Eight Ball Boogie - Declan Burke [69]
“You thick bastard! Are you looking to get killed? Get us all killed with you?”
“Easy, Dutch. I’m being cute, remember?”
“This is cute? You don’t know who you’re fucking with.”
“I’m not fucking with anyone, Dutch. Everyone’s fucking with me.”
“The East Belfast boys want to fuck you, you bend over for the soap and wash their dicks with it when they’re finished. Alright?”
“East Belfast?”
“Your party favour buddies. The ones Conway was trying to screw.”
“They issue a press release or something?”
He stared.
“Jesus, Harry, this is serious. I don’t think you realise what you’re into here.”
“Hey, Dutch? It was me they tried to blow off the bridge last night. Alright?”
“Alright, alright.” He puffed out his cheeks, exhaled, chewed his gum. “These boys are hardcore, though.”
“It was them? For certs?”
He nodded.
“I heard different, Dutch. So just cut to the chase. Tell me who.”
“Who what?”
“Who bought you who.”
He stopped chewing.
“What?”
“Come on, Dutch. You sold me out. You know it, I know it, Herbie knows it. Or he will, when he’s able to hear again. I found him this morning, fucked over like you wouldn’t believe. They mashed his face in, Dutch.”
“Who mashed his face in?”
“Santa’s little helpers. Who do you think mashed his fucking face in?”
“Jesus, Harry –”
“Whoever put the hammer on me mashed his face in. Whoever tried to blow me off the bridge. Whoever bought you. That’s who mashed his face in.”
“Fuck you.”
“Join the queue, Dutch. And you’re last, because you’ve already blown your load.”
His face was a mask, hard set. I sympathised. He was mad at me for accusing him of selling me out, mad at himself for doing it, and mad at the world because he’d had no choice.
“It’s simple, Dutch. The pros thought Herbie had compromising pictures of Tony Sheridan, and Herbie got hammered because they thought he was holding out. What I couldn’t figure out was how they found out Herbie developed the pictures, and how they knew where to find him.” I shrugged. “The answer to the first question is that I pretty much told them who developed the pictures. It was a stupid thing to do, but that’s the kind of thing I do best and I’ll deal with that later. But it shouldn’t have mattered anyway, because even if they knew Herbie developed the shots they shouldn’t have known who he was or where to find him. That’s where you came in, Dutch. You put them on to Herbie. You had to. Nobody else could have.”
He denied it with his eyes, pleading.
“You called me on the mobile, Dutch. I gave you the wrong number, like I gave it wrong to Dee and Katie, but you still called me. Who gave you the number?”
His face crumpled and his hands started to shake.
“Harry –”
I looked away.
“All I need to know is who, the who will do it. Don’t tell me why, because I’m pretty sure it’ll be a good enough reason and good enough is never good enough. Just tell me who.”
He took a deep breath that wobbled on the way down.
“He called himself Carroll.”
“What’d he look like?”
“Small guy, thin, well-dressed. Looked like a –”
“Galway. He’s a detective, Branch. Was Brady with him?”
“Who’s Brady?”
“His sidekick. Big bloke, look on his face like he wants to kick a hole in the side of his head.”
“Never seen him.”
I nodded.
“When?”
“Couple of days back. Said he’d –”
“I don’t need to know, Dutch. I presume he threatened the kids, Michelle, whatever. Anyway, it’s done. It’s history, write it up whatever way you want. You did what you had to do. All I need to know now is if you’re onside.”
“Harry –”
“I need to trust someone, Dutch, and I don’t have time to make new friends. All things considered, you’re still the best option