'd better let me have a look at that arm.'
'All right,' Fallon said.
He took off his jacket and sat on the edge of the bed, smoking a cigarette while she did what she could for him.
The arm was a mess. Three of four nasty wounds where steel buckshot had ripped into the flesh. She bandaged it as best she could, with the handkerchief from Donner's breast pocket. Fallon picked up one of the bottles of Jameson, pulled the cork with his teeth and took a long swallow.
When she was finished, she sat on the bed beside him and looked around the barn. 'How long did it take? Two - maybe three seconds?' She shivered. 'What kind of man are you, Martin?'
Fallon pulled on his jacket awkwardly, 'You heard Donner, didn't you? A little Mick out of his league, who should have stayed back home in the bogs.'
'He was wrong, wasn't he?'
'Where I come from, he wouldn't have lasted a day,' Fallon said dispassionately. 'What time is it?'
She glanced at her watch. 'Five-thirty.'
'Good.' He stood up and reached for his trenchcoat. 'Evening Mass at Holy Name starts at six and finishes around seven. You take me there - now.'
She helped him on with the trenchcoat. 'That boat,' she said. 'The one you were supposed to leave on from Hull? I heard the name. Donner and Rupert were talking. You could still go.'
'Without a passport?'
He turned, trying to belt his coat, awkwardly because of his wounded arm, and she did it for him.
'Money talks,' she said. 'And you've got plenty in that envelope.'
She stood very close, her hands around his waist, looking up at him. Fallon said calmly, 'And you'd like to come with me, I suppose?'
She shook her head. 'You couldn't be more wrong. It's too late for me to change now. It was too late the day I started. It's you I'm thinking of. You're