Jeff Kneller and his partner Joe Evelyn stood on the balcony of Finn O’Hanlon’s apartment with their backs against the railings, looking into the scene of devastation. The walls were covered in ragged craters where the bullets had ruptured the plasterwork and there was glass and debris covering most of the floor. A CSI officer was standing in the kitchen area talking to two guys from the forensic team who were laughing about something. Vincent Lee Croll’s remains had been bagged and removed from the scene‚ leaving behind a large area of dried blood over by the front door.
‘You think there’s a crime been committed here, Mr Evelyn?’ asked Kneller, working the sarcasm.
‘Several by the looks of it,’ answered Evelyn.
‘You figure it’s the same guy that killed Conrado, did this?’ asked Kneller.
‘Probably.’ Evelyn shrugged.
‘I’d like to shake his hand rather than lock him up,’ continued Kneller. ‘The way I see it, he’s done us a favour.’
Joe Evelyn nodded his agreement.
‘Did you manage to use the phone?’ asked Kneller.
‘Got hit by a couple of rounds from an M10. Looks like it’s been in an automobile accident. The microphone’s good as new, but the earphone bit is blown to shit: you can talk, but you can’t listen. Only person you’d want to try calling on it would be your wife.’
‘You feel like a beer?’ asked Kneller wearily, leaning his elbows on the railings and making a mental note of the number of police vehicles parked in the street below.
‘To start with, then maybe something a bit stronger,’ replied Evelyn.
‘How many police officers can you see in here?’
Evelyn turned to look at him. ‘None‚ why?’
‘There are six squad cars parked down there and I can’t see one goddamn officer – what the hell they all doin? Let’s head across to that bar on the corner and see if they got a phone we could use,’ said Kneller.
The two FBI officers made their way carefully through the lounge, past the large patch of dried blood and out into the hallway. They walked down the dark communal stairs in silence, and held their breath as they headed through the stench of decay to the main entrance. Six uniformed officers were standing just inside the doorway chatting and having a smoke. They smiled and nodded as Kneller and Evelyn walked past. ‘Careful you boys don’t pop a hernia, all the strain you putting into investigating this crime.’ Kneller couldn’t help himself. ‘The residents of Cottondale can sleep easy tonight knowing you boys are out there keeping them safe. Great job, keep it up,’ he said, knowing he was being an ass.
‘We’re off duty, asshole,’ replied one of the cops, just as Kneller and Evelyn reached the front door. Kneller smiled at Joe Evelyn and pressed the buzzer to release the door catch. ‘You hear that, Joe? Did he just say they were off-duty assholes?’
Kneller didn’t catch the reply, but the uniforms started laughing behind his back.
Outside on the street Joe Evelyn took several deep breaths to fill his lungs with clean air. ‘The smell in there is so bad I feel like I should shower or something,’ he said as they crossed the street towards Bulldog Jo’s.
*
Kneller settled himself on a stool at the bar and ordered two Skeeter Bites while Evelyn used the phone on the wall to check in with 18th Street North: the FBI’s headquarters in Birmingham, Alabama.
He was only gone a few minutes before he was back pulling up a chair alongside Kneller. ‘We going to drive back up to Birmingham or find somewhere to stay?’
‘Looks like this is turning out to be a big story,’ answered Kneller, stifling a yawn. ‘Let’s find somewhere to camp for a few nights, I’d fall asleep if I was to get behind the wheel now,’ he continued. ‘What’s the scoop from 18th Street?
Joe Evelyn picked up the beer bottle from the bar and studied the label. ‘Skeeter the only thing they got?’
Kneller had worked with Joe Evelyn for so long he could read him in Braille. He could tell things from the tone of Evelyn’s voice or the expression on his face. ‘C’mon, you’ve got that dumb look you get when you’re trying to play it cool, but you got something you can’t wait to blurt. What’d they say?’
Joe Evelyn made a quick scan of the bar before answering. Aside from a few late night drinkers and a couple of uniforms, the room was quiet. Bulldog Jo was standing at the other end of the bar reading a newspaper and didn’t appear to be paying them any attention.
