Eight Ball Boogie - Declan Burke [56]
“Why would I lie?”
“You did lie.”
She shrugged it off.
“Right enough. I’ll swing around by your office when I get into town, let you know if I see them.”
“Sound.” I gave her Gonzo’s mobile number. “I might be gone by the time you get there, but you’ll get me on this. If the signal doesn’t run out.”
“Okay. Be careful.”
“That’s part of the plan, yeah.”
I made another coffee, moved into the living room, pulled the curtains closed. Then I rang Dutchie, started rolling a smoke. He answered on the first ring.
“It’s me, Dutch.”
“Harry?”
He sounded surprised. I didn’t blame him. The last time I’d been up that early I’d been on my way home.
“Get you up, did I?”
“Yeah, yeah. I had a couple after… after that last night. You know.”
“Yeah.”
He started again, cautious: “So how goes it?”
“Head’s cabbaged, but I’m alive.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Shouldn’t be, though.”
“How’s that?”
“Last night, on the new bridge. A car pulls up out of nowhere and some fucker lets fly with a machine gun. Fucking Howitzer, he had.”
“Fuck! How –”
“I jumped.”
“Into the river?”
“No, Dutch. I went up the way, hitched a passing hang-glider.”
“Jesus Christ, Harry! Who –?”
“They didn’t say; it wasn’t that kind of party. But I had the Branch around this morning. Again.”
“They were around to the house?”
I realised that Galway and Brady hadn’t stopped by Dutchie’s. I said, slow, wondering why: “I’m not at the house, Dutch.”
“Where are you?”
“You’re better off not knowing. That way you won’t have to lie when they call.”
He chewed it over.
“Think it had anything to do with Gonz?”
“I don’t, no. The hang-glider bloke said it was just a coincidence.” I couldn’t afford to waste any more time waiting for Dutchie to wake up. I moved on. “I need a favour, Dutch.”
“Anything. Say the word.”
“I’ll need your car. Denise took mine last night, headed for the holiday home.”
“Smart. You want to come here and pick it up?”
“Leave it at the shopping centre, the one down at the river. The third level, say. Leave the key in the usual place. And Dutch? This morning? The Dibble aren’t usually that quick off the mark.”
“I hear you. I’ll make some calls.”
“Okay, here’s Gonzo’s mobile.”
He took the number down. He said: “Anything else I can do?”
“Yeah. Can you stow Ben’s bike in the boot? It’s in the keg room.”
“Yeah, yeah, no worries. And Harry?”
“What?”
He was all choked up again.
“Be cute, Harry.”
“Like Barbie, Dutch. I’ll buzz you later.”
I hung up, finished the coffee, thumbed through the telephone book, made the call.
“Good morning, Ulster Bank. Mary speaking. How may I help you?”
“Hi. Can I speak to Tommy Finan, please?”
“One moment.”
“Thanks.”
Greensleeves came piping down the line. I hung up, poured another coffee. Sipped it slowly until the mobile rang.
“Harry? It’s Katie.”
“What’s up?”
“They’re outside the office, just down the street. The girl in the coffee shop says they’re investigating the break-in.”
“Break-in?”
“Yeah. Your office was trashed last night.”
“That’d be right.” Either Galway had got his search warrant, or the pros were even slicker than I’d given them credit for. Or maybe it was just a coincidence. Maybe some scumbags from The Project decided to break in and wreck the place on the very night I was running for my life. The hang-glider bloke sailed by. He was shaking his head. “Katie?”
“What?”
“You’re going to have let me buy you a coffee some time.”
“Cheap bastard.”
“Not so cheap, okay?”
I rang Herbie. The ring tone sounded strange, abrupt, not giving the phone a chance to ring. Which was bad news. There was a chance that Herbie, stoned and oblivious, had disconnected the phone the night before, but when Herbie got stoned and oblivious he generally went chasing porn on the Internet.
I rinsed out the coffee cup, shrugged into the damp Puffa. It was even heavier than I remembered. Maybe that was because I was carrying Gonzo in it now, in every pocket, in the seams of the lining, the folds of the collar, which I turned up defiantly before closing the door behind me.
18
It took me nearly an hour to get