“Did he hurt her?” he asked, taking the Walther away from Campbell’s temple.
A little of the calm returned to Campbell’s face, along with a shadow of anger. “I told you I don’t know. Now, either take my word for it or shoot me, for fuck’s sake.”
Fegan swung the Walther at Campbell’s cheek again and the impact sent a jolt up to his shoulder. The Scot slumped against the wall, his eyes glassy, blood seeping from the growing welt below his left eye. Fegan took a glass tumbler from above the washbasin, filled it with water, and threw its contents at Campbell’s face. Two more glassfuls and Campbell was upright again, sitting on his hands.
“Who’s the cop?” Fegan asked.
Campbell’s mouth curled in a smile. “The one who did you over? I don’t know him.” He hunched down, his head between his shoulders, when Fegan raised the gun again. “I don’t know, for Christ’s sake! He’s Patsy Toner’s contact. He knows him. I only heard of him today.”
“I need to know who he is,” Fegan said. “I need to know why the RUC man wants him.”
“What?” Campbell raised his head from between his shoulders, a knot in his brow.
“If I’m going to finish this, I need to know why him. What did he do to deserve it?”
Campbell shook his head. “What are you talking about, Gerry?”
Fegan sighed and shrugged. “Christ knows.” He put the Walther back to Campbell’s forehead. “Well, that’s that, then.”
“Wait!” Campbell said. “For fuck’s sake, wait.”
“What for?” Fegan said.
“There’s a way out of this. A way to stick it to McGinty.”
“That’s what I’m doing.”
“No, no, listen to me. There’s a way, I swear.”
Fegan sighed and lifted the pistol slightly. “Go on.”
Campbell’s quick eyes revealed the working of his mind as the words spilled out of him. “McGinty’s milking Caffola’s killing for everything he can get, saying the cops did it. And Eddie Coyle, too. He’s saying the cops beat the shit out of him. If you give yourself up, go to the law, tell them the truth, everyone will know McGinty’s a liar. He’ll be disgraced. Tell the press, tell the TV people. They’re McGinty’s lifeblood.”
Campbell was smarter than Fegan had thought. “No, that won’t be good enough,” he said.
“Come on, Gerry, you know you can’t get to him.” Campbell’s voice belied his wide, easy smile. “He’ll get you first. This way, at least you’ll live. You’ll see him destroyed and you’ll live.”
“No.” Fegan shook his head. “I’m not going back inside. I’ll die first. Besides, McGinty can get me just as easy in prison as he can outside. Easier.”
Campbell leaned forward, his face upturned and pleading. “Just think about it, Gerry, eh? Just take a minute and—”
“Shush.” Fegan pressed the Walther’s muzzle against Campbell’s lips to silence him. “You know I’m crazy, don’t you?”
Campbell gave a nervous laugh as Fegan raised the gun slightly, but he didn’t answer.
“I’m away in the head; you know that, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” Campbell said, his voice cracking.
Fegan sat on the edge of the bathtub, giving in to the insistent pains in his midsection. He kept the Walther trained on Campbell’s forehead. “Then why try reasoning with me?”
Campbell blinked sweat away from his eyes.
“I wanted to know who the cop was,” Fegan said. “I wanted to know why he deserved it. But I know why
you
deserve it.”
“Deserve what?” Campbell asked.
“To die,” Fegan said.
The shadows tightened around them.
Campbell shook his head. “Gerry, I—”
“Those two UFF boys,” Fegan said. Campbell’s head became still. “They were nothing more than cheap hoods, a pair of smart-arses selling dope for beer money. They couldn’t have got McGinty in a million years. They couldn’t even have dreamt of it. They were too busy getting stoned off their own merchandise.”
Campbell’s shoulders rose and fell. Blood and spittle hung from his lip.
Fegan said, “You know what that lot were like, the fucking UFF, and the rest of the Loyalists. All of them. Nothing more than jumped-up thugs with a bit of organisation. They were great at killing their own. They were even better at taking out civilians who had nothing to do with us or them. The easy target, that’s what they were best at. Even the top boys couldn’t have gone after McGinty, let alone those two bottom feeders.
“But somehow it turns out Francie Delaney struck a deal with them. Francie Delaney, an even bigger prick than Eddie Coyle, clubs together with two apes from the UFF and hatches a plan to get to McGinty. Funnily enough, the only person Delaney spills his guts to is you. And you beat him to death in the process of finding that out.”
“He sold McGinty to the Loyalists,” Campbell said. “Everyone knows that.”
“Because you said so, and they believed you. You fingered those two boys to complete the picture, didn’t you? You set it up for me to do them to cover your own tracks. What were you up to? Why did you need to get rid of Delaney?”
“They were going to get McGinty,” Campbell said. “You and me, we saved him.”
“Bullshit,” Fegan said. “You remember. They weren’t killers. Not like you and me. They died like women, crying and begging.”
“Shut your fucking mouth,” Campbell said.
“What, you hear them too?”
“Shut up.”
“When you close your eyes at night, do they scream?”
Fegan felt something vibrate against his chest and heard a high chiming sound. The phone in his pocket. Only one person knew the number. His eyes flicked downward.
Mistake.
Campbell had his wrist, pushing it away and upward. Reflexively, Fegan squeezed the trigger and plaster dust sprinkled down from the ceiling and into his eyes. He was pushed backwards and his head cracked on the tiles over the bath. As spots and dust danced in his eyes he felt himself slide into the tub. He concentrated all his strength on his right hand, the hand Campbell was grappling with, trying to claim the gun. Fegan’s feet hung over the edge of the bath and he kicked out, feeling his foot connect with Campbell’s groin. He heard the other man grunt, his grip weakening for just a moment and Fegan forced his hand down, pushing against Campbell until the Walther was between them.
The pistol’s angry shout boomed against the tiles, and Campbell fell backwards, his face twisted in pain, a scorched strip torn from the side of his shirt. The mirror dropped in pieces from the wall behind him. Fegan strained to drag himself from the bathtub while a hundred knives in his stomach fought to keep him there. He fired at the blurred shape of Campbell making a crouching sprint for the door. The bullet split the wooden frame.