‘Interesting development,’ said Evelyn. ‘The guy who lives, or lived, across the street – O’Hanlon – doesn’t show up on any of our records. Got no National Security number, no papers whatsoever. Turns out he is a goddamn IRA terrorist on the run.’
‘On the run from what?’ asked Kneller.
‘Who fucking cares? Real name’s Sean McGuire. But, that’s not the good bit – His brother arrived from Northern Ireland with a sack full of cash to try and buy some arms from your friend and mine . . . ’
‘ . . . De Garza?’ said Kneller, finishing Joe Evelyn’s sentence for him. Kneller looked surprised.
Joe Evelyn nodded his head. ‘Hernando De-goddamn-Garza! Can you believe that? But wait till you hear this . . . Danny McGuire – the brother – is also an assassin for the IRA with a contract to kill Finn O’Hanlon. Got drafted in after Conrado and Lee Croll screwed up the hit.’
‘Danny McGuire has a contract to kill Finn O’Hanlon who is really Sean McGuire, who is really Danny McGuire’s brother. And he’s supposed to be doing a deal with De Garza? Jesus!’ exclaimed Kneller. ‘I’m going to find a house and move the family down here: we ain’t going anywhere for a while. Looks like this is the big one,’ he continued as he finished off his beer and placed the empty back on the counter: thinking now. ‘Then again, it could be one of those gigs where everyone gets to screw the bride but the husband. You know what I’m saying? The kind of situation that starts off fucked up and no matter what you do or say, it stays that way. Anything else on the brother?’
‘Danny McGuire is travelling on a passport under the name of “Leonard”. Entered via Logan International in Boston about five days ago and made his way down from there,’ replied Evelyn.
‘To kill his own brother! What the fuck is that all about?’
‘ . . . and buy some heavy-duty weaponry from De Garza for his friends back home in Ireland.’
‘How come we know all this if we haven’t got a rap sheet on O’Hanlon? Why we suddenly so well informed?’ asked Kneller.
Joe Evelyn was about to answer when he noticed Bulldog Jo hovering near the till directly opposite where they were sitting.
‘You boys thirsty enough to try another?’ she said, trying to cover.
‘Sure,’ replied Kneller. ‘Same again, and a pack of smokes, don’t care what brand.’ He let it hang for a while before continuing, ‘You got anywhere we can sit and have a private conversation?’
Bulldog Jo gave him a look that said ‘Stop being an ass’. ‘If you don’t want anyone listening in then you can take your beers and drink them on the sidewalk so long as the po-lice don’t see you, else they bust your ass for vagrancy . . . if that’s no good then there’s another bar, bout half-an-hour’s drive from here, but chances are it’ll be closed by the time you get there. Failing all that, you can sit right where you are and keep your goddamn voices down . . . is up to you.’
Jo put the beers down in front of the two men and turned to get the cigarettes from the display stand behind her.
‘Maybe we’ll ask the cops that bust us for vagrancy to step inside and check you got all the right permits. Could be a nightmare trying to run a bar if your licence got pulled over something stupid.’ Evelyn said, talking to Jo’s back.
Jo turned and placed the cigarettes down on the bar then smiled at the two FBI agents. ‘You got maggots on your balls, or something? I didn’t shoot no one. You want to have a beer and a smoke it’s fine. You don’t want anyone listening in, that’s fine too . . . Don’t have to bust my tits just cause I got ears. I’ll be over there if you need anything else. Make sure you holler loud cause I’s suddenly gone deaf.’
When Bulldog Jo had moved to the far end of the bar Joe Evelyn finished what he was going to say. ‘We are “so well informed” because you got a call. Someone called 18th Street and left you a message. They mentioned the hit in McHales, they mentioned the Lakeshore Hotel, they mentioned O’Hanlon’s flat in Cottondale: only thing they didn’t mention was who they were, but they knew what they were talking about. Spoke with a thick Irish accent: had to repeat themselves a few times.’
Kneller picked up Joe Evelyn’s pack of cigarettes from the bar. ‘You mind if I have one of these?’
‘I ain’t your doctor,’ replied Evelyn.
‘So what do we call O’Hanlon now?’ said Kneller with a scowl. ‘We got to call him Sean McGuire? I kinda got used to calling him Finn O’Hanlon. Be weird to call him something else.’
