Cry of the Hunter - Jack Higgins [47]
He nodded and produced his most charming smile. ‘That’s right, my dear. I’ve come to see if your dad will put me up for the night. Do you think he will?’
He moved round behind the counter and smiled down at her and she nodded vigorously. ‘We’ll be proud to give you shelter, Mr. Fallon.’
Fallon nodded and moved very close until their bodies were almost touching. ‘You’ll be Rose,’ he said. ‘The last time I was here you were only a little girl. Now you’re a young woman.’ She gazed up at him, a look of adoration on her face, and he went on. ‘Can I trust you, Rose?’
‘Oh, yes, Mr. Fallon,’ she breathed.
A peculiar, intimate little smile appeared on his face and he leaned closer and said, ‘I’m in great danger, Rose. If the wrong word was spoken – a careless word, even – I’d be taken. You wouldn’t want that to happen, would you?’
For a moment her eyes closed. She shivered in a sort of ecstasy and her young breasts quivered. ‘They’ll not hear it from me, Mr. Fallon. Not if they used red hot pincers.’
For a moment he smiled down into her face and then he patted her arm. ‘I knew I could rely on you,’ he told her.
‘You’d best come into the back room,’ she said. ‘Someone might come in the shop.’
She led the way along a dark corridor, her hips moving rhythmically, tainting the air with a faint animal odour as she passed. Fallon sighed. He hadn’t enjoyed his performance but the girl’s reaction had been so obvious. He couldn’t afford to lose such an important ally.
She led the way into a shabby living-room and said, ‘Make yourselves comfortable. I’ll put a few more spuds in the pot for dinner.’
She disappeared into the kitchen, closing the door behind her, and Murphy threw down his coat and whistled. ‘She looks no better than she ought to be,’ he said. ‘But what were you doing, Mr. Fallon, playing up to her?’
Fallon shrugged. ‘She probably goes to the cinema too much and thinks gunmen are romantic. I couldn’t afford to turn all that devotion down.’ He threw himself into a chair and added, ‘Don’t forget her old man is a slippery customer Rose might come in very useful to us yet.’
Murphy shook his head and grinned. ‘Watch yourself, Mr. Fallon. She fell for you in a big way. You might have a job getting rid of her.’
The door behind them opened with a bang and Fallon jumped to his feet, the Luger appearing in his hand as if by magic. Paddy Conroy stood facing them, mouth wide open in his blotched, whisky face. ‘Holy Mother of God!’ he said in a whisper.
Fallon pushed the Luger back into its holster and smiled genially. ‘Is it yourself, Paddy?’ He walked across the room and held out his hand. ‘It’s been a long time.’
Conroy took the hand mechanically. ‘It has indeed, Mr. Fallon,’ he said in a faraway voice. He blinked his rheumy eyes several times and Fallon’s nose wrinkled in disgust at the stale, beery smell that surrounded him. Suddenly Conroy came to life and a look of horror came into his eyes. ‘Jesus help us!’ he cried. ‘I’d better close the shop in case someone comes in.’ He rushed along the passage and disappeared from sight.
Murphy raised his eyebrows. ‘That’ll be the day, when he gets a customer in here,’ he said.
Fallon grinned and Rose came in from the kitchen and laid the table. She had smeared a vivid orange lipstick on her mouth and she wore a pair of cheap, patent-leather, high-heeled shoes. She smiled provocatively and swayed back into the kitchen. Fallon stared helplessly at Murphy who collapsed on the couch exploding with laughter as Conroy came back into the room. ‘It’s an honour to have you here. Mr. Fallon. An honour, sir. The great things you’ve done for Ireland in the last few days.’ A drop quivered on the end of his nose as he added piously, ‘You’ll go down in history. Mr. Fallon. In history.’
Fallon managed a smile. ‘And where’s your wife, Paddy?’ he said. ‘I forgot to ask after her when we arrived.’
An expression of pain and sorrow