Cry of the Hunter - Jack Higgins [46]
They were still waiting when the van entered Stramore. The town was busy, for it was market day, and the van had to slow down to a crawl as it moved through the heavy traffic and the crowds. It turned into a side street and halted. Fallon and Murphy hastily crawled back into their hiding place. As they listened they heard the two men climb down from the cab and walk away, their voices dying into the distance. There was a moment of silence and Fallon said, ‘Let’s get out of here.’ They crawled out from under the table and hastily clambered over the tailboard and dropped down into the street.
The van was standing outside some terrace houses and there was a small public house several doors away. Murphy grinned. ‘You wouldn’t have to look far for them two,’ he said.
They hesitated for a moment on the corner of the street and Fallon said, ‘You’d better lead the way. It’s a long time since I was lost in this town.’ Murphy nodded and stepped off the pavement into the road and they were immediately swept up by the swirling mass of people who filled the streets.
They couldn’t have picked a better day. The town was thronged with country folk, in for the day. There were cattle pens and market stalls set up in the gutters lining the pavements and the air was raucous with the cries of the vendors. They moved with the crowd, keeping a careful watch for the police, and on two occasions changed course abruptly to avoid a constable on duty.
They crossed the market place and turned into a side street. There were fewer people about and they began to walk rapidly. Murphy led the way long a back street that finally opened into a small square. One side of the square was taken up by a large shabby-looking brick house over a shop with a yard at the side of it. An ancient notice, faded and weatherbeaten, jutted out from the wall bearing the legend: Paddy Conroy – General Dealer.
Fallon looked up at the sign and grinned. ‘That’s the right description for him,’ he said. ‘The old bastard’s as crooked as a donkey’s hind leg. He’ll handle anything that will bring him a shilling.’
Murphy looked worried. ‘Will we be all right here, do you think, Mr. Fallon?’
Fallon frowned. ‘We’ve no choice at the moment.’ He laughed grimly. ‘I know one thing – if he makes a wrong move I’ll put a bullet through him. He’s earned one years ago.’
He pushed open the shop door and Murphy followed him in. An ancient bell jangled brassily somewhere in the rear of the house and still sounded after Murphy had closed the door. The shop was piled with a mass of other people’s unwanted rubbish and an unpleasant smell lingered over everything. Murphy shook his head. ‘Do you think he makes a living out of this stuff, Mr. Fallon?’ he said.
Fallon shrugged. ‘Your guess is as good as mine.’
The sound of the bell finally died away and there was a silence. Flies buzzed in the grimy window and Fallon pushed his hat back from his forehead and wiped sweat from his brow. There was a movement at the rear of the shop and a door opened. A young girl stood watching them. She looked about eighteen or twenty and was pretty in a bold, sluttish way. She had a weak, full mouth and a ripe figure. ‘What is it?’ she demanded ungraciously.
Fallon smiled pleasantly. ‘Is Mr. Conroy at home, my dear?’
‘He’s at the pub,’ she said, ‘but he’ll be in for his dinner at any moment. Is it something you wanted to buy?’
Fallon shook his head. ‘I’m an old friend just passing through town. I thought I’d look him up. I haven’t seen him in years.’
There was a puzzled frown on her face and her eyes flickered to Murphy. For a moment she stared at him and her expression changed. ‘I’ve seen you before,’ she said.
Murphy nodded. ‘That’s right, me darlin’,’ he said impudently. ‘I was here last month with a message for your dad.’
Her eyes widened. ‘You’ve come from the Organization.’ For a moment longer she looked at Murphy and then she turned again to Fallon and a sudden recognition came into her eyes. She stepped forward