Dublin Noir - Ken Bruen [57]
Later that day, as the sun began to set—at least he thought it was setting because it was getting dark though he couldn’t actually see the sun—Reed stepped out of his hotel room and down through the main lobby. He had the last of the knives he had bought in Limerick. A sharp Gerber four-forty steel, with a four-inch blade. With luck he would have to toss it in the Liffey by 10 o’clock. As he turned toward the river, he heard a voice.
“Hang on there.”
Reed turned to find a Dublin cop with hard brown eyes staring down at him. His dark-blue uniform had the name Reily on the left breast. The cop was near his age and looked to be in good shape. That might cause problems if things didn’t go well.
Reed turned and faced the cop, conscious of the bandage he’d stuck over his scratch.
The cop walked over to him, eyeing his forehead. “What happened there, boyo?”
“Tree branch.”
“What were ya doin’ in a tree at your age?”
Reed wasn’t sure if the cop was having a go at him or serious. “Low branch. I was walking.”
The copper nodded and said, “Where you off to this time of night?”
“Six? This time of night is right for a pop before dinner.”
The cop nodded at the answer. “Where d’ya go?”
“Usually the Ball Alley House.”
The cop took in the information and stepped back. Reed tensed like he might be hit or more cops would swoop in and grab him. He had the knife on him. He’d hate to use it on this cop. He wiggled his hip and felt the knife in its scabbard snug against his waistband. He checked out the copper’s uniform, trying to detect any kind of protective vest under it. Too hard to tell. Reed decided he’d have to stab him in the neck quick and deep. The only problem was that it would bring a lot of heat. He’d be gone, but it was a danger regardless.
The cop said, “Bollocks.”
Reed just stared at the beefy man.
“Bakurs on Thomas or the Cukoos Nest beat the arse off the Ball Alley House.”
Reed relaxed slightly. “Ah, it will have to do. That’s my place.”
The cop said, “You got a funny accent. Where you from?”
“Galway.”
“What brings ya to the Big Smoke?”
Reed considered his answer as he calmly placed his hand on his hip, an inch from the knife. This would have to be fast.
An old Honda zipped around the corner and swerved to miss a trash bin in the road, nearly causing it to run down the cop. To make matters worse, the driver beeped at him. The cop hopped onto the sidewalk, pushing Reed away from the street too.
With the cop next to him and distracted, Reed reached under his loose shirt, gripped the hard handle of the Gerber, and prepared for a fluid motion of slashing up, then planting that thing right in the cop’s thick neck.
But the cop jumped back into the street yelling, “You fucking rice-grinding shite!” Without a glance back at Reed, he trotted down the street and hopped into his small, unmarked car. Within twenty seconds the vehicle was racing past Reed toward the speeding Honda.
An hour later, Reed was behind a young American couple slowly strolling toward one of the local hotels. The five-story building had a decent restaurant and bar in the lobby. Reed hoped they were staying at the hotel and were on their way back instead of stopping for a bite and pint. He stayed back a ways until they were to the door of the hotel, then closed the distance to see where they were headed. The man was maybe thirty and built like a model, too thin and too neat. The woman was younger, about twenty-three and fresh-looking like a lot of the Americans from California or Florida. She had long blond hair and looked like she’d had to grease herself to slide into the Levi’s gripping her hips.
Reed came up the front steps and almost knocked into them in the lobby. They had stopped to look over the restaurant’s posted menu. Reed peered at the man. He wouldn’t be thinking about a toasted sandwich if he had a girl like that stuck on his arm. Typical Yank.
He eased past them like he was heading to the lifts, and then a miracle happened. They followed him. It couldn’t have been more natural. As he