‘Answer your fucking phone!’ Lenny screams into his mobile. The taxi man eyeballs him in the rear-view mirror. Lenny notices; holds his hand up in apology.
‘Excuse my language. Some bastards just slashed all four tyres of my car.’
‘Jaysus, yer jokin’,’ says the taxi man. ‘Why’d anyone do that?’
Lenny sighs.
‘Long story.’
The taxi man opens his mouth to ask more questions, but manages to bite his tongue. Instead, he just stares at Lenny through the mirror, noticing the passenger’s irritation pour from every nuance of his body language; the constant blinking, the scratching at the back of his neck, the sharp breathing. He wants to advise him to call the cops but is beginning to think Lenny might be caught up in something he doesn’t want to get involved in, so he remains mute. He doesn’t have far to drive, another few minutes and he’ll be dropping this drenched passenger off at the entrance to Tallaght Hospital.
Lenny presses buttons on his phone again, brings it to his ear. He can sense the tone ringing in sync with the throbbing in his head.
Still no answer.
He doesn’t overreact this time. He just brings the butt of his phone back to his mouth and begins to chew.
‘Fuckin Jesus bleedin Christ,’ he mumbles to himself.
The taxi man flicks his eyes back up to the rear-view mirror, doesn’t say anything.
Lenny fumbles with his phone again. He doesn’t like sending text messages – they take him too long to type out – but he feels he’s been left with no choice. His phone is so dated that he has to punch a couple of times at each number to produce even one letter of text. After a couple of minutes he’s done.
Answer your phone. Please.
He wanted to add an exclamation mark after ‘please’ but didn’t know how to. He’s also wary of Gordon’s delicate situation and doesn’t feel as if it’s fair to vent his frustrations at him specifically.
‘Ye want the A&E or will I drop you at the main reception?’
Lenny looks up, realises they’re already inside the hospital grounds.
‘Main reception.’
Lenny stares at the meter. That’s another twelve euro spent. He hands over a tenner and a fiver; waits for his change.
The rain has tempered somewhat, it’s just lightly spitting now, but Lenny is still kicking up puddles as he races across the zebra crossing. He allows his breathing to slow down once he’s inside and then rolls his eyes back into his head. He’s trying to think through how he should play this with Gordon. Should he go in all guns blazing, demanding that he is paid his expenses so far? Should he be angry at Gordon for getting him in this mess in the first place? Or should he forget his misfortune, start talking about his fortunes instead? After all, Lenny found out for definite that Betsy wasn’t in Barry Ward’s house. Surely that was enough for them to trigger their agreement; that Gordon’s home would be left to Lenny in his will should he not make it through his surgeries. By the time he’s reached St Bernard’s Ward, his mind is made up. He needs to be fair to Gordon, fair but firm.
‘Sir,’ a female voice calls out, just as Lenny reaches a hand to push at Gordon’s door.
He spins around to be met by the pretty nurse – the same pretty nurse who showed him to Gordon’s room earlier this morning.
He smiles at her, waiting on her to explain why she called out to him.
‘Are you visiting Mr Blake again?’
Lenny nods his head, then mutters a ‘huh-huh’.
‘Would you mind if I gave you a small note?’
Lenny squints, takes a step towards the young woman.
‘It’s just – as you likely know – Mr Blake’s situation is very delicate. He would largely benefit from relaxing ahead of his surgeries. Any… any sort of rise in heart rate this morning could prove fatal to him later.’
‘I’m not here to cause Gordon any stress,’ Lenny says. ‘Just here to support him.’
Elaine smiles.
‘Good… it’s just that—’ Elaine stops talking; Lenny has already turned away from her, is entering Gordon’s ward. Gordon is sitting up in the bed, almost as if he had anticipated Lenny’s arrival.
‘Gordon, Jesus Christ, I know you’re not having the best day of it yourself, but those fuckin savages just slashed every tyre in my car. I’ve had to get a taxi here to see you.’
Gordon holds a finger to his lips.
‘Who?’ he then asks, raising his voice.
‘Fuckin’ Keating and that Barry Ward fella.’
Gordon stares at Lenny, can see the confusion stretching across his brow.
‘Well, at least I think it was them. Can’t have been anyone else surely. Listen…’ Lenny says, then pauses as he whips off his hat and puffer jacket before sitting back down on the blue plastic chair. ‘You’re gonna have to pay me some expenses. I’ve already paid out thirty-two quid on taxis and… Gordon, I just don’t have the money to be splashing out left, right and centre. Unless…’ Lenny pauses again, stares up at Gordon, his eyes tense. ‘Unless… you said if I found out something brand new for you today that you would leave me your house in your will.’
Gordon nods his forehead forward once.
‘Well… I confirmed for you that your Betsy isn’t in Barry Ward’s home. He isn’t holding her captive.’
‘That’s not really new to me,’ Gordon says as he reaches for a book on his bedside cabinet. Then he clicks at a pen and continues talking as he scribbles on a blank page.
