‘I’m not here to play games, Roscoe,’ Lennon said. ‘I know what you did. I’ll put a bullet in your bigoted little brain and I won’t give it a thought. You understand? No threats, no fucking around. I’ll shoot you dead.’
Roscoe stood up. He leaned forward, his knuckles on the tabletop, the cards spreading beneath his weight. ‘Watch your mouth, Jack. I’ve been good to you, you’ve been good to me. I wouldn’t call us friends, like, but as taigs go, you’ve been a decent sort of a fella. But no one threatens me. No one makes a cunt of me in front of my boys. You’re playing with your life, here, Jack. Don’t go making—’
Lennon focused on the heart-shaped tattoo on the back of Roscoe’s left hand. He squeezed the trigger. The bullet split the tabletop an inch from Roscoe’s fingers. Roscoe pulled his hands away, but didn’t make a sound. He stepped back from the table, shaking his head.
‘Who did you go to?’ Lennon asked. ‘Who did you tell?’
Roscoe held his hands up and backed away. ‘What are you talking about, Jack? I told no one about nothing. You’re making a serious mistake here, mate.’
Lennon followed. He pushed the table aside, ignoring the crashing of bottles as it tipped over. Paper money and broken glass crunched beneath his feet. He holstered his pistol. He flexed his fingers. ‘You told someone where Marie and Ellen were. You told someone where my daughter was. Now they’ve got them.’
Roscoe backed towards the bar. ‘Fuck’s sake, Jack, you’re talking out your arse. I told you before, I’m no tout. I said nothing to no—’
Lennon caught Roscoe with an elbow to the jaw. Roscoe dropped like a sack of loose flesh. He rolled on his side, hands to his chin.
‘He has my daughter,’ Lennon said.
Roscoe squirmed on the floor. He spat blood on the grime-caked tiles.
‘He has my daughter,’ Lennon repeated. ‘Do you understand?’
‘My tongue,’ Roscoe said, his words blunt. ‘I bit my fucking tongue, you Fenian bastard.’
Lennon stood over Roscoe, one hand on the bar. ‘Talk to me now or I’ll kill you, I fucking swear.’
‘Shove it up your taig arse, you cunt,’ Roscoe hissed. He spat again, spattering the floor with crimson.
Lennon kicked him in the gut. Roscoe doubled up, curled into a ball, rolled so his back was to Lennon. Lennon aimed his foot at Roscoe’s kidney, felt the flesh give under the force of it.
When the squealing was done, Lennon hunkered down and said, ‘You passed on the information. You tell me now who you talked to. See, I don’t give a fuck. Ellen is the only good thing I ever gave to the world. I talked to her today. For the first time in five years, I talked to my own daughter. She has no notion who I am, but it doesn’t matter. I have a chance to make it right. I have a chance to get her back. And you sell her out to some piece of shit.’
Roscoe uncurled. He tried to haul himself away, but the pain creased his face. ‘You’re wrong. I never—’
‘You sold her out to the other side. You, the big Loyalist, you sold a child to the Republicans. It’s like Patsy Toner said. The collusion, it goes all ways, all directions. All the likes of you ever cared about was lining your own pockets. You didn’t give a shit about any cause, did you? Just so long as you were making money.’
‘You’re losing it,’ Roscoe said. ‘You’re fucking off your—’
Lennon drew his Glock and pressed the muzzle to Roscoe’s forehead. ‘You’ve got one last chance,’ Lennon said. ‘Someone will have reported the gunshot. The moment I hear the sirens, I’ll pull the trigger and blow your brains out. It’ll be self-defence, a known career criminal against a cop. The Ombudsman’s office won’t care. No one’s going to give a fuck about a piece of shit like you. Do you understand?’
Roscoe blinked at him, his nostrils flared.
‘The only way you live is if you tell me who you talked to,’ Lennon said. ‘That’s all there is. No other choices. Now tell me.’
Roscoe squeezed his eyes shut. ‘Fuck,’ he said. His face went slack, his eyelids fluttered. ‘Dan Hewitt,’ he said. ‘That Special Branch fucker. He’s the one you want. He’s the one put the word out. He wanted to know what you were up to, if anyone saw you around, if you came at anyone looking favours. I called him up. Told him you wanted the flat.’
Roscoe opened his eyes and smiled. ‘What? You think you’re the only cop I’m mates with? Like you said: all ways, all directions.’
Lennon stood upright and holstered the Glock. ‘You breathe a word of this, I’ll tell anyone who’ll listen that you’re a tout.’
‘Fuck you,’ Roscoe said.
‘You know what they do to touts,’ Lennon said. ‘You come near me, or anyone I know, I’ll tell every last fucker in this city you’re a tout. You won’t be able to show your ugly face on the street. You understand me?’
‘Fuck you,’ Roscoe said.
Lennon kicked him hard in the groin. Roscoe curled into a tight ball, blood dripping from his lips. He vomited onto the tiled floor.
The smell of it hit Lennon hard, and he went for the door, swallowing against his own bile until the night air cooled his skin.
He didn’t see the tall man coming, only felt the hard hands on his throat before he hit the ground.
78
‘Where are they?’ Fegan asked, his face inches from the cop’s.
Lennon struggled beneath him, his shoulders twisting as Fegan fought for balance.
‘I don’t know,’ the cop said.
Fegan tightened his grip on Lennon’s throat, tried to find the windpipe with his fingers. ‘You should’ve kept them safe.’
The cop reached up, going for Fegan’s eyes. Fegan pulled back, twisting his face away. His balance left him, and he lost his grip on Lennon’s throat. Another push and his back hit the pavement, a heavy body on his, a Glock against his cheek.
‘Gerry Fegan,’ the cop said.
‘Why did you leave them?’ Fegan asked.
‘I had to,’ Lennon said, panting. ‘No one knew where they were.’
‘But he found them.’
The Glock pressed harder on Fegan’s cheek. ‘I fucking know he did,’ Lennon said. ‘They were sold out. I was sold out. Now get away from here or I’ll blow your head off.’
‘No,’ Fegan said. He pushed up with his elbows, ignoring the pressure of the pistol’s muzzle against his cheekbone. ‘Not until I know where they are.’
‘Why?’ Lennon pushed him back down. ‘You caused all this. They’d be safe if it wasn’t for you. You started this whole thing, you crazy bastard.’
‘I know,’ Fegan said, strength draining from his body into the cold ground. He closed his eyes. ‘I know.’
The muzzle lifted from his cheek, and the other man’s weight left his chest. He opened his eyes. The cop stood over him, the Glock still aimed at his forehead.
‘How did you find me?’ Lennon asked.
‘I talked to the man who has them,’ Fegan said. ‘On Marie’s phone. He said he was in Carrickfergus. I drove around till I saw a cop car. I knew that was it. Then I followed you.’
Lennon stood back and waved the pistol at the empty street. ‘Get out of here. Go on, disappear, or I’ll turn you in.’
Fegan sat up. ‘I can’t. Not till they’re safe.’
‘They’ll never be safe while you’re around,’ Lennon said. ‘Can’t you see that? Christ, there’s no time for this.’
The cop stepped over Fegan’s legs and headed for the Audi.
‘Where are they?’ Fegan got to his feet. ‘What did you find out in there?’