“Yes, you are.”
“You tell yourself that. Make yourself feel like a big man. I won’t—”
Campbell stood on the brake, pitching Marie forward. She jarred her forearm against the dashboard as she shielded her child. The girl squealed. Campbell reached out and grabbed a handful of Marie’s hair.
“Listen, I’ve had enough, right? I’ve had enough of this shit. I want it over. It’ll be over quick enough for you and your kid if you don’t be quiet. Now, keep your mouth shut.”
Coyle reached across and gripped Campbell’s wrist. “Go easy, Davy.”
Campbell looked hard at Coyle. Coyle dropped his eyes and released Campbell’s wrist. Tears ran down Marie’s cheeks as the little girl buried her face in her mother’s bosom.
“Just be quiet,” Campbell said. He let Marie’s hair slip through his fingers. “You can get through this if you’re quiet and do what you’re told.”
Her eyes reflected the headlights of one last oncoming car. She speared him with them and he hated her. His own eyes grew hot as he stared back. No, he didn’t hate her, he didn’t even know her. But hate was in his heart. Who for?
When the answer came, as hard and sure as any single thing he’d ever known, he could hold her gaze no longer. He looked straight ahead, put the van in gear, and began climbing the hill again.
The ground levelled onto a farmyard. The barn and house faced each other across potholed concrete, and a row of stables joined the two. Empty wire cages completed the square. Layered odors drifted on the night air; the low smell of dog feces coupled with the higher, acrid sting of chemicals. The copper stink of blood and fear mingled with both at the back of Campbell’s throat.
Six men gathered in the shelter of the empty barn’s doorway. McGinty was there, and his driver, Declan Quigley. Two more Campbell didn’t know, but the two tall, stout ones - they could be no one else but Bull O’Kane and his son. Campbell’s heart fluttered in his chest at the sight of O’Kane’s bulk. Marie had become still and quiet. He wondered if she knew who stood in front of the van, shielding his eyes from the headlights. The engine rattled and shook as it died. Campbell opened the door and climbed down.
The group of men stepped out into the stuttering rain, O’Kane at the fore. “You’re Davy Campbell?” he asked.
“That’s right.”
O’Kane stepped forward and extended his hand. “I’ve heard about you.”
The fingers were coarse and thick. Campbell fought to keep from wincing at the old man’s grip.
“Aye,” O’Kane said, with a slanted smile. “I know all about you.”
Campbell’s stomach twitched. “It’s good to meet you, Mr. O’Kane.”
“Call me Bull. Now, how’s our guests?” He released Campbell’s hand and walked to the van’s passenger side where Coyle waited. O’Kane ignored him and reached into the cabin. “C’mon out, love. You’re all right.”
Marie slid along the seat, the girl in her arms, and stepped down to the ground. She didn’t pull away when O’Kane took her elbow. McGinty stepped forward and Campbell saw his and Marie’s gazes meet, something cold passing between them.
O’Kane slipped his hands under the child’s arms. “And who are you?”
Marie didn’t let go of her daughter. “Don’t.”
“What’s your name?”
The girl held on to her mother’s sweater, but O’Kane pulled her free.
“Her name’s Ellen.” Marie’s voice cracked as she spoke.
“You’re a pretty wee girl, aren’t you?” O’Kane took Ellen in his arms and pinched her cheek. She reached for her mother, but O’Kane stepped away.
“Do you like doggies?”
Ellen rubbed her eyes and pouted.
O’Kane walked towards the stables, holding her close. “Do you? Do you like doggies?”
Ellen nodded. Scraping and whining came from the stables. Campbell’s mouth dried.
“Wait till you see this nice doggie.” O’Kane unbolted the upper half of a stable door and let it swing open. A low whine came from inside.
Campbell looked to Marie. Her shaking hands covered her mouth. She was fighting hard to hold on to herself, hiding her fear from the child. Something that might have been respect rose in Campbell, and he had an inexplicable and desperate urge to touch her. He shook it away.
The other six men - Coyle, McGinty, the driver, O’Kane’s son, the two Campbell didn’t know - all watched the stable door.
McGinty took a step towards the old man. “Bull,” he said.
O’Kane turned to face them. “It’s all right. Sure, these boys are gentle as lambs with people. I train them right.”
A murky scent drifted out of the stable. Heavy paws appeared above the lower door, followed by a square block of a head, dirt-caked and scarred. The dog’s tongue lolled from its jaw, a viscous line of drool disappearing into the dark. O’Kane reached out with his free hand and scratched the back of the pit bull’s thick neck. It squinted at the sensation of his callused fingers.
“There, see? He’s a nice doggie. Do you want to pet him?”
Ellen shook her head and wiped her damp cheeks.
“Aw, go on. He’s a nice doggie.”
She looked down at the animal, rubbing her nose on her sleeve. She sniffed.
“He’s a good doggie,” O’Kane said. “He won’t bite.”
He lowered Ellen so she could reach its head with her small outstretched hand. Her fingers created ripples on its brow. Marie squeezed her eyes shut when its tongue lapped at the girl’s fingertips. Coyle placed a steadying hand on her shoulder.
“There, now. I told you he was a nice doggie, didn’t I?” O’Kane hoisted the child up in his arms as she continued to reach out to scratch the dog’s head. He looked at Marie, a fatherly smile on his lips. “You’ll behave yourself, won’t you, love?”
Marie stared back.
“Of course you will.” O’Kane pushed the dog’s head back down with his free hand and swung the upper stable door closed. He bounced Ellen in his arms as he walked back towards Marie. “You and your mummy will be good, won’t you?”
Christ, let it be over
, Campbell thought. The sudden trill of a mobile phone made his heart knock against the inside of his chest.
McGinty reached into his jacket pocket. “Hello?”
Campbell watched his face go slack. The politician walked away from the group, the phone against one ear, a finger in the other.
“Patsy, slow down. What happened?”
From a rickety chair in the corner Campbell watched McGinty and O’Kane pace the room. He chewed his lip as the balance shifted back and forth between them, O’Kane the old warhorse, McGinty the slick politico. Little more than a decade separated them, but they were generations apart.
“This changes everything,” McGinty said.
“It changes nothing,” O’Kane said.
A bare bulb driven by the generator outside picked out the patches where damp had peeled the wallpaper back. Downey leaned against the far wall of the living room, his thin arms folded across his chest. Quigley the driver sat cross-legged on the opposite end of a tattered couch from O’Kane’s son while Coyle slouched against the wall, sparing Campbell the occasional dirty look. Malloy guarded Marie and Ellen in a room upstairs. Lazy waves of rain washed across the old sash windows and the sound of dripping water was everywhere. The smell of mold and mice lingered in Campbell’s nose.