Bulldog Jo leant across, picked the phone up from the bar and dialled. After about thirty seconds she said, ‘Jesse, it’s me. Let me speak to one of them?’
Eventually Danny came on the line.
‘You just got a name-check, boy,’ said Bulldog, whispering under her breath. ‘They mentioned Finn and you and the fact you was travelling under an assumed name. Even said it: “Mr Leonard”. They said you came in at Boston and you got some business with Hernando De Garza. These guys seem to know a whole load of shit.’
*
Danny didn’t like what he was hearing. He had to get back to Ireland and he had to make sure Sean got back too. If the FBI knew about the false name on the passport then the chances were high that Sean would be stopped before he got anywhere near a plane. He thanked Jo and replaced the receiver.
The smiles disappeared from Ardel and Hud’s faces when Danny told them what Jo had said; Marie was staring anxiously at Danny.
Hud was the first to speak. ‘Sounds to me like there’s someone up a ladder with their ass hanging over your head, Mr O’s bro. You getting shit on,’ he said. ‘I ain’t being paranoid, but I hope you don’t think it’s any of our skinny black asses talked to the FBI. You in the Ardel and Hud club too and that means we take a vow of silence over anything that happens to be your business. We don’t know even half that shit anyways.’
‘Don’t worry, I know that information didn’t come from you,’ replied Danny, pulling the Walther PPK from behind his jacket and placing it on the table in front of him. ‘Where are you going to be in forty-eight hours? Where can I pick up the passport?’
‘If it’s okay with Jesse we was thinking of dropping it off here,’ replied Hud. Jesse shrugged her shoulders. ‘Don’t bother me none,’ she said.
‘That’s fine,’ continued Danny. ‘Marie, if you don’t mind, would you let Jesse look after you till then? After that I’m going to – hopefully – make sure you can go back home and forget all this ever happened.’
‘Where are you going?’ asked Marie.
‘Got a few things to sort out,’ replied Danny. ‘You guys fit to drive?’ he asked Ardel and Hud.
‘We fit to fly, man,’ answered Hud. ‘Don’t know if we’s fit to drive. Why don’t you take the wheel and we’ll give you directions. You need some back-up?’
‘Maybe,’ answered Danny as he handed his Walther over to Marie. ‘Would you mind holding on to this for me till we get back?’
‘Sure. Why not.’ Marie took the gun and put it in her purse.
‘You okay, Mr O’s bro?’ asked Ardel. ‘You acting all distracted, like you got a plan coming together in your head.’
‘I’ll tell you on the way,’ answered Danny. ‘You coming?’
*
Kneller watched the guy with the beat-up face push through the entrance door and walk towards him. Something about his manner – the way he carried himself, or the look in his eyes – made Kneller instinctively reach inside his jacket and rest his hand on the safety clip looped over his revolver.
The guy pulled up a chair and sat between him and Joe Evelyn like he was late for the meeting. ‘Can I help you, mister?’ Kneller said, keeping his gaze fixed firmly on the guy’s eyes.
‘I’m hoping we can help each other. My name is Danny McGuire. I arrived at Boston International on Saturday travelling on a passport in the name of Leonard with a few jobs to do, but due to some unexpected turns of events I’ve had to change my plans.’
‘Why are you telling us things we already know? You trying to prove you been listening in to our conversation?’ Kneller threw a glance over at Bulldog Jo then asked, ‘You carrying any form of weaponry, Danny?’
‘No.’
‘Mind if I check?’
Danny held his arms out to the side and said, ‘Feel free.’
Kneller stayed in his seat.
‘Aside from throwing you in cuffs and sticking you in jail for the next forty years, you mind me asking what other business you got here, Mr McGuire?’ asked Joe Evelyn.
Danny didn’t answer. He’d already worked out that Kneller was the one in charge so he would direct the conversation towards him. Kneller had the touch: calling him by his first name like they were already friends. Asking if he minded being searched – as though it mattered to him what Danny thought – then not bothering to search him, letting Danny know he was already prepared to take him at his word. Kneller knew how to play the game.
Jeff Kneller picked the pack of cigarettes off the bar and offered one to Danny.
