‘I s’pose so.’
‘There is one way you take after Jinky though.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘The lasses,’ he told me, ‘I don’t know if it’s what you say to them, or the way you say it, but you’ve always had more than your fair share, just like him.’
‘And look how he ended up,’ I reminded Our young’un.
I hired a young lass to do the singing and she was ace; classically trained, with gold albums, the works. She’d sung for royalty, appeared at the Royal Albert Hall and belted out Abide with Me at the Cup Final to a crowd of ninety thousand. She had a voice like a bloody angel, plus she was as fit as fuck, so the mostly male audience loved her. I paid her well and asked her to sing some patriotic numbers because I knew the guys on these tables would lap it up and part with more of their cash for Help the Heroes, our chosen charity. She did Jerusalem and I Vow to Thee My Country and the applause was loud and warm. They were stuffing notes in envelopes and making credit card donations like they had money to burn.
It was a bit over the top but I got her to sing Land of Hope and Glory at the end and they all waved the little Union Jack flags we’d placed on the tables. I think the booze helped with that. They actually got to their feet and gave her a standing ovation afterwards. I walked on stage, gave her a kiss on the cheek and presented her with a big bouquet, while she smiled like she was having the time of her life, bless her.
She placed the bouquet carefully to one side and moved her microphone out to the front of the stage, so it was right by the top table. The band put down their instruments and let her get on with it.
‘I’ve one last song before I finish,’ she told the audience, ‘two actually, because I want to start with this one,’ and she then looked straight at Danny, who up to that point had been completely oblivious, and softly started to sing ‘Ha-ppy Birth-day to you, Ha-ppy Birth-day to you,’ at which point Danny’s eyes almost fell out of their sockets. I stayed poker faced as she finished, and the crowd all cheered and applauded.
Our young’un smiled self-consciously and gave them all a wave, then he mouthed ‘thank you’ at her, but she wasn’t finished yet. She waited till the crowd stopped applauding and held the microphone close to her lips and gave Danny a look like he was the only man there. Then she started to sing something everybody in the room recognised, ‘Oh Danny Boy… the pipes, the pipes are calling…’
Our young’un was transfixed. I don’t think he could quite believe that she was singing this for everyone in the room and only for him, all at the same time. He was staring goggle eyed at her, hanging on every word. Then, about half way through, as if he suddenly remembered me, he looked over and I winked at him. He looked away quickly.
When she reached the chorus of Danny Boy he started pulling some strange faces and it took me a while to realise that, like Jinky Smith, he was desperately trying not to blub. In the end he had to put his hand up to his eyes to stop the tears, so I was saved the spectacle of seeing two grown men crying in the same week. The funny thing was, I had to turn away too and fake like I was trying to stifle a cough. Because, when she sang that bloody, corny old Irish song to my older brother and he almost wept, well it got to me too. I told myself not to be such a soppy fucker, took a deep breath and just about managed to hold it together.
45
It was the drive-by that sparked Fallon’s latest visit to the Cauldron.
‘The guy’d been with me for years,’ he told us, ‘they shotgunned him as he stepped out of the pub for a fag. They drove off before anyone could do anything, left him bleeding to death in the gutter. We can’t let this one go,’ he told me, and he meant that I wouldn’t be allowed to let it go, not if I wanted to retain any credibility with Fallon and his men.
‘There is a way to sort this,’ Palmer told us before I was able to answer Fallon, ‘but you’ve got to let me do it on my own. If we try to go in there mob handed with Fallon’s lads it’ll be like the gunfight at the OK Corral and the police will be all over us in minutes.’
‘What do you have in mind?’
‘Let me go and see them. I’ll have another word,’ answered Palmer. ‘I’ll send them away,’ he said simply. He was deliberately cagey and I knew why. He didn’t want anyone to know the details of his plan. The more people who knew, the more likely it was that someone would leak it to the police, maybe even sell details to the Serbs. It wouldn’t have been the first time we’d been betrayed, so I didn’t ask again.
‘What do you need?’
He took a while to answer then said, ‘I need Robbie to take out any CCTV in their street and a few streets either side, so they can’t link my arrival to the scene.’
‘Okay,’ I said, ‘what else?’
He shook his head, ‘Nothing. Just leave me to it.’
‘Fair enough,’ I said, ‘when?’
‘Might as well be tomorrow. No point fucking about, eh?’
‘I’ll drive you,’ Kinane said.
‘No,’ Palmer answered quickly and Joe Kinane looked a little put out.
‘He’s right Joe,’ I told him, ‘you’re known. You’d stand out a mile in that street,’ and I turned back to Palmer, ‘take someone else, somebody who isn’t known to them.’
‘I’ll do it,’ said Peter Kinane and we all turned to look at him, including his dad. What we saw was a man who looked so damned determined to prove he wasn’t like his older brother that I didn’t hesitate.
‘Okay,’ I said and Joe Kinane stayed silent.
Palmer checked his watch and let the final seconds tick away, then he glanced at Peter Kinane. He climbed out of the car, closed the door behind him and commenced a leisurely walk along the street.
Peter Kinane was unlikely to be seen from his position. He’d parked far enough away from the house on a corner. From here he could clearly make out the property, the huge, bald, Serbian enforcer guarding the doorway and the comparably slight figure of Palmer as he walked unhurriedly towards it.
The Serb heavy was expecting Palmer and watched him all the way. When he reached the man he said, ‘I have a message for Dusan Stevic from David Blake. He wants to talk. He has a new offer, to end this.’
‘Wait,’ he was told and a second heavy manning the door left his post and went in to announce Palmer’s arrival. Palmer waited, the first guard watching him intently the whole time, huge arms folded across his tree-trunk chest.
The second heavy eventually returned and said something in Serb to his colleague. He stood aside and Palmer was allowed to walk up the steps. As soon as he reached the front door they patted him down thoroughly to ensure he wasn’t carrying. When they were satisfied, there were more words in Serbian between them and Palmer was waved on into the house and up the stairs. One of the men called ‘Zoran!’ to alert the man standing outside the brothers’ secure room.
As before, Zoran wore his long black coat open and Palmer could see the handle of the gun protruding from the shoulder holster. Zoran went about the rigmarole of searching Palmer all over again but Palmer was unarmed. He knew he could never get a weapon past these guys. When he was satisfied that Palmer was clean, Zoran called through the locked door and one of the brothers answered him, Zoran spoke again and there was a pause. The enforcer surveyed Palmer intently as he waited and Palmer stared straight back at him, saying nothing.
There was a buzz from inside the secure room and the door clicked open. Zoran stepped to one side to enable Palmer to walk up to it and open the door. Palmer advanced towards the door but, at the last moment, as he reached out with his gloved left hand to push it inwards, he turned his open palm into a fist then moved so quickly Zoran had no time to react. Palmer’s left fist became a blur that flew sideways and landed hard on Zoran’s throat, crushing it. Zoran’s eyes bulged and he began a panicked battle to breathe now that his windpipe and throat had been crushed. As the big man swayed, Palmer pushed him backwards against the wall and forced his other hand into Zoran’s jacket. It came out holding the silenced pistol and in virtually the same movement Palmer wedged the end of the barrel up beneath Zoran’s chin and fired. The round tore through him, taking the top of his head off and splashing blood all over the ceiling. As the big man’s body slumped to the ground, Palmer kicked in the door.