Ryan’s mouth was open now. Minogue had his card up.
“Ryan,” he said. “Hold your horses there, pal-”
The driver’s hand flashed up but Malone was ready. His head darted across and down to one side and came up again. The sound of a grunt and breaking glass caused Ryan to look back. The driver’s legs were up and rolling across a low table.
“You’re under arrest!” Malone called out. “I’m a Guard!”
The driver wriggled off the table. Malone kicked him under the ribs as he came up. Ryan’s eyes bulged. Minogue pointed at a seat. Ryan said something but Minogue didn’t hear him.
“Fucking stay there this time,” he heard Malone say.
FOURTEEN
Warrant for what?”Minogue asked. Ryan looked over at the squad car. The Guard standing by the open door, a red-haired recruit with pimples and a mobile jaw, looked to Minogue for guidance. Ryan’s sidekick-and Minogue recalled the tremendous kick that Malone had given him-sat next to another Guard in the back seat.
“It’s my car,” said Ryan.
“Of course, it’s your car, Mr. Ryan. That’s why I’m going to examine it.”
“I haven’t done anything. Charge me.”
“All right,” said Malone. “Assaulting a police officer in the course of his duties.”
“I didn’t touch him! Matter of fact it was him did the-”
“Resisting arrest,” said Minogue.
“Obstruction of a Garda off-” Malone added.
“Oh, come on,” Ryan gasped. “You must be fucking joking!”
“Swearing,” Minogue went on.
“What?”
“Breach of the peace,” said Malone.
“I’m going to fucking phone a solicitor!”
“More cursing and swearing.”
“It’s my right to call one!”
“Fire away-but don’t use that car phone. We have to impound it too.”
“I’ll go to another phone then.”
“Phone from the station,” said Minogue. “But only after we have full confidence that the call you make won’t allow related criminal and indictable acts to be concealed or engaged in.”
Ryan began to say something but stopped himself. Minogue studied the patterned shirt. Fifty quid, he guessed.
“You can’t do this,” Ryan said. “It’s entrapment!”
The Guard holding the door of the squad car shifted his feet.
“Let us into the car, Mr. Ryan,” said Minogue. “The stuff you brought.”
Ryan looked at the Garda by the open door, sighed and held his hand out. Minogue handed him the keys he had taken from the heavy. He nodded at the Garda. “Go ahead there. Hold him on assaulting a Garda in the course of. We’ll be in touch by tea-time.”
The alarm beeped once and the door locks popped up.
“Get in the back there,” said Malone, “and start handing us the goods.”
The interior smelled of a soapy aftershave. Minogue took in the leather seats, the sound system, the phone from Star Trek. He sat behind the wheel. There were tapes of rock groups he’d never heard of.
“Nice,” said Malone. He took a folder from Ryan. “How’d you pay for it?”
Ryan folded his arms and looked out the window.
Minogue began leafing through a photo album. He wondered but didn’t much care about whether Ryan or Malone would notice his reactions. He realized that he was holding his breath and he made the effort to breathe normally.
“Christ,” said Malone to nobody. “Nothing they won’t do?”
“It’s a private collection,” said Ryan. “That’s perfectly legal.”
“A collection of privates, you mean,” said Minogue.
The Inspector didn’t always look at the faces first. The fake smiles began to get to him. The phony ecstasy, the make-up, the lie of beckoning, of need, clouded his lust more and more. There were few who didn’t look painfully amateur. Some couldn’t hide their shame. In others he thought he saw a fear beyond the feigned helplessness. It was Malone who spotted Patricia Fahy first. There were two pictures of her. Her face was red, her eyes glistened. He exchanged glances with Malone.
“These don’t look like Scandinavian furniture to me. Are these all the Irish girls?”
“All I’ve got,” said Ryan. He turned from the window. “Look. What are you really after?”
Minogue said nothing.
“Look, is it such a major crisis if I have pictures? All of them are over eighteen, I hasten to add. You’re obviously working on something. I’m nobody really but maybe, you know, I can help out?”
“What does hasten mean?” asked Malone. Ryan frowned.
“What gives?” he said. “I mean, what do you want to know?”
“I think you should hasten to wake yourself up, pal. Who are your customers?”
“Who said I had customers?”
“Do you know all these people?” Minogue asked. “These women?”
“Of course I don’t. But if you’re looking for someone, maybe I might know them.”
“How can you tell who’s who here then,” said Minogue. “It looks like the camera was an inch from various crotches half the time.”
Ryan sat back.
“Well?”
“The people who commission them, well, they want the pictures for their own sake usually.”
“‘Commission?’ ” said Malone.
“I don’t know anything about any other stuff,” said Ryan.
“What ‘other stuff?”
“Whatever it is you’re getting at. I think you’re trying to frame me for something.”
Malone guffawed.
“Frame you? We don’t need to frame you for anything, pal. You’re the accessory to all the charges that landed on Tarzan, there. He works for you, right?”
He closed the folder and shook his head.
“Here, give me another one. I’m nearly getting used to this stuff. What was the name of that folder I just had?”
“‘All for one and one for all,’ ” Ryan muttered.
“I think that’s the one I have,” said Minogue.
“Yours must be ‘Sports’ then,” said Ryan. He handed him another folder.
“What’s this one?”
“‘Workout.’”
Malone rolled his eyes and grabbed the new folder.
“This is the stuff you said you wanted. Painless and them.”
Minogue looked up from his album. Malone opened the folder. A woman who looked like she’d just stepped out of a steam bath was tied by her ankles and wrists to what seemed to be a row of bars in a prison cell. The beads of sweat or water glistened in the harsh light of an overhead bulb. Painted on her breasts or real, Minogue couldn’t tell, were weals from a whip. Malone’s frown deepened. He turned in the seat and glared at Ryan.
“Don’t take this too much to heart, Ryan, but you’re a fucking slug.”
Minogue followed the pages as Malone turned them.
“Where do these come from?” asked Malone. “Who are these girls?”
“People phone me. I bring the equipment and I do the photography.”
“Where?”
“Different places.”
“Don’t be jack-acting around here,” said Malone. “Talk in English.”
Minogue closed the folder and adjusted the mirror. Nice car, he decided. Wouldn’t mind a blast out the Naas Road with it. He watched Ryan’s face.
“I get a call to come to a place and that’s it. Flats, apartments, hotels. Offices even.”
“Yeah, but who are the people that call you?”
“How do I know? Hey, look, I’m just a hired hand.”
“So you go to these places and…?”
“I go to the address, set up and do the routine.”
“Then?”
“I hand over the rolls of film or negs I have from the session. Then I walk out the door.”
“Who do you give the stuff to?”
“Whoever’s at the door.”
“All out of the goodness of your heart. Do you tell the girls what to do too? Is that your kick?”
Ryan let out a sigh.
“A lot of the time it doesn’t take much to get them going.”
“Ah, come on now,” said Minogue. “These girls look like any girl you’d meet walking down O’Connell Street. They’re hardly professional models. You’re trying to tell me they’re volunteering?”