Cry of the Hunter - Jack Higgins [25]
Fallon laughed grimly. ‘If you fancy going for another run round the back streets in the rain, you’re welcome to go – on your own.’
Murphy came in, blankets piled high in his arms. ‘It’s fine by me, Mr. Fallon,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a roof over my head and the polis are running round in circles in the rain. I know when I’m well off.’
Rogan snorted his disgust. ‘You would,’ he said. ‘Quite the little yes-man, aren’t you?’
Murphy flushed and tossed the blankets down on to one of the beds. ‘At least I don’t run off and leave people in the lurch,’ he said. Rogan took a step towards him and the boy pushed half the blankets into his arms. ‘There you are, Mr. Rogan,’ he said calmly. ‘You can make your own bed at least.’
Rogan turned with a curse and dropped the blankets on to the bed. Fallon laughed and said, ‘I think you’d better keep your lip buttoned, Rogan. You aren’t too popular round here.’ He moved forward until he stood very close to the small man. ‘In fact it wouldn’t take much to make me turn you out, and believe me that wouldn’t be too healthy. The County Inspector only lives a couple of streets away. There must be quite a bit of police activity in this area.’
A peculiar expression showed in Rogan’s eyes and then disappeared. He forced a laugh. ‘Sure, I didn’t mean anything. Dammit all, man, we’re all living on our nerves at the moment.’
Fallon walked across to the door. ‘Whatever happens,’ he said, ‘I don’t want you to leave this room unless I tell you to.’
Murphy nodded obediently, but Rogan laughed, and there was a wealth of meaning in his voice. ‘Where will you be sleeping then? She must have a fine sense of hospitality.’
For a moment violence sparked within Fallon, but as he took a step forward there was a movement behind him and the girl came into the room carrying a tray. She handed it to Murphy and said, ‘There’s a meal and hot coffee for you two. I don’t want you prowling round the house, so stay in this room. If I have any trouble you can get out.’ Her voice was cold and flat and completely unfriendly. She turned to Fallon. ‘I’ve got a meal for you downstairs.’ He nodded to his two companions and followed her out of the room.
It was warm in the kitchen. He sat down at the table and she spooned stew into a plate and set it before him. ‘That smells good,’ he said.
She laughed lightly. ‘It’s all I can make. I’m not very domestic, I’m afraid.’
He swallowed a mouthful of the warm food and shook his head. ‘It’s fine. Believe me, after what I’ve been through tonight, anything would be welcome.’
She smiled. ‘That’s rather a two-edged compliment, isn’t it?’
He spread his hands in a gesture of humility. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way at all.’
He suddenly realized how hungry he really was and got down to the serious business of getting the food inside him. She watched him quietly for several minutes, not speaking, and when he had finished, brought him a cup of tea. As she poured milk into the cup she said, ‘And how many dead men have you left behind you?’
He shook his head. ‘Not a one, thank God. Did you expect that I would?’
She frowned and stirred her tea absently. ‘No, it would be more true to say that I was afraid you would.’ He stared at her in surprise, not understanding, and she explained. ‘What do you do when a policeman starts shooting at you? Don’t you shoot back?’
He grinned. ‘Personally I always run like hell.’
She sighed and nodded her head. ‘But one day you will have to shoot back and that’s what I’m afraid of.’
Fallon took out his cigarettes and offered her one. ‘I hate the shooting side of it,’ he said, as he held a match for her. ‘Killing a policeman proves absolutely nothing, except perhaps that you’re a good shot.’
‘And what if you shoot them in the back at point blank range like Rogan did?’ she said. ‘What does that prove?