The Business Of Dying

'Well, as far as I'm aware, yeah. What are you getting at exactly?'

'Just making sure. I wouldn't want to think he's got all worried and gone to the police.'

'He wouldn't do that.'

Raymond eyed me closely. 'So you'll vouch for him, then?'

'He won't cause any problems. Like I said, that's why I took him.'

'Good, good.' He nodded his head slowly. 'I only wish I could say the same about the other guy.'

'Which other guy?'

'Our man. The one there on the night, out the front. Waiting for them to arrive. That's what I wanted to see you about.'

'What do you mean?' As if I didn't know.

'He's a nice lad, don't get me wrong, and it's a hard decision to have to make, especially as I know his mother so well, but…' He sighed, then looked at me as if inviting some sympathetic understanding. 'He's a liability too. I think we're going to have to deal with him.'

I'd never actually met Raymond's man, the one who'd radioed in the victims' arrival, but I remembered he'd sounded youngish, no more than twenty-five, and although he'd put on the tough-guy act when talking to me I knew he'd been shitting himself on the night. You can always tell. There's always something just that little bit shaky in the voice of someone who's battling unsuccessfully to control fear. Not that he'd had much to worry about. All he'd had to do was watch out for the Cherokee and inform me when it turned up. I'd had the hard part. I assumed I was going to have the hard part now.

'So, what are you telling me for?'

'You know exactly why. You're my most reliable man, Dennis. A difficult job like this requires the touch of an expert, not some rank amateur.'

I dragged hard on what was left of my cigarette and shook my head. 'Jesus, Raymond. This is getting out of hand. We can't just keep on fucking killing people.'

'He's the last one, Dennis. You can claim a bet on it.'

'You said that to me five days ago. Your exact words were: "It won't happen again." That was Monday. Today's Saturday. What are you going to want me to do next week? Assassinate the fucking Pope?'

'Look, I wasn't to know that the little bitch who saw you'd have a photographic memory, was I? I told you you should have shot her. The fact is, this fucking photofit's got everybody nervous. Very nervous.'

'And that's another thing, Raymond. Who exactly is this everybody you're working with? I hear on the news that I've killed an accountant who, as far as anyone knows, had an unblemished record. So, tell me, who are your associates, and what did they want this guy dead for?'

'The more you know, Dennis, the worse it'll be for you. You know that. Think about it.'

I sighed. 'If I take out this other guy, then what's to stop me being the next on the list?'

'Dennis. At the moment, you're all right. I know you can't go to the police and make any sort of deal. Everybody knows that. You're too heavily involved. There's so much blood on your hands, it's dripping onto the carpet.'

'Thanks.'

'I'm just trying to make you feel better, that's all.' He shot me a smile that I think was meant to show he knew how I felt, and pointed his cigar in my direction. 'And if you don't know anything about the reasons behind what happened then, again, you're no threat to anyone. No threat means there's no point in taking you out, so you stay alive. Which is what you want.'

'And Danny?'

'Your mate? Well, if you say he's all right, he's all right.'

I sighed. 'I just don't like the way things are going, that's all. It's getting out of hand, and in my experience that's when things start to go wrong.'

'Look, Dennis, I don't need it either, but it's what's got to happen. The bloke's name is Barry Finn. He's been walking round the last few days like someone's got a pair of shears wrapped round his bollocks. He's jittery, and it's noticeable. It's not a situation we can allow to continue.'

'And how much are you offering in payment?'

He raised his eyebrows. 'Dennis, this is all about making sure we all stay at liberty, not about making a quick profit. Be serious.'

'Fuck that, Raymond. This whole thing's about profit, and don't pretend otherwise. You want me to kill him, you're going to have to pay up. I'm taking a risk here.'

'You're taking a bigger risk by not doing it, I promise you.' There was the first hint of a threat in his voice.

I looked up at the nicotine-stained ceiling, focusing on a flimsy, dust-covered spider's web that hung forlornly there. I looked for the spider, but guessed he was long gone.

'When do you want him taken care of?' I asked wearily, knowing full well that I had no choice.

'As soon as. Preferably before the end of the weekend. Definitely by Monday.'

'It's not going to be easy. If he's as paranoid as you say he is, he's going to expect someone to take a pop at him.'

'Did he see you on the night?'

I shook my head. 'No. We just talked on the radio. I couldn't tell you what he looked like.'

'That's another reason to use you. He's worked for me for a long time so he knows what most of my people look like.'

'And if I do it, I want it to be the end of it. Understand?'

Raymond nodded. 'Yeah, I understand. It will be.'

His mobile rang. He looked as though he was going to ignore it, then decided it might be important, and took the call.

I took the opportunity to light another cigarette. Raymond listened to whoever was talking on the other end for what seemed like quite a long time, told the caller to get over to the funeral home straight away so they could discuss whatever it was that needed discussing, and pocketed the mobile. It sounded like our meeting was over.

'You're going to need to give me all the details on this guy,' I told him. 'Photograph, address, any other relevant information.'

He smiled. 'No need.'

'What do you mean?'

He patted his jacket where he'd replaced the mobile. 'That was him. He's on his way over here now.'

20

'This is what I call a stroke of good fortune,' Raymond said, rubbing his hands together.

'Don't tell me you want it done here?'

'Why not? It's as good a place as any. In fact, better. Are you carrying?'

I was. A six-shot 2.2 I'd bought from Tomboy years back which I kept for emergencies only. I considered my current plight to be as close to an emergency as I was likely to get and I was fully prepared to use it to defend my liberty and maybe my life, although I didn't like the idea of turning it on someone who presented no direct threat.

'I am, but I don't want to get it dirty. I need it for protection, and if I have to fire it again down the line I don't want to have to worry about this thing getting back to me.'

'Don't worry about that. No-one's ever going to find the body.'

'How can you be sure?'

'Just take my word for it. It's not going to be found. Have you got a silencer?'

'Of course not. I wasn't planning on carrying out any assassinations today, believe it or not.'

He shrugged. 'No matter. The walls are thick in this place. It was built when things were made to last. No-one'll hear anything.'

'Raymond, for fuck's sake. This sort of thing needs planning. I can't just take someone out off the cuff. Not with ten minutes' notice.'

He stood up and fixed me with a hard stare. 'Of course you can. Think positive, Dennis. The problem with you is you're too fucking negative about everything.' He looked at his watch quickly. It was a Cartier or Rolex. Flash bastard. 'Now we've got to get things sorted out. He doesn't live too far away so he'll be here soon.'

I started to say something but he shifted his bulk out of the chair and walked past me towards the door, leaving me no option but to follow. He strode purposefully down the hall and up to the front desk. Vincent was still there.

'I've got some business that needs sorting, Frank, so I'm going to have to shut up shop. We're not expecting any deliveries, are we?'

'No, not today, Mr Keen,' he answered in that funereal drawl of his.