Shay left through the back of the building and took a moment at the top of the steps. He needed a strong coffee. With sugar.
He walked down an alleyway, one that led through a car park and onto the street. There was an Insomnia on the corner.
If I do deliver on this, I’ll be back in – Hall said as much – and Lisa and the kids will get out.
But part of him knew he couldn’t trust Hall.
‘Americano and a Danish,’ he said to the assistant.
He took a stool at the window. He placed his coffee and plate on the counter and watched the traffic and the pedestrians stream by.
He knew Hall controlled his future, no matter what way he cut it. He took a chunk of the Danish and slurped down a mouthful of the steaming coffee, nearly burning his throat. He exhaled in satisfaction. Memories of Hall popped into his head, from a few years ago, after the assault, when he was working in Cork and Waterford. Hall had met him one bracing morning along the strand in Tramore.
‘You have one option,’ Hall had told him. ‘You resign from the force. You leave all this to quieten down. You hope you haven’t been spotted and that no complaint is made against you – that you do not become a suspect. After a couple of years you should be able to get back in. In the meantime you can continue to work for us, as a community intelligence source.’
‘This a joke?’
‘No joke. You remember a light flashing at you? Just as you were about to drop a block on that scrote’s head? That was a surveillance team we had on the McCabes. They couldn’t ID you for certain as you were well covered and it was dark, but we know it was you. You were seen shadowing the scrote the weeks beforehand.’
Shay remembered the flashing light. He thought he had planned it all perfectly. He’d conducted surveillance on Jamie McCabe, established his movements at night and when he might be on his own.
Then one night he jumped Jamie from behind, on a quiet road, and forced him onto the ground. He kneeled onto his shoulder and rained down blows on the back of his head. His fists felt like they were splitting with the impact, but he kept slamming him, left and right. Jamie’s teeth grated on the rough tarmac. Before he knew it, he was dragging over a big slab of rock lying against a wall. That he hadn’t planned, but a dark rage had consumed him. He lifted the block. That was when the light flashed in the distance, small, but bright like a torch. He couldn’t tell where it came from. He threw the slab to one side and ran.
But he’d kept to his plan. He got to the old factory, pretty sure no one had followed him. He found the bag where he had left it and emptied the clothes out. He pulled the double layer of latex gloves off his hands, caked in blood and hair, biting his lips at the pain from his fists. He stripped completely, including the snood, hoodie and cap, and dumped everything into the bag.
He rubbed himself down with a towel, put that in the bag too. He threw on another set of clothes. He poured accelerant on the bag and set it alight. He got to the B&B about half an hour later – again checking for anyone tailing – and went up to his room. He shed that set of clothes and put them into another bag. He had a long shower, washed his hair and face and hands over and over. He scrubbed the inside of the shower with a brush and Dettol and steaming water.
He put on a new set of clothes and took everything in his bag. No one saw him leave. He had already made sure there were no cameras in the B&B and, as far as he could see, on the road outside. He dumped the bag in a bin put out for collection the next morning.
He got home about an hour later, taking a complicated route by foot. Lisa was still sound asleep. He’d seen her taking a sleeping tablet before he left, on top of the anti-anxiety medication. He soaked his fists in ice bags for hours. He covered them with antiseptic cream and collapsed into bed, and a fierce sleep.
A bang on the café window pulled Shay from his thoughts. Two drunks were arguing and pushing each other, thumping against the pane. Shay realised he was still holding the coffee cup in his hand. He took a sip. It was lukewarm.
He rose suddenly and swayed, feeling dizzy. The tinnitus in his ear rang clear as a whistle. Then he dropped.
‘Sir, you okay? Sir?’
Shay felt something cold and damp against his head and cheeks. He opened his eyes and saw a cloth over his forehead. The assistant looked at him, concerned. He dragged himself up, feeling weak and embarrassed.
‘You okay?’ the assistant asked.
‘Yeah. Did I faint?’
‘You fell on floor hard. Lucky you not bang head.’
Shay took the cup of water she offered, nodding in thanks. His fist throbbed. His knuckles resisted when he flexed them. He stood there for a moment, pressing his left arm against a counter. He needed fresh air.
As he left, a red BMW cruised past, not unlike the one used by the shooters at the canal. What was it about the fella in the back of that car, he asked himself again, knowing there was something.
Then it hit him.
It was a green hoodie, but it had dark green stripes along the shoulders and arms. The same kind of hoodie he often saw Maggot wearing.