“You’re environment is under pressure, it seems.”
“Yeah. We call it the Mulhall effect. Lead poisoning.”
It wasn’t like Tommy Malone to be flip about murders, even when criminals were doing one another in. Minogue wondered if it was a signal that Malone was ready to give up.
“Let me guess where you are: Capel Street area?”
“Not bad. Near enough.”
Over the top of his cubicle, Minogue now saw that rain was landing in streaks on the window beyond Eilis. The sky was bright behind.
“That coffee place up by Smithfield Market,” he said to Malone.
“Beanz,” said Malone. “What about it?”
“Ten minutes.”
“That’s kind of pushy.”
“I’m buying.”
“Do I have to salute when I show up?”
There were few umbrellas showing here on Capel Street. Minogue drove past a half-dozen secondary-school students who stood clumped around the entrance to a kabob restaurant. In the stop-and-go traffic he had landed in since turning off Parnell Street, Minogue’s thoughts had slipped the leash again. He eyed two slight Indian-looking men walking past, flinching from the rain. He wondered what their home streets and towns looked like. Full of people, no doubt, but sunny and hot and colourful.
Some honking started far ahead. A woman crossed through the stopped traffic, her head and shoulders hidden by her umbrella. What did Juraksaitis mean? Minogue imagined her at work listening, noting, drinking tea, walking through rooms. His unease grew. The van ahead of him lurched forward. He got the Peugeot into second gear.
He spotted the parked Octavia with a man behind the wheel just after the junction of Little Mary Street. He slowed, looking for any space at all to pull in. There was someone in the passenger seat, just the tip of his nose showing from the reclining seat. He pulled in behind a delivery lorry not far ahead, and slid his sign down on the dashboard. The Garda radio antenna on the Octavia was the new black one that looked like a claw. A silhouette moved beside the driver as Minogue approached.
Malone stepped out awkwardly. He held the door open and said something to the driver, a balding man in a Nike jacket with a mobile in his lap. The driver shrugged and gave Minogue a nod. Malone, unshaven and looking generally creased, pale, and irritated, closed the door. From the slight shrug he gave as he stepped forward Minogue knew that he was wearing a ballistic vest.
“Thanks,” he said to Malone.
“I haven’t given you anything yet.”
“Am I interrupting anything?”
He held open the door of the restaurant for Malone. The smell of ground coffee that met him livened Minogue considerably.
Malone’s eyes wandered the restaurant. Minogue ordered an au lait, and Malone’s usual black. The man who took the order sounded Spanish. He would bring them over. They were to relax, he said.
A teenager with very black hair, and her boyfriend, were the only others here. They looked far beyond even glum. The girl stared at the street while the boy played with a twisted-up sugar packet. A difficult age.
Minogue settled himself ceremoniously at a table.
“You’ve got that look about you,” said Malone. “On the mooch.”
“You’re a victim of your own success. Legendary.”
“Success,” said Malone and scratched at his stubble. “You think, huh.”
Minogue waited a moment.
“Your film career,” he said. “Any day now?”
Malone wrinkled his nose.
“What’s his name again?”
“Fanning,” said Malone. “But he’s a complete iijit.”
“Not working out for you?”
Malone flicked his head.
“Just what we need,” he said. “Some wannabe like him glamorizing the whole thing.”
“Has he given up phoning you then?”
“I wish,” said Malone, his voice rising. “He keeps on trying to get a foot in.”
“What exactly did he want, again?”
Malone sighed.
“What didn’t he want, you should be asking. I don’t know anymore. First, it’s can we talk. I give him the brush-off, but nice enough, right? You know me.”
Minogue almost smiled.
“Maybe he’s deaf, I thought,” Malone continued. “When he gets a ‘no’ for the chat thing, bejases if he doesn’t ask for something more instead! Sit-down interviews, he wanted next, big long Q and A sessions. Listen, says I, write what you like, but stay away from me. Not in so many words, now.”
“Any of the words start with an F?”
Malone ignored the jibe.
“He got bolshie on me then, like, ‘I want to give the Guards the opportunity to tell things from their side,’ says he. Like, make me an offer or I’ll make the Guards look like iijits in this.”
“Ah. He must have known you like a bit of extortion.”
Malone’s glare seemed cool enough, but a slight pursing of his lips told Minogue enough.
“What was your response to that one?” Minogue asked.
“The exact words?”
“The gist, if you please.”
“‘There is only one side. Get on it. But leave me alone.’”
“Loud and clear, I’d have thought, Tommy.”
“Oh. I called him an interfering bollocks. Forgot that.”
“How did he take to that?”
“Got on his high horse. Something about art and life? Gave me a headache thinking about it. Put down the phone on him.”
“End of story, then?”
“Uh-uh. He tries to get to me though one of my… guess who?”
“No idea.”
“Sure you do. Or you will, when you meet him. Murph.”
“Big city, small town, Dublin,” said Minogue.
“Fanning’s decided that Murph, my fella, is the man, and he’s getting toured around by him. You know, sights and sounds of the Dublin crime scene.”
“He’ll wake up in hospital if he’s not careful,” said Minogue.
“Do you see me worrying about it?”
“You coulda been a contenda, Tommy. Movie stah.”
Malone shifted in his seat.
“Yeah yeah yeah. But you know what really got under my skin about this whole thing? There’s this guy, Fanning, and he’s the first one to slag the Guards. Kind of fella with plenty of edumacation and, I don’t know, can tell you lots about all the fine wines of France or somewhere. Never went a day without his cappuccino kind of guy. Now he thinks all the scumbags of Dublin are worth making a film about. Okay, I says to him the first time he phoned, if you can guarantee me that the good guys are the heroes in this thing, maybe we’ll talk.”
“Your fame will have to wait then.”
“Watch me care. There, did you see that? But this guy’s persistent. He gets Murph to annoy me about it some more. Keeps on asking me. ‘Your man’ — Fanning, like — ‘wants to show you a plot, see if you like it.’”
“Be a consultant then. Keep your day job and all.”
Malone gave Minogue a scathing look.
“Don’t go there. Seriously. I made a promise, remember. After Terry…?”
Minogue had underestimated how hot under the collar Malone had become. It was another sign of the stress he was under. The anniversary was around this time of year too. Malone’s twin brother was gone four years now. The post mortem could not reveal if Tommy Malone’s suspicions were true, that his brother had overdosed on heroin that was intentionally spiked.
“Anyway,” said Malone after several moments. “There’s a gang war going on. Some gobshite wants to hang out with me on the job, so he can make a movie out of it. And now you want to poach on my sources.”
“You couldn’t make this stuff up. Right?”
Malone darted a glare his way: the goading was working too well.
“Okay,” Minogue said. “You win.”
“Win? Me bollicks. With you, a fella never wins. A sneaky fecker, is what you are.”
“Am I still invited to the wedding?”
“Don’t start, I’m telling you. That on top of all this? What else could there be?”
“I could pass on Jimmy boy’s musings on Irish life and society, a bit about the funeral there.”