Doyle shrugged. ‘Shit happens,’ he murmured.
She smiled again. It was a warm, infectious gesture.
‘Come on,’ she said. ‘I’ll show you around.’ She led him towards the wide staircase at the end of the hallway.
Doyle felt his shoes sinking into the carpet as he climbed. ‘Where’s the Sheikh?’ he asked.
‘He’s out with my colleague, Joe Hendry. He should be back soon.’
‘What about his wife?’
‘She’s in her room. First thing to remember is that when you’re around them, you don’t speak unless
you’re spoken to. Most of the servants speak some English but they tend to keep themselves to themselves.’
‘How many are there?’
‘Twelve.’
‘Jesus, where do they all sleep?’
‘On the upper floors.The Sheikh and his family have the entire lower and first floor’
‘What about you and Hendry?’
‘We’ve got rooms on the second floor.’
She led him towards another flight of stairs, past more expensive paintings and sculptures.
‘Cartwright said he was paranoid about assassination,’ Doyle said. ‘Does he have reason to be?’
‘He’s worth over fifty million. They say his oil wells pump out the stuff at about sixty-four grand a second. I’d say that was reason enough, wouldn’t you?’
Doyle nodded.
‘He’s more worried about his son though,’ Mel continued. ‘Kidnapping.’
‘I didn’t know he had any kids.’
‘One boy. He’s eleven. Son and heir, that kind of thing. The Sheikh’s very big on that. That’s where you come in.’
Doyle looked surprised.
‘You travel with him to school every day,’ Mel said. ‘Make sure he gets there okay. Then you go and pick him up. Two of the Sheikh’s attendants will go with you.’
‘I didn’t know I was being hired as a fucking babysitter.’
She turned and looked at him.‘Watch your language, Doyle.You never know who’s listening.‘Again that infectious smile.
He nodded and exhaled wearily.‘Shit,’ he murmured, but under his breath.
BELFAST:
Declan Leary couldn’t remember how many pubs he’d been in since arriving in Belfast two hours earlier. Five. Six. More?
He’d drunk pints in the first two then switched to still mineral water with ice. To anyone who cared to look, he might just as easily have been drinking vodka.
He knew that what he was doing wasn’t exactly an ideal method of finding the killers of his brother but, at the moment, it was all he had.
He sat at bars and listened to conversations while he gazed blankly at his paper. He sat in booths and tried to pick up names, sometimes whispered.
Anything that might point him in the right direction.
He moved around the Woodvale and Shankill areas without detection. A Catholic
looked no different to a Protestant, he reasoned. They were all supposed to be human beings, divided merely by religion and beliefs.
That was the way it should have been. But it was not the case. It hadn’t been for over four hundred years and, as far as men like Declan Leary were concerned, it would continue like this for another four hundred.
Despite the promises of the Good Friday Agreement, Catholics and Protestants, for the most part, still kept themselves to themselves. Proddies stayed away from the Ardoyne and Turf Lodge, just as his kind kept out of Woodvale and the Shankill.
Except tonight.
Leary wondered what the mathematical probability was of bumping into one of his brother’s killers in these circumstances. He found it was best not to even consider the astronomical odds.
So, what are you going to do?
He sipped his mineral water and watched a group of men gathered around a pool table.
At the bar there was a television set perched high above the optics. Those seated opposite were watching, barely able to hear because of the noise coming from the jukebox and the incessant chatter inside.
Any one of you bastards could have shot my brother.
He saw two young women enter.The first was wearing a white mini-dress and attracted many admiring glances. She tottered uncertainly on precipitous high heels. Her friend, dressed in imitation-leather trousers and a top barely capable of containing her large breasts, crossed to the bar and ordered some drinks.
Normally Leary might have paid them more attention but tonight his mind was elsewhere.
He got up and moved towards the dartboard, sitting down at an empty seat, watching the two men engrossed in their game. When one scored a bullseye, Leary clapped and raised his glass in salute.
The man looked at him and managed a smile. ‘Do I know you?’ he said.
Leary shook his head. I was just admiring a good shot,’ he commented, his voice slightly slurred.
Part of the deception.
‘Here’s to a good shot,’ he said and raised his glass. ‘As good as the ones that killed those five Fenian bastards the other day.’
The two players looked at each other then continued their game.
Leary watched the darts thudding into the board.
‘Bang, bang, bang,’ he chuckled. ‘As easy as shooting Catholics, eh?’
‘What the hell are you going on about?’ said the first man, retrieving his darts.
‘It’s a pity there isn’t a fucking Catholic standing in front of that board.
That’d be one more out of the way.’ He raised his glass again.
The two men carried on playing.
‘Can I buy you a drink?’ Leary persisted. To celebrate what happened to those fuckers the other day.’
‘Just leave it, will you?’ the second man said, taking a sip of his beer.
‘What’s the matter?’ Leary wanted to know. ‘Five IRA men were shot. If that isn’t cause for celebration, I don’t know what is.’
‘You’re drunk,’ said the first man, throwing his darts once more.
That I am. But then do you blame me? Five more of those bastards wiped out is worth getting drunk for, don’t you think?’
‘I think you’ve had one too many,’ said the second man.
‘Fuck it,’ Leary burbled. He got to his feet and raised his glass.
‘God save the Queen and God save the UVF,’ he called loudly.
The two players looked at each other. A number of other heads turned in Leary’s direction.
‘Will anyone else join me in a toast?’ Leary shouted. ‘I’ll buy anyone in here a drink if they’ll celebrate the shooting of those fucking Fenian bastards with me.’
There were murmurs from all corners of the bar.
Leary lurched towards the two women who both giggled as he approached.
‘What about you two young ladies,’ he slurred.‘You’ll have a drink with me to toast the UVF, won’t you?’ He thrust himself close to the one in the white dress.
‘Lay off, will you?’ said the barman, his face set in hard lines.
Leary raised his glass but stumbled against a nearby bar stool and spilled some of the contents on the girl with the large breasts.
‘Fuck off,’ she spat.
‘Sorry,’ said Leary, trying to wipe the water off, squeezing the girl’s breast as he did so.
‘I said fuck off,’ snarled the girl, stepping backwards.
‘Right, get out now,’ said the barman.
Leary looked at him.
Do it
‘Ah,fuck you then,’ he grunted and stumbled towards the door. When he reached it he paused and looked at the sea of faces gazing at him. ‘God bless the UVF,’ he shouted.
He crashed out into the street, sucking in a deep breath.
Shit No takers.
He set off down the street, glancing behind him.
No one emerged from the pub.