"You're getting soft in your old age."
"I must be," he agreed. "Slow down a bit, why don't you?"
"Slow down?"
"There's deer all through here. The big buck was standing in the middle of the road, but sometimes you've no warning at all and they leap out right in front of you."
I thought of Danny Boy and his list, and pictured the deer dashing out from between parked cars.
Andy eased up on the gas and the car slowed some.
"In fact," Mick said, "why don't you pull over altogether?"
"Pull over?"
"Sure, what's our rush? We'll all stretch our legs and you can smoke a cigarette."
"I'd just as soon wait, to tell you the truth. We're almost there."
"Pull over," Mick said.
"Yeah, sure," Andy said, "only I got to find a spot with some room on the shoulder. Should be a place coming up soon."
Mick drew a breath, then leaned forward and hooked an arm around Andy's throat. He said, "Matt, take hold of the wheel, that's a good man. Andy, ease the brake on, and do it gently, boy, or I swear I'll throttle you. Guide us off the road, Matt, that's lovely, and now turn off the ignition. And take his gun, the one in his waistband, and see if he's got another on him."
"This is crazy," Andy said. "Mick, don't do this."
There were two guns, one under his belt in front, the other at the small of his back. I got them both, and Mick motioned for me to set them on the dashboard.
"Out of the car," Mick said. "Come on now. Here's our spy, Matt. Here's our informer. Stand still, Andy. And don't even think about running. You wouldn't make ten yards. I'd shoot the legs out from under you, you know I would."
"I'm not going anywhere," Andy said. "You've got this all wrong. Matt, tell him, will you? He's got this all wrong."
"I'm not so sure of that," I said.
To me Mick said, "You knew, didn't you?"
"Not as early as you did. I had a sense of where you were going but I thought you were just fishing. But then I caught on when he said his mother was watching television."
"And reading the newspaper."
"Right."
"Are you guys both nuts? I'm a spy because my ma's watching the TV?"
"That call you made," I said, "a minute or two after Andy went into the house. You passed it off as a call to O'Gara and hung up before he could answer. But you didn't call the farm, did you? You called Andy's number."
"I did."
"And you got a busy signal," I said. "So you knew he was on the phone, calling Dowling and letting him know we were on our way."
Andy said, "Let me get this straight. You called my house, Mick? While I was in there talking to my mother?"
"But you weren't talking to her," Mick said. "You were talking to Paddy Farrelly's son. A pity you didn't talk to her instead. She might have sung you a verse or two of that song. 'The Patriot's Mother,' and I trust you can remember it as I haven't the heart to sing it again for you."
"The line was busy," Andy said. "That's what this is all about? The line was busy?"
"It was."
"Jesus, I was in the john. Maybe she made a call while I was taking a leak. Why don't you call her right now and ask her?"
Mick let out a sigh, then reached to lay a hand on Andy's shoulder. "Andy," he said gently, "why do you think people have been going to Confession for all these centuries? They feel better afterward. And don't tell me you've nothing to confess. Andy, look at me. Andy, I know it's you."
"Aaah, Jesus, Mick."
"Suggesting we go to the farm, all of us, and lay a trap for them. That set the alarm bells ringing. You'd have done better to let me come up with the idea myself, with maybe the least bit of a hint from yourself to steer me in that direction.
"And you'd no way of knowing I'd be wary the instant the farm was mentioned. You see, your murderous friend fell into a wee trap himself. He called Matt's house, and Matt pressed the numbers you press to call the person back. The person who answered didn't say much. But didn't you say he sounded Irish? And had a soft voice?"
I nodded.
"O'Gara, it must have been. They kept him alive in case I called, so that he could answer the phone. 'There's no one there,' he told them, and they broke the connection. Do you suppose he and his wife are still alive, Andy? Or have they killed them already, now that you called to say we were on our way?"
"Jesus, Mick."
"Were you there when they killed Tom, Andy? And the old woman in the wheelchair?"
"They never said they were going to do that."
"And what did you think they were going to do with her? Put her on a bus to Atlantic City, with a bag of quarters for the slot machines?"
"Oh, God," he said. He had his face in his bands, and his shoulders were heaving.
Gently Mick said, "How did he get to you, Andy? Did he remember you from school?"
"He was a year behind me at St. Ignatius."
"And you knew him well, did you?"
"Not well at all, but when he turned up I knew him right away. He had the same face when he was a kid."
"And he turned you. Turned you against me."
Andy's arms hung at his sides. His jaw was slack and his eyes glassy. He said, "I don't know what happened, I swear I don't I guess it was the carrot and the stick both at once. He said I got table scraps from you, that there'd be a lot of money if I threw in with him. And he said I'd be dead if I didn't. And her with me."
"Your mother."
"Yes."
"You should have come straight to me, Andy."
"I know. God, I know. I never thought…"
"What?"
"I don't know," he said. "I don't know what I thought. What difference does it make? You're gonna kill me. Well, hell, go ahead. I can't say I don't deserve it."
"Ah, Andy," he said. "Why would I kill you?"
"We both know why. God knows I gave you cause."
"Didn't I tell you we've a great national tradition of informing? You made your bed, but why lie in it if you can make it again?"
"What do you mean?"
Mick clapped him on the shoulder. "You changed sides," he said, "and now you'll change 'em again and come back where you belong. They've set a trap for us, have they? We'll have at them, the three of us, and see them caught in their own trap."
"You'd let me come back?"
"And why not? Jesus, you've been with me for years and against me for days. We need each other, Andy."
"Mick, I'm a bastard. You're a good man and I'm nothing but a bastard."
"Forget that for now."
"Mick, we can do it. They're expecting us to drive in like we own the place. Then I park the car where I always park it and I hang back and smoke a cigarette while you and Matt go up to the house. And they come out of the house with guns in their hands."
"It was a good plan. Would they have a sentry posted, do you think? Someone to spot us when we turn into the drive?"
"They might."
"I would," he said, "in their place. I'd put someone where he could see the headlights. What about O'Gara? Have they killed him yet?"
"I don't know. They didn't tell me much. Tom Heaney's landlady, that took me by surprise. I didn't think they would do that, I really didn't."
"And it bothers you, but is it worse than killing poor Tom? Ah, let it go. Talk won't bring him back, or any of the others. John Kenny and Barry McCartney. You knew they were going to the storage place. You went along with Dowling, didn't you?"
"I stayed outside," he said, "So they wouldn't see me. It was supposed to be a straight hijack, and I was going to drive the truck. Then I heard the shots." He took a breath. "I didn't know there was going to be any killing, Mick. It started out as a way to steal from you. They were going to grab the liquor and sell it and I was going to get a cut."
"And no one was going to get hurt."
"Not the way I heard it. And then Barry and John were dead and I was in the middle of it And then it just fucking grew."