‘Keating and Ward are just two gangsters who happened to be in my life when Betsy went missing, so it was always obvious that they would be suspects. After all, I didn’t hang around or know anybody capable of crimes… but they’re not so bad, Keating and Ward. Not really. I never really believed they had taken my Betsy.’ Gordon continues to scribble away as he talks. Lenny pivots his head, so he can try to make out what Gordon is writing.
Keating’s hiding in my toilet cubicle.
Lenny turns back, stares at the bathroom door.
‘Keating may be interested in controlling street affairs and drug distribution in Dublin but he’s harmless really when it comes to hurting people. I don’t think he’s capable of hurting a four-year-old girl. I really don’t…’
I was getting your calls and your text messages, but didn’t want to answer while he was here. I knew Betsy wasn’t in Barry’s because I’ve been in Barry’s house before. I broke in. A couple of times. Went looking for any trace of Betsy, but there was none.
‘…I just wanted you to rule them out once and for all. Given what you’ve told me, that they welcomed you into Barry’s home to help you with the investigation, I am content that they haven’t had anything to do with Betsy’s disappearance.’
Lenny keeps twisting his head from Gordon’s scribbles, to the door handle of the toilet cubicle. He’s not even listening to a word Gordon is saying, he knows he doesn’t have to; that Gordon is just talking for the sake of appeasing a listening Keating.
‘…What else was I supposed to do, just lie here and die? I hired you to…’
If you clear Jake Dewey, I will leave you the house. I promise.
‘…look again at the suspicious people who were around me, around my family at the time of Betsy’s disappearance. I’m sorry you have had to pay out some expenses but I can’t afford to pay you any more. I don’t really have much more money.’
Gordon underlines – with emphasis – the last line he wrote. Then he looks up at Lenny, meets his eyes and winks.
‘I promise,’ he whispers really softly.
Lenny’s eyes almost water. He genuinely believes Gordon. As Lenny is imagining his twins running around a much bigger home, Gordon twists in the bed and removes an envelope from under his pillow.
‘I think it’s probably best if we call an end to the job, Lenny, but I am very grateful for your time. I need to relax ahead of my surgeries and the nurse is getting all antsy because my heart rate’s been high since I hired you…’
As Gordon continues to talk, he removes a letter from the envelope, pivots it so that Lenny can read it.
This is the will and testament of Gordon James Blake.
I hereby wish to leave the home, addressed 166 South Circular Road, Inchicore, Dublin 8, Ireland to Leonard Moon.
Signature 1
Signature 2
Signature 3
Lenny eyeballs Gordon again, then blinks rapidly.
‘My signature plus two witnesses,’ Gordon whispers. ‘I promise that I will have two nurses sign this here today and then I’m gonna leave this will there.’ He nods at his bedside cabinet.
Lenny stands up, places his hand on top of Gordon’s and then gives an affirmative nod.
‘I am so sorry I couldn’t do much more for you, Mr Blake. I’ll get going back to my office. I wish you all the very best with your surgeries this afternoon. I’ll be thinking of you.’
Then he bends down close to Gordon’s ear.
‘Jake Dewey’s address?’ he whispers.
‘I’ll text it to you,’ Gordon whispers back.
‘Goodbye, Mr Blake.’
Lenny never could act. He can’t even lie. And you have to be able to lie convincingly to be an actor.
Although Gordon seemed to cringe a little at Lenny’s acting attempts, they both feel as if they did a good enough job. Lenny picks up his yellow jacket and hat, then strolls out of the ward and heads straight towards the lift. After the lift doors close, Lenny produces a little dance – the type of dance a fourteen-year-old girl would do if the boy she’d had a crush on for months text her to ask her out on a date. He believes Gordon, genuinely believes that if he can eliminate Jake Dewey from having any involvement in the Betsy Blake disappearance then he truly will be left a million euro house.
‘Who else is he gonna leave it to?’ he says to himself in the mirror of the lift after finishing his dance. When the lift doors ping open, he heads straight to the shop next to reception.
‘It says ATM on the window?’ he says to the young girl behind the counter.
She doesn’t answer verbally, she just points. Lenny paces down the back of the shop, takes his debit card from his wallet and places it in the machine. He then taps in his pin number and selects ‘View Balance’.
€1,166.
The grand Gordon transferred into his account this morning would keep the Moon’s heads above water this month; but in a more pressing way, it would allow Lenny to take taxis for the rest of the day, would help him get to Jake Dewey’s home, help him eliminate him from Betsy’s disappearance and – ultimately – help Lenny come into possession of a million euro gaff.
Lenny removes the three twenty euro notes at the same time his phone pings. He checks the screen. A text message from Gordon Blake’s number.
Jake’s address: 49 Woodville Road, Terenure, D 6.
Lenny smiles to himself. Then tucks the notes and his phone inside his jeans pocket and heads straight towards the rain.