Skulduggery Pleasant_ Death Bringer - Derek Landy [51]
“What do you know of the Passage?”
Finbar didn’t move away. He stood there, his tongue pressed against his lip ring. “Who did you say you were?”
“My name’s Kenny Dunne. I’m a journalist.”
“And why would a journalist be asking about stupid things like the Passage?”
“So you do know about it.”
“Don’t know anything that could help you, sorry. You’d probably better go.”
“I can pay.”
“Then you have more money than sense, mate. Keep it, spend it on something worthwhile. Like a taxi.”
“They say you’re a psychic who saw something so horrible that you haven’t been able to see any visions since.”
“In that case I wouldn’t be any help to you, would I? But you don’t know what you’re talking about, and I haven’t a clue where you’re coming up with this stuff. I’m a busy man. I need you to leave.”
Kenny indicated the empty room. “This is busy?”
“Tuesday takes a while to get going.”
“Finbar, you know what’s going on, don’t you? I’ve been hearing about the end of the world, ancient gods, super powers, strange people who can do amazing things… I’m pretty sure I’ve even met some of them. A tall man in a suit. A dark-haired girl. You know these people?”
“They don’t ring any bells.”
“I’m going to find out, sooner or later. You can help make sure I get the facts right.”
“I don’t know any facts.”
“Come on. I know you’re not a stupid man.”
“I’m quite stupid. Ask anyone.”
“Finbar, are there superheroes living among us?”
Finbar snorted with laughter, and Kenny started to feel a little thick. “Superheroes? In tights and capes, flying around? If there were superheroes, Mr Journalist, don’t you think they’d be in New York or somewhere like that? There’s really not that many tall buildings for Spider-Man to swing from in Dublin, you know? He’d have maybe two swings and then he’d just hang there looking disappointed.”
“These people don’t wear tights and capes, Finbar.”
“So they’re naked superheroes? That’s grand for now, but when the good weather is over they’re going to regret it.”
“They look like us. They dress like us. But they’re not like us. They’re different.”
“You,” Finbar said, “are sounding very racist right now.”
“I’m going to find the truth, with or without you. Either way, you’ll be seeing a lot of me in the next few weeks and months. I’m going to follow you wherever you go.”
“I don’t go anywhere.”
“I’m going to trail your friends.”
“I don’t have any.”
“I’m going to photograph every single person to enter and leave this tattoo parlour.”
Finbar rolled his eyes. “And they’ll hate that, because people who get dragons drawn on their backs are normally so shy about other people noticing them.”
“It doesn’t have to be this way, Finbar.”
That tongue, pressing against the lip ring. “I can’t help you,” he said at last. “But I know someone who might be able to. His name’s Geoffrey.”
“What does Geoffrey do?”
“You can ask him yourself, if he meets with you. Three o’clock today, outside Bruxelles on Harry Street.”
“How do I know he’ll be there?”
“I’ll give him a call. If he wants to meet you, he’ll be there.”
“If he doesn’t show up, I’m coming back.”
“Well, if you come back, I might not open the door.”
“The door’s always open.”
“Then I’ll get the lock fixed,” Finbar retorted. Kenny waited to see if Finbar had anything to add, but he obviously didn’t, so he left him alone.
Kenny had lunch in Milano’s, then walked up to Grafton Street. He wasn’t going to be late – not this time. He got there at half two and sat outside in the sunshine. At a little before three, a small man in khakis wandered up. He had a gentle face, beads in his beard, and hair the colour and approximate texture of wheat. He had many bracelets on his wrists and rings on his fingers.
He joined Kenny at his table.
“You’re Geoffrey?” Kenny asked.
“Indeed I am,” said the man. “And you must be Mr Journalist.”
“Kenny Dunne, hi, pleased to meet you.”
“The pleasure is all mine.”
“I really want to thank you for meeting with me. I’ve been having a hard time getting anyone to talk about this stuff.”
“I can’t really blame them,” Geoffrey said with a chuckle.