Hand stopped by Eilis on his way out. Minogue studied Kilmartin’s expression as he, the Chief Inspector, watched Hand give a tentative wave before heading out to the car-park.
“To hell and damnation with that,” said Kilmartin. “He’s bloody lucky not to be leaving here with skid marks all over his arse, I can tell you.”
He blew smoke out the side of his mouth.
“Did you ever hear the like? Yahoos. Is this what all the guff about joint operations is about? Let me tell you something. Joe Keane is still top dog over in Serious Crimes. I’ll be on the blower to him in a few minutes. Lift him out of it I will bejases. Sending Hand over with bits of paper to keep us quiet. What does he take us for at all, at all?”
None of the policemen spoke.
“I can live with Joe,” Kilmartin went on. “Joe’s all right. But the rest of them can be desperate messers. Christ, the crap you hear some days! ‘European police methods…’ ‘In Germany they do this…’ ‘On the continent…’ Iijits. Conferences and duty-free hangovers!”
Malone began tapping his biro on his forehead. Kilmartin broke his stare on the doorway where Hand had disappeared and looked over.
“Stop that, Molly,” said Kilmartin. “Or you’ll be giving me ideas. Now. See those names? I have me own mind on this. Let’s be thinking about the runners and hangers-on that the Egans use. The enforcers.”
Minogue looked back at the board. Lenehan. Balfe. Malone cleared his throat.
“I, er, well, I sort of know one of them,” he said. Kilmartin’s brows shot up.
“You do, do you, now?”
Was this why Malone had looked so distracted during the briefing, Minogue wondered. He took in Kilmartin’s sardonic grin.
“Yeah,” said Malone. “That Balfe fella.” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “It was years ago. He was in a boxing club.”
“Anything you can tell us about him then?”
“I kind of lost track of him. He went the other way.”
Kilmartin looked at his cigarette.
“Like that brother of yours?”
Minogue stared at Kilmartin but the Chief Inspector was looking about the squadroom.
“Let’s see if we can pin those thugs,” Kilmartin said then. “Those enforcers.”
He turned back to Malone and eyed him.
“Pick ’em up, even. Spin ’em around, see what falls out, like.”
He took a last pull of his cigarette and leaned over the desk to reach an ashtray.
“Who do you think might fall out if we did that, Molly? Our Mary?”
Malone glanced at Minogue.
“Maybe,” he said. “Maybe Hickey.”
Kilmartin turned and leered.
“Attaboy there, by God, Molly,” he whispered. “That’s one for the Dublin team.”
EIGHT
Here, get up. It’s nearly ten o’clock.” His eyelashes had stuck together. He panicked for a moment and began rubbing hard at them. He had been crying last night, he remembered. Was it a dream, or had he heard someone moving around in the night? He looked up into the lamp shade overhead. He remembered yesterday and stale fear broke through his bewilderment. Jammy Tierney was still standing in the doorway.
“Thanks, Jammy. Great. I’m okay now, man. Yeah.”
Tierney stared at him. What the hell was up with him?
“I’m going out,” said Tierney. “You can’t stay. You might rob the light bulbs or something.”
Very smart, Jammy. He rolled to the side of the sofa and sat up.
“You look a right knacker and you sleeping in your clothes.”
“Jammy?” He cleared his throat. “Could you loan me a bit of something? You know…?”
“What? What bit of something?”
“A tenner, maybe?”
Tierney folded his arms.
“Fiver? I’ll pay you back. All I need is…” He stopped then. Jammy had that weird grin.
“A fiver,” said Tierney. “Only a fiver? You fall in the door here at eleven o’clock last night, looking like you been through a lawn mower. No explanation, don’t want to tell me what has you wrecked. I hear you poking around here last night when you’re supposed to be sleeping. In the fridge. Opening drawers. Snooping. Now you want to sponge money off me?”
“Wait, Jammy, that’s not the way it is, man-”
“You must be joking. Go home and tidy yourself up. Get a job.”
“Hold on there a minute, Jam-”
“And then go to a clinic and start telling the truth! For once in your life, Leonardo.”
The urge to scream in Jammy Tierney’s face welled up in him. Mr. Fit, with his motorbike and his nixers and his pool sharking. They’d been friends all these years but all he’d done this last while was preach to him about drugs.
“Jammy, I swear to God, man! I don’t do drugs. I don’t! Not the way you think. I mean, man, I wish I could be like you, you know. Really! But a joint never hurt anyone. Takes the sting off things, you know? Christ, you know what it’s like out there! But I’m tired of that scene. Really I am.”
Tierney gave him a bleak look.
“Jases, Leonardo. Always that hurt kid look. I don’t believe I’m doing this.”
“I’ve only got you, man. I’m sorry. I’m going to turn things around, I swear.”
“What happened to you last night then? You weren’t pissed.”
“I ran into a spot of bother at home, like. You know? The ma’s giving me stick and all. I just couldn’t handle it last night. I had to get out.”
“You had to get out, did you.”
This bastard, he thought. Leaning against the doorjamb, putting him through this. So bloody smug, so much better than he was. He thought he was doing him a favour lecturing him. He met Tierney’s eyes for a moment. He imagined giving him a kung-fu leaping kick right in the snot: boom!
“Promise me what I give isn’t going into some dealer’s pocket.”
“Honest to God, Jammy. I’ve had it, man. I know I need to change.”
“How much?”
“Get a job, the whole thing-”
“How much money?”
“Oh.” He tried to laugh but couldn’t.
“A hundred?”
He followed Tierney through the doorway into the kitchenette. Christ, even this place was spotless. Maybe Jammy did it to to impress his mot. Her stuff there in the bathroom.
“Fifty, Jammy. Fifty?”
“What for?”
“Bus fares. Some to the ma. A shirt maybe. To do interviews?”
Tierney picked up his helmet.
“I don’t have it.”
“Twenty then-”
“Shut up. I have to go into town anyway. Come on.”
He’d been leading him on. He looked around the room. Bloody snob, that’s what he was. Always talking of making something of yourself, moving up. It was a bit like Mary, but with her, you knew that she could do it. Jammy Tierney wouldn’t. He’d just have the attitude, looking down his nose at the people he’d grown up with. But he’d never be any better than them.
He rubbed sleep from his eyes.
“I’ll get you something,” Tierney murmured.
“Jesus, Jammy!”
He clapped Tierney’s shoulder.
“Great, man! I knew you wouldn’t sell me out!”
Tierney glared at him. He was about to say something but he let it go. Weirder and weirder, he thought. Too much health did that to you. Too wound-up, too perfect.
“The back of Charley’s, the poolhall, do you know it? Around twelve.”
“That’s great, Jammy. Brilliant, man!”
Minogue put down the phone. He studied the doodles he had drawn while he’d been talking with Toni Heffernan. Triangles; was that anger? He crossed out the i and put in a y. Was it short for Antoinette? Short was right: she had been curt, blunt and short with him. Sister Joe was out on a call. When would she be back? Toni Heffernan didn’t know. Minogue had said he would try again-unless she were to phone him first. He made his way to the kitchen, half-filled the kettle and plugged it in. He was searching for a clean cup when Kilmartin arrived. The Chief Inspector began working on his ear with his baby finger. Minogue opened the bag of coffee beans and inhaled the aroma.