Maybe things will settle down a bit in time.
Shit Moment of the Day
Hearing it go quiet when I took my shirt off before PE. Magic Moment of the Day.
Mum thinking she was being subtle when an advert for the Nightmare on Elm Street video came on, and she stood in front of the TV so I wouldn't see Freddy Krueger's face.
FOURTEEN
The elegant row of substantial Victorian houses would not have been out of place in Holland Park or Notting Hill, when, in point of fact, it was part of a conservation area in the middle of Finchley. The sunlight could easily have belonged to a warm August day, but the temperature was in single figures, and the first day of spring was still a fortnight away. The man on the green enjoying the afternoon with his dog might have been a pillar of the community. As it was, he was anything but.
Walking towards him, watching him smile as the Jack Russell ran and slid and jumped at his knees, Thorne doubted that Billy Ryan enjoyed as uncomplicated and loving a relationship with any other living creature.
"I'm surprised," Thorne said. I'd've thought a Rottweiler or a Doberman. Maybe a pit-bull."
Ryan didn't look overly concerned to see him. "I've got nothing to prove. I don't have an undersized cock to compensate for. And I like small dogs."
Thorne watched Ryan shake his head and wave to someone behind him. He turned to see his friend the receptionist climbing back into a Jeep parked at the other side of the green. Thorne gave the man a jaunty salute but got nothing very friendly back.
"Afternoon off, Mr. Ryan?"
"Perk of being the boss." He smiled, adjusting the frames of his lightly tinted sunglasses. "I reckon I've earned it."
"Right."
Ryan bent to take a slobber-covered ball from the dog, who growled and wrestled until it was torn from his mouth. Ryan faked throwing the ball in one direction, then threw it in the other. Once the dog had started chasing it, Ryan walked slowly after him. Thorne moved alongside him, nodding towards the car. "Is he all you've got?"
"How d'you mean?"
"I'm sure he's tooled up and all that, but even so. Surely you must think you're a target now, Billy."
Ryan was wearing a long black cashmere coat over a red wool scarf. He pulled the scarf a little tighter to his neck. "Now?" he said.
"After Moloney."
Ryan gave him a sideways look, but turned away again before Thorne could even begin to read anything into it. "That was a shame," he said.
"A shame how he died? A shame that he was killed? Or a shame that he was a copper?"
"Pick one."
"You didn't send a wreath," Thorne said. Moloney had been buried quietly the weekend before. His wife had refused the full Police Service funeral that had been offered.
Ryan shrugged, expressionless. "Shitty way to go, I'll grant you. Not exactly a hero's death. But he did rather put himself in the firing line, wouldn't you say?"
"Who did the firing, do you reckon?"
"I'm not doing your job for you."
The dog had returned with the ball. Ryan hurled it away again and carried on walking.
"Puts you in a tricky position though," Thorne said. "There's obviously a need to strike back, or at least be seen to strike back…"
"Strike back against who?"
"… when, actually, retaliation would be pretty bloody ironic."
"Let's pretend you're not talking bollocks for a second."
"Yes, let's."
"Why would it be ironic?" The soft brogue had hardened suddenly. The end of the word bitten off and spat, as Ryan stopped and turned. Reflected in the lenses of Ryan's aviators, Thorne could see the expanse of green at his back, and the tiny figure of the dog racing towards them. Because it was you who had him killed, you murdering prick. "Because he was a police officer, obviously," Thorne said. This time, Ryan snatched the ball from the dog and stuffed it into his pocket. The terrier yapped a couple of times and then wandered off, its nose to the ground. He wasn't the only one on the scent of something.
"You didn't answer my question," Thorne said.
"Which one?"
"About you being a target for the Zarif brothers."
"The who brothers?
"You seem very relaxed, which is strange, considering you were bleating about protection the other day."
"I've never bleated in my fucking life, and I was talking about my family."
"My mistake."
Ryan took off his sunglasses. As the sun had certainly not gone anywhere, Thorne could only assume that it was some kind of gesture. Maybe Ryan wanted Thorne to see his eyes.
"You don't get to the top in business by walking away when that business is threatened. You stand your ground or somebody takes it."
"Kevin Kelly walked away," Thorne said. The sunglasses went back on. "Before your time, son. You know nothing about it."
Thorne smiled. "I know people who were there."
"Aye, right, course you do. Where is Miss Marple today, anyway?"
"Kevin Kelly walked away and handed the whole shebang over to you. Pretty lucky, considering you hadn't done much to deserve it. The way I understand it, there were others in the firm who might have had a greater claim. Faces who'd done a bit of time, got a decent reputation, you know? Still, it's up to the boss, and when he decides he's had enough, he gives it all to you. You must have done some serious brown-nosing to get the nod, Billy." Ryan said nothing. The sun highlighted the sheen of lacquer on his hair.
"So, Kevin Kelly buggers off to the country, thankful that his little girl isn't the one who looks like the Phantom of the Opera, and the Kelly family becomes the Ryan family."
"The old woman's memory must be going," Ryan said. "I remember different."
"What happened at that school, terrible as it was, disgusting as it was, did you a bit of a favour, I'd say."
Somewhere in the trees at the edge of the green, a dog was barking, but Ryan didn't take his eyes from Thorne. He nodded knowingly. "I wondered when you were going to bring up Gordon Rooker again." Thorne looked equally knowing. "I didn't," Thorne said. He didn't need to see Ryan's eyes to know that they had darkened. Ryan began walking towards the trees, quicker this time. Thorne stayed a pace or two behind, raising his voice as he followed:
"I don't know whether you heard what happened to Mr. Rooker. You know, seeing as you mention him. He was attacked in prison apparently. Stabbed in the stomach. While he was painting, of all things. He's all right now, in case you were worried. He's safe now." Ryan stopped. He was trying to smile, but his lips were pursed, his teeth well out of sight. "Is this official?" Thorne considered the question. He noticed that Ryan was shuffling his feet and remembered that he'd done the same thing outside the arcade, waiting for his car. "Well, I'm being paid for it."
"Because there's really no fucking point to it, is there? Whatever it is you're expecting me to say, even if I say it, it won't get you anywhere. Not unless you're recording it and, to be honest, mate, even then, there are people getting paid by me who make sure that kind of shit doesn't stand up. So, I think we're done chatting."
"I'm not recording anything," Thorne said. "Really, I'm just interested in where you stand on a few issues, and I'm trying to be up front about it." He grinned, pushing his hands deep into the pockets of his leather jacket. "Who can be arsed going round the houses? The term we use is "being lawfully audacious"."