Minogue continued to give him the eye.
“No one slipped into the shop there this last while, while the lads in the van were changing tapes or the like?”
Heffernan spoke with a haughtiness that brought a smile to Minogue’s face.
“God, no,” he said. “Ah, no. Really. It’s as boring now… This is symbolic half the time. Who’d go to Eddsy’s shop for dirty work knowing we sit out here day in, day out?”
Minogue looked over at Kilmartin. The Chief Inspector was pacing up and down the footpath, smoking. J. Kilmartin would give him a right bollocking all the way back to the office, no doubt.
“Only me, apparently,” he muttered under his breath.
The ache he had in his right arm flared every now and then. He’d had to stop several times when it had turned to pain. A hell of a lot of good it did for that bleeding doctor to be telling him that there was nothing broken. Shaking his head and looking down at him, with those X-rays in his hand. Like he was looking down at a lower form of life.
The coin slipped in his fingers as he pressed it toward the slot on the phone. He heard it bounce off the ground but he couldn’t turn fast enough. The pain in his side was too much now and he straightened up. Bruising-what had the doctor called it? Confusion? The doctor didn’t look any older than himself; probably drove a BM-where the hell was the twenty pence?
He suddenly felt as if everything was draining down to his toes. He straightened up, steadied himself against the wall and waited for the little starbursts to stop exploding around him. Rush hour, nearly. Maybe he shouldn’t have had those few pints. To kill the pain, he had thought, to keep off the streets. They hadn’t helped him think any clearer about the plan. He squinted and glanced up at the tops of the buildings. Christ, clouds for the first time in days. Weeks? A woman walking down the path eyed him and crossed the street. He watched her hurry along. He wanted to call out after her that even if he wanted to try and rob her bloody handbag he didn’t have the energy. His mouth was still full of sticky spit.
He still had no appetite. He thought back to the hospital. Christ, he could get a job as an actor any day. And they thought they had him! That cop last night, the one he’d been on the phone to. Minogue. Playing good cop: let’s have a chat there, Liam. Oh, yeah, your life story. Trying to come the heavy then with that crap about running out of friends or running out of places to hide. Daring him to prove he still had mates. But all the time he’d been planning. The questions he’d been asking, even. Christ, he’d learned a hell of a lot more from that cop talking than what the cop had learned from him! He hadn’t been asking him about Jammy Tierney just to pass the time.
Lying there in the bed he hadn’t been sure, but as soon as he’d made up his mind he knew he could do it. His clothes were a total mess. He looked like a knacker, probably smelled like one too. At least he didn’t have to run down the street in a bloody hospital gown! That dopey cop that was supposed to be guarding him, sneaking out to the jacks… He’d be up the creek for that too. Great! The stars had gone but his head still felt light. When he moved his neck it felt like it creaked. He watched the traffic for several moments. Maybe it was a stupid place to be, a place where he could be spotted too handy. A car braked next to him. He was suddenly alert, ready to run, ready to try anyway. A man in sunglasses climbed out of the passenger seat and ran into a shop. The panic began to drain out of him. He stepped into a pub. There was a phone inside the front door. He dialled and waited. The oul lad who ran the place answered.
“Tell him Bobby. Bobby wants to talk to him.”
He listened to the clack of balls as he waited. Someone called out, “Who?” The phone was grabbed.
“Yeah? Who’s this?” It was Jammy.
“Guess who.”
“Is that you, Joe? Trigger? Don’t mess, I’m in a game here!”
“How quickly we forget, Jammy. What’s the story, man?”
A pause. Jammy’s voice was different now.
“Is that you, Leonardo?”
He sniggered. His ribs hurt. He wasn’t even angry now, that was the weird thing.
“No, it’s Bobby Egan.”
“It’s you, isn’t it, Leonardo? Where are you, man?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know. What’s the story here? Did you think I was just going to disappear? Outa sight, outa mind, huh?”
“Leonardo?”
It was the way he said it: that was worth everything. A way better buzz than if he’d just started off sticking it to him. Tierney’s voice was different now.
“I thought you were gone, you know? England maybe?”
“Gone, huh.”
“Come on, man. You know what I mean.”
“You’re a lying bastard, Jammy!”
Now he felt angry. His face was hot again. He rubbed his hand over the unfamiliar bumps, the soft, sticky scab already beginning to form over his eyebrows.
“So you’re in a game, are you now?”
“Well, yeah, I am.”
“How much?”
“Twenty.”
“Tell the guy you’re out, Jammy.”
“Are you serious, Leo-”
“Fucking tell him! And hey! Hold the phone up. I want to hear it.”
“Jesus, Leonardo, I can’t, man.” The whisper excited him.
“Yes, you can. You tell him to fuck off too. I want to hear you say that.”
“Leonardo, man… What’s going on?”
He jumped with the fury now. The screech hurt his throat.
“Fucking do it! Or else!”
“Come on, Leonardo. What did you want? Where are you? I can help you out, you know. You sound like you’re in a jam or something.”
“‘A jam’? You know why I’m phoning you! Don’t fuck with me now, man!”
“I don’t know what you mean! I thought you were long gone. The money and all…?”
“Oh, yeah, Jammy. Long gone, huh? What does that mean? This cop was talking to me last night, man. Yeah, I was in a bit of a jam last night. Like you’d never believe, man! This cop, he’s asking all kinds of questions, isn’t he? About you. He didn’t give too much of a shit about me, did he. It’s you he wanted to talk about.”
Tierney said nothing.
“Hey, are you listening?”
“I don’t get it. What’s he want to talk to you about me for?”
“‘I don’t get it’! Like fuck, you don’t! Now! Tell the guy! I want to hear it.”
He listened to the click of more balls. He thought he could hear Tierney breathing but maybe it was his own breath or the sound of his own blood rushing around in his ears.
“Hey! I’m not going to stand here all day, man! I’m going to count to three and if I don’t hear you say it, I’m dropping the phone! Then I’m going to make one more call, Jammy! That’s all I need, man!”
“Are you here in town?”
Tierney sounded like he was trying not to show that he was in pain.
“None of your business. One… Two…”
“Hey, Anto…”
He stood still in the booth and pushed the receiver harder against his ear.
“Fuck off… Yeah… No…”
He kicked the wall under the phone. All his aches fled: he’d guessed right. That cop-
“There,” said Tierney. “You heard that. That’s twenty quid burned. Look, man, if I knew what you wanted-”
“Tell you what. Listen, just shut up and listen, okay? Now. Why don’t you phone Bobby Egan and ask him. Say: ‘Bobby, my good friend Leonardo-no, Liam-Liam said to phone you. He says you’d know what he wants.’ Try that one. See what Bobby says.”
“Jesus! I don’t know what you want, Leonardo.”
“How does it feel, Jammy? Do you like it?”
“Like it? Like what? Leonardo, I gave you the money, man. I got the word to you so’s you could lie low and every-”
“Oh, yeah? What I want to know is this: how low?”
“I don’t get it.”
He kicked at the wall again.
“Better again,” he hissed. “Just hang up the phone and forget I called. Save yourself the price of the phone. You can talk to Bobby when he comes looking for you.”
He heard Tierney’s swallow before the words came this time.