When I was a journalist, there was a terrific buzz that came with getting a good story, nailing it down, seeing it in print. This was definitely up there. Everything was falling into place. Jack and Tracey were not bad people, they were just slightly up themselves. I couldn’t blame Jack for making a fast buck in straitened times, even if the straitened times weren’t directly affecting him. It has always been the business of moneyed people to make more money. He had known exactly when to cash in. All he had lost was a little privacy in his back garden. Abagail Pike, on the other hand, was a gambler on the verge of losing everything. The only way to settle her debt to the Millers was to sell the new house and then siphon off part of the profits while hopefully keeping her husband in the dark. Where had she found the cash to pay Jack for his nine inches in the first place? Such an extravagant amount revealed how desperate her situation was. I think a large part of me knew she’d struck a deal with the Millers, and the collateral was as intangible as fear: access to power. That there was corruption and greed in government did not surprise or concern me. It had always been like that, everywhere, and always would be.
The only reason I was still involved at all was to sort out my one-legged charge. I needed to make a deal that would allow him to return to what passed for a normal life on the Shankill. With what I now had on Abagail Pike, with the cash and drugs in my car, and the info on who else the Millers were supplying across south Belfast on Derek Beattie’s phone, I would never be in a better bargaining position.
And then I thought, Jesus Christ, what the fucking fuck am I thinking?
I’d robbed the most ruthless gangsters in the country of two million plus. I was endangering the life of my wife by harbouring a one-legged dealer who was being pursued by those very same gangsters. And I was carrying around evidence that linked virtually every well-off middle-class family in Belfast to a drug-dealing security company that made more deliveries than Domino’s, and slightly cheaper. Who the hell would want to negotiate anything with me when it would be so much simpler just to wipe me off the face of the planet?
Patricia said, ‘I’ve been worried sick.’
She was sitting at the kitchen table, empty coffee cup before her, in the Eraserhead glow of a flickering fluorescent light. Like many old houses, the electrics had a mind of their own.
‘I’m fine,’ I said, sitting down. ‘Where’s the boy wonder?’
‘Bed. He’s okay. What happened with you?’
‘Nothing much.’
‘Dan.’
‘Swear to God.’
‘Dan. You demanded my car, you took off like a devil, tell me.’
‘It’s nothing, really. Anyway, it’s better you don’t know.’
‘I don’t know what?’
‘What I’m not going to tell you.’
‘Dan, if it’s that bad, you better tell me.’
‘No. What you don’t know you can’t tell.’
‘I won’t tell.’
‘Yes you will. They have ways of making you talk.’
I smiled. She did not.
‘If it affects me, then I should know.’
‘After I meet with them, it won’t affect you.’
‘Dan, how often do your master plans work out?’
‘There’s a first time for everything.’
‘You’re not going in by yourself, though. This cop guy will be there to make sure it goes through okay, won’t he?’
‘Yes, absolutely. Though I’m disappointed you don’t think I can handle it myself.’
‘Dan, I’ve been with you for twenty years. You can’t go out for a pint of milk without having an adventure.’
‘It’s nice to hear you say you’re with me.’
‘Metaphorically speaking.’
‘Of course if it doesn’t work out . . .’ I glanced at the table, and then up again. ‘It would be good to have one last . . .’
‘Don’t give me those puppy-dog eyes, you chancer. The answer is no.’
‘Trish, babe.’
‘What part of no don’t you understand?’
‘The no part. Last meal of the condemned man and all that.’
‘I thought you said it was going to be fine.’
‘I may have exaggerated my chances.’
‘Dan, our problems are not going to be helped by hopping into bed for a quick screw.’
‘Damn your romantic heart, and it wouldn’t be that quick.’
‘Why, have you been practising?’
‘I’ve had no fucking alternative. Literally.’
She was smiling, but the lady wasn’t for moving.
Patricia stood up, came around behind me, put her arm around my shoulders then kissed the top of my head.
‘You’ve a big day ahead of you tomorrow,’ she said. ‘You should get some sleep. I’ll make you up a bed on the couch, if you want.’
‘Thank you, Mother,’ I said.