Shay ignored the priest’s call. He grimaced at the pains in his head and wrist. His nose was a swollen mass and blood had hardened around his mouth, making it difficult to breathe. His jeans were ripped at the knees and his top was streaked in red and black.
People looked at him as he stumbled and ran; splutters of adrenaline pushed his hollowed body forward. Shay’s stomach knotted the more he battled his thoughts.
What was Hall fucking up to?
He knew he couldn’t trust him.
I’ve no choice but to play ball. If I intervene now, I could kiss everything goodbye. I’d be blacklisted for good.
He wondered if Leo was talking through his hole to the priest. But he sensed otherwise. The RCAD were serious heads and were gunning for a spectacular. And what bigger prize than the Canal Gang?
There was a bang from the direction of the canal. A fireball rose over the houses and a huge cheer went up.
Shay’s ribs ached at the strain from running. His balance was disorientated from his blocked ears.
Jig’s house came into view. He saw Father Pat pacing outside.
‘My God, Shay, what happened to you?’ Pat’s eyes widened as he looked him up and down. ‘You look like you’ve been run over.’
Shay struggled to talk, with all the blood and tissue up his nostrils.
‘Were you assaulted?’
‘You should have been a detective, Pat,’ Shay said, stumbling to Jig’s door and banging it.
All he could hear was a television blaring inside.
‘They’re not answering,’ the priest said. ‘Jig’s sister Donna is in there and the mother. Shay, you have to go to hospital. Your nose and your head . . .’
‘I’ll live.’
‘You hear that explosion?’ the priest asked, after a moment.
‘Dante seems to be out tonight, Father,’ Shay said and he kicked the door.
There was stomping on the stairs. The door opened.
Shay remembered her face, though she looked better now than when he last saw her.
Donna reared back, opening her mouth, as she surveyed Shay.
Bowie barked down the hall, behind the kitchen door. The sitting-room door swung back, the white of a television glaring in the darkness. Jig’s ma appeared. Her two little ones popped out behind her, sucking on chips. The ma held an arm up to the frame to steady herself. Shay reckoned she had a tankful on board – vodka, tablets, God knows. Strings of greasy hair hung down the sides of her head.
‘I’m trying to watch the fucking telly,’ she said, shouting every second word, ‘and me head is wrecked from youse banging –’
She stopped as she focused on Shay.
‘Jaysus, Shayo, ya out trick-or-treating or what?’ she said with a rough laugh. ‘Or did that dozy wife of yers finally smack ya one for being such a sap.’
Shay clenched his fist.
Christ I’d love to punch you right in that miserable face.
He felt a hand, that of the priest, on his shoulder.
‘Jig could be, is, in danger,’ Pat said. ‘We need to find him.’
The ma’s face twisted in exaggerated concern.
‘Jig, in danger? Sure, what’s new. He’s probably down by the bonfires. Thought ya be down there, Father, hanging out with all them little boys,’ she said.
Shay looked at Donna.
‘Donna, you know where Jig is?’ Shay asked. ‘Who he’s with?’
She shook her head, biting her lip.
The mother reached over to the door and rammed it shut, nearly taking Shay’s head off. Pat supported him as they walked to the gate.
‘Fuck them, Pat,’ Shay said. ‘His own family don’t give a shite. Why should we?’
His head was banging. He felt near to collapse.
‘It’s easy to do the right thing for good people, Shay. The real test is doing it for the bad ones.’
‘You’re a good man for the old quotes, Pat. You should write them down. For all the good it would do.’
Shay leaned against the pillar and concentrated on staying upright.
‘What about that detective, Shay?’
Shay slipped and smacked his shoulder hard off the pillar. The priest grabbed him and stopped him from hitting the ground.
‘Jesus, Shay.’
The priest groaned as he heaved Shay up. Fresh blood dripped from Shay’s nose.
‘Here, take this.’
Shay took a tissue from the priest and leaned back again. Out the corner of his eye, he spotted movement from a window above.
‘It’s all fucked up, Pat.’
‘What you mean?’ the priest asked, moving closer.
‘I’m not who you think I am. I’m a sham, a sad joke of a man.’
The priest furrowed his eyebrows.
‘Shay, a lot of people, good people even, are twisted by troubles, tormented by demons. But we have a child here who is in danger. And we are the only people that can help him. If we don’t act now it will haunt us.’
The door behind them creaked. A gap opened and Donna stepped out. She walked out to the gate, clasping a cigarette.
‘Youse didn’t hear this from me,’ she said, scuffing a foot against the ground. ‘Jig left with Ghost in a car. Over half an hour ago.’
She glanced over her shoulder.
‘Ghost told him to leave his phone here, but I slipped my phone into his pocket. I’ve been trying to text and ring him after youse came, but nothing.’
‘What’s the number?’ Shay said.
She told him and he typed it in and rang it. No answer.
‘Any idea where they were going or what for?’ Shay asked, still holding the tissue to his nose.
‘Haven’t a clue. Shouldn’t have let him go.’
‘We’ll have to call the guards,’ the priest said.
‘She’ll go fucking ballistic,’ Donna said, nodding to the house. ‘If the cops come here, I didn’t tell youse nothing.’
She flicked the fag past them and slipped back inside.
Shay slumped against the pillar and reflected on his options.
Better ring the unit and give them this number. Let them trace it. But they’ve already told me to back off, to do nothing.
He knew, in his bones, they had their own plans.
Pat was beside him, but didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. Shay knew they were thinking the same thing.
Spitting blood, Shay pulled out his wallet, his wrist complaining at the strain, and tugged at a card.