Eight Ball Boogie - Declan Burke [64]
“Two fucking guesses, Tone. Now sit the fuck down.”
He wasn’t used to people talking to him like that; the concept seemed to intrigue him. An acrid smile tugged at the corner of his mouth and he sat down. I pulled up a wicker armchair, smiled around at them all.
“Pray continue, Tone,” I said. “Whatever you were saying before I arrived, it looked like fascinating stuff.”
“I’m more interested in hearing what you have to say.”
“Fine. I could pretty much guess the gist of yours anyway. Probably how best to give the boys in baseball caps their P-45s. Shoddy job last night – eh, Tone? Not that I’m complaining, mind. But it’s just as well they missed, for all our sakes. You especially.”
His expression didn’t change. He rubbed the back of his fingers against the faint stubble on his jaw.
“If you want me to spell it out let’s go back to ABC.” I nodded at Conway. “Fuckwit yonder is known to the Dibble, from years back, for dealing E. They haven’t been able to keep tabs on him lately, and things got so quiet they were starting to think he might even have gone legit. That, as we all know, is horseshit.”
I checked Conway out, to see how he was bearing up. He was looking peaky.
“We’ve been through all of this earlier, Frank and me, and Frank has kindly agreed to pay me to keep my trap shut about. Not that it’ll ever cost him a penny, I wouldn’t touch his money with a leper’s dick, but that’s the only language Frank understands. It was enough to get him on the blower to you, though, and that was enough to get you flushed out the U-bend.”
Sheridan’s eyes glittered.
“See,” I said, “something bugged me about Big Frank, when he came to see me about his wife playing away.”
Helen Conway looked sideways at her husband, amused.
“Like I told him, it didn’t ring true. So when I found out she takes lakeside strolls with prominent TDs, I was pleasantly surprised. The photographs turned out lovely, by the way. I’ll get you a copy of the prints when they’re ready to go. Your lackeys called around too early this morning.”
Conway swung around, stared at his wife, eyes wide. She gave him a withering glance, came back to me.
“Anyway, I was even more surprised when the Dibble told me that Frank was involved with my brother a couple of years back, that my brother did time for Frank. That made sense. That gave Frank Conway a reason for coming to see me. But it meant the Ice Queen and the TD stuck out like an arthritic thumb.”
“I’m presuming there’s a point to all this.”
“Don’t take the piss, Tone. The fact that you’re here, and that you got here so quick, tells me two things. One, you’re in this up to your oxters. Two, it’s about to go off quick smart. And right now the Dibble are waiting to nab Big Frank in the act, bringing his pills in from Belfast. Happy days, maybe Gonzo’s life will have been worth something after all, because it’ll give the Dibble what they need to put Conway away.”
Conway’s knuckles were white where gripped the arms of the wicker armchair. It was all he could do to prevent himself from lunging across the low table. Sheridan stayed cool.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because Frank got me digging and what I dug up links you to his wife. Which hooks you to Frank, whose former drug courier is now dead from an overdose. None of which would make it through the door of any court in the country, but it’s the kind of thing the redtops eat without salt, especially with photos to back it up. You know this already, which is why your stooges took a pop last night.”
He stared me down.
“You don’t want money,” he said, deadpan. “What do you want?”
“Nothing, Tone. Not a fucking thing. No hassle, no grief and no fuckers taking pot shots at me when I’m wandering home late at night. In return, the photos get a Christian burial and I forget where they’re buried. Although I carve a tombstone, just to be on the safe side. Your tombstone.”
He mulled it over.
“It all sounds very tidy. What guarantee do I