‘Don’t smoke, thanks,’ said Danny.
Kneller took his time lighting his cigarette before continuing. ‘My name is Jeff Kneller and this is Special Agent Joe Evelyn. Now, I know we’ve only just met, Danny, but already you strike me as the sort of person who doesn’t get into a situation without a way of getting out . . . would that be correct?’
Danny nodded. Ardel and Hud were parked in the alley that ran along the back of the building. If everything was going well Danny would go to the restroom and flick the lights on and off. If he didn’t do that within ten minutes of him leaving the car they were to make their way round to the front and get ready to start shooting.
‘Well, assuming you wouldn’t have walked in here tonight if you didn’t think you could walk right out again,’ continued Kneller, ‘we’d be happy to hear what you’ve got to say.’
‘I want to do a deal,’ said Danny, his voice steady: under control. ‘The girl Marie Bain, she has nothing to do with any of this,’ he continued. ‘All she’s guilty of is trying to survive a shitty situation that wasn’t of her making. I want any charges against her dropped and a guarantee of immunity from prosecution.’
‘Do you know where she is?’ asked Kneller.
‘Yes,’ replied Danny.
‘Is that it?’
Danny hesitated: he couldn’t be one-hundred-per-cent sure the FBI knew his brother was attempting to leave the country. If they didn’t know; he would be compromising Sean, but at this stage it was an all-or-nothing throw.
‘My brother Sean is going to get on a plane in the next few hours using the passport in the name of Mr Leonard – he must be allowed to go unimpeded, with no alerts sent to the British authorities for at least seventy-two hours.’
‘Maybe we could organise to give him a massage and get his dick sucked while he’s waiting to board,’ exclaimed Agent Evelyn.
‘If you’re volunteering that’d be grand,’ said Danny, ‘but I’m not sure you’re his type.’
‘You think cause you strolled in here to face us off, you’ve got big balls?’ said Evelyn getting up from his chair. ‘All it means – asshole – is we’ve got a bigger target to kick when we beat the shit out of you and throw you in jail.’
‘And . . . anything else?’ interrupted Kneller putting a hand between the two men and pushing Evelyn back into his seat.
‘I want to leave too – same deal as my brother: no alerts for at least seventy-two hours.’
‘You booked your ticket?’
‘Yes.’
Evelyn sat there trying to stare Danny down, but Danny ignored him: he hadn’t come to start a fight. His only objective was to buy enough time to get Sean out of the country and then leave as well. Kneller took a long drag on his cigarette and finished the last of his beer before he said anything else.
‘So far the traffic’s travelling in one direction, Danny, and as far as I can make out there are a couple of juggernauts packed with explosives heading our way that could cause a nasty pile-up and get us all burned. We got information says you’re here to procure arms, and that you have a contract to murder someone. We also got your brother down for a fatal shooting in Tuscaloosa, and a murder right across the street here in Cottondale. Whichever way you cut it, you and your brother are looking at a major term indoors, with no chance of parole. If your lawyer advised you to come here and make this play, I hope he – or she – also told you the only way you’re gonna win is if you’re playing with a marked deck, or you got a royal flush, otherwise you made a bad call. What I’m getting at is this: what do we get out of it, except clearing up all the shit you’re proposing to leave behind?’
Danny noticed Kneller’s hand resting on the handle of the gun. Kneller was taking the situation in his stride, playing it cool – but Danny had him sussed. He knew Kneller would have no hesitation in drawing the weapon and shooting him dead if he made one wrong move.
‘In return for everything I’m asking,’ replied Danny, ‘I’ll give you enough on Hernando De Garza to guarantee he’ll never come out of jail again.’
Kneller’s face was like stone: it was difficult to read any sort of reaction, but he was taking his time to answer, which told Danny everything he needed to know. If it wasn’t a possibility Kneller would have dismissed it straight away.
‘Can I get you another couple of Skeeters?’ said Danny as he nodded over to Bulldog Jo.
‘Sure,’ replied Kneller.
‘You mind if I go to the restroom?’ asked Danny. ‘I need to signal my colleagues to tuck their guns back in their pants and head off home.’
‘Go right ahead,’ said Kneller.