Eight Ball Boogie - Declan Burke [61]
His lips were clamped shut but his jaws were moving.
“Choice stuff, Frank,” I needled. “I’ve heard about some of those positions but I never believed them possible. Still, they say the camera never lies.”
Conway deserved a lot of things but the truth wasn’t one of them. And if my instincts were right, my best bet was to push him all the way to the edge.
“Don’t sweat it, there’s usually something. A woman wouldn’t be human if she didn’t flirt a little, and your wife just happened to take it a step further.” I paused. “Okay, so she took it about a triple jump further, but let’s not split hairs. The point I’m making is, you didn’t think she was screwing around at all. So that got me wondering. Why does Big Frank want me thinking his wife is screwing around? Then, yesterday morning, two Branch boys turned up in my office, asking about you. That’s coincidence, Frank, in any man’s book.”
He rubbed at his nose with the back of his hand.
“Dry your eyes, I didn’t tell them anything. All my clients are assured of discretion, even the ones that are fucking me around. But it got me wondering, so I did a little more digging and fuck me if I didn’t turn up a sweet little potato, Big Frank Conway is running party favours through Belfast. A word to the wise, Frank, and I won’t charge you a penny for it. I didn’t have to dig very deep. So, let’s talk profit margins.”
His voice was scratched sandpaper.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“No? Then maybe I’m wasting my time talking to you.” I kissed the dice, let them roll. “Do me a favour, Frank. Ring Tony Sheridan for me, I don’t have his number handy. And if you don’t have it, I’m sure the lovely Martina will be only too happy to oblige.”
Snake eyes. He slumped back in the chair, deflated.
“What do you want?”
“Two things. For starters I want two grand a month for keeping my trap shut. That wouldn’t pay your dry cleaning bill, I know, but I’m not greedy.”
“What else?”
He was too quick, too compliant.
“Don’t get smart on me now, Frank. I’ll be surprised and I don’t like surprises. You think I’m stupid? That I’d walk in here and start shooting my mouth off? Without taking out insurance against ending up like Gonzo?”
He’d done composed, he’d done panicked, now he was doing confused. He was wasted as an auctioneer. He should have been in Hollywood.
“Gonzo?”
“Gonzo. My brother, that enemy action I was talking about, the third coincidence. It’s the other thing I want, to know why my brother was murdered last night.”
His mouth dropped open. Either he knew nothing about Gonzo or Stanislavski was officially old hat.
“Your brother was murdered?”
“Someone fed him dodgy E. His brains came out his nose in the end. When the picture’s developed, I’ll send you a copy. You can frame it.”
“Christ, Rigby.” He was hoarse by now. “I didn’t even know you had a brother.”
“He wasn’t brother enough to say, but that’s not the point. You mightn’t have known him as my brother. Some people knew him as Gonzo. Other people knew him as Eddie. You knew him, about four years ago, as Robbie. Robbie Callaghan.”
He swallowed hard.
“Ding-ding, that rings a bell. Good old Robbie, Robbie the fall guy. Did his time without a squeak, kept your nose clean. He gets out and all of a sudden he’s called Gonzo again. Or was he still calling himself Robbie? I only ask because I want to know what we should put on the headstone.”
“Robbie’s dead?”
“Someone slipped him a Mickey Finn. I’m betting it was you, even though the Dibble are thinking the same.”
He gave me his best goldfish impression.
“Jesus, Rigby. I knew nothing about –”
It looked convincing, but then Big Frank was only a movie away from a nervous breakdown in the Dorothy Chandler pavilion. I stood up.
“Maybe you did and maybe you didn’t and maybe you know someone who did. If you do, tell them this. Whoever had him killed had a reason for doing it. Tell them I said the reason wasn’t good enough. No matter what it was, it wasn’t good enough. Which is why we’re talking payback.”
He nodded, reached for the Marlboros.
“You smoke too much,