off duty. We can’t afford to have anyone on the team in trouble with the police.”
“Andy, I’m not in trouble with the police. My dad was murdered.”
“But they’re not looking for any other suspects at the moment, as I understand it.”
“Who the hell told you that?”
“I’m afraid I cannot discuss references we may or may not have received. Your outstanding wages will be paid as usual—”
“Was it a copper called Prendergast?”
“Like we said, we wish you all the best in the future. And if you’re ever in this neck of the woods again, do call in, and remember to ask for your special Max Snax Veteran’s Discount.”
“This neck of the woods? I fucking live here, you prick!”
“Sorry, Finn, but we have to go. Have a really great day.”
And he went. Before I even had a chance to tell both of him where he could stick his Max Snax Veteran’s Discount.
My knuckles were white on the handset, as if I was gripping Andy’s windpipe. He’d fired me? Fired me! Two days after I’d won my second golden stud? Thank Christ I’m through with that place, piped up the voicein my head. Screw Max Snax, and Andy, and that shit job.
Yes, it was a shit job, I thought, but it was a job, and now I didn’t have one. How long would the money I had last? I should find out which bank Dad used, call their customer services, tell them what’d happened.
To hell with that—the first thing they’d do would be to freeze the account. Leave it for now. There was someone I needed to talk to, somehow.
McGovern’s house looked even bigger than in the photographs. Not that I could really tell from where I was standing—across the street, surveying the place from behind a tree surgeon’s lorry bumped up on the verge. The perimeter wall was pretty forbidding—four metres high, smooth rendered brick painted white. Every seven metres or so stood a pillar crowned with a cluster of video cameras. The entrance gates were only about three metres high but they were plated in sheet steel, also painted white; unremarkable, anonymous, and impenetrable. All this security wasn’t unusual in the neighbourhood—there were other sprawling millionaire mansions, and one or two Middle Eastern embassies. But there the high walls and cameras were intended to keep thugs and criminals out … in McGovern’s case, it was the other way round.
Now I’d found the house—the name of the street had been mentioned in that Inside Duff underworld blog—I had no idea what to do next. It occurred to me vaguely I could wait till dark, dress like a ninja and throw a grappling hook over the wall. There were a few mature trees whose branches were blocking the cameras’ view, I noticed. But I didn’t have any black clothes with me. In fact, I didn’t even own any black clothes—they showed up my dandruff. On the other hand, I didn’t feel like walking up to that front gate and pressing the entry buzzer either.
Hi, my name’s Maguire, I think Mr. McGovern may have had my dad murdered?
Either they’d tell me to piss off, or they’d let me in and I’d never be seen again. Not that many people would be looking.
It had taken me an hour to get here, and I didn’t feel like going home just yet. It was mid-morning and the street was deserted, though not exactly quiet. The tree surgeon was up a plane tree nearby with a chainsaw, lopping off the spring growth and letting the green branches fall onto a cordoned-off section of pavement. His mate, in hi-viz jacket and ear protectors, was at the tailgate of the truck, feeding the branches into a shredder. The blades of the machine kept up a constant deafening whine that every minute or so rose to a crescendo as a branch was fed in, ground up and sprayed in fragments onto the growing heap in the back of thetruck. I noticed another lorry just like the tree surgeon’s coming down the street, indicating left … McGovern’s mansion was on its left. This other truck was towing a shredder, rather
“Andy, I’m not in trouble with the police. My dad was murdered.”
“But they’re not looking for any other suspects at the moment, as I understand it.”
“Who the hell told you that?”
“I’m afraid I cannot discuss references we may or may not have received. Your outstanding wages will be paid as usual—”
“Was it a copper called Prendergast?”
“Like we said, we wish you all the best in the future. And if you’re ever in this neck of the woods again, do call in, and remember to ask for your special Max Snax Veteran’s Discount.”
“This neck of the woods? I fucking live here, you prick!”
“Sorry, Finn, but we have to go. Have a really great day.”
And he went. Before I even had a chance to tell both of him where he could stick his Max Snax Veteran’s Discount.
My knuckles were white on the handset, as if I was gripping Andy’s windpipe. He’d fired me? Fired me! Two days after I’d won my second golden stud? Thank Christ I’m through with that place, piped up the voicein my head. Screw Max Snax, and Andy, and that shit job.
Yes, it was a shit job, I thought, but it was a job, and now I didn’t have one. How long would the money I had last? I should find out which bank Dad used, call their customer services, tell them what’d happened.
To hell with that—the first thing they’d do would be to freeze the account. Leave it for now. There was someone I needed to talk to, somehow.
McGovern’s house looked even bigger than in the photographs. Not that I could really tell from where I was standing—across the street, surveying the place from behind a tree surgeon’s lorry bumped up on the verge. The perimeter wall was pretty forbidding—four metres high, smooth rendered brick painted white. Every seven metres or so stood a pillar crowned with a cluster of video cameras. The entrance gates were only about three metres high but they were plated in sheet steel, also painted white; unremarkable, anonymous, and impenetrable. All this security wasn’t unusual in the neighbourhood—there were other sprawling millionaire mansions, and one or two Middle Eastern embassies. But there the high walls and cameras were intended to keep thugs and criminals out … in McGovern’s case, it was the other way round.
Now I’d found the house—the name of the street had been mentioned in that Inside Duff underworld blog—I had no idea what to do next. It occurred to me vaguely I could wait till dark, dress like a ninja and throw a grappling hook over the wall. There were a few mature trees whose branches were blocking the cameras’ view, I noticed. But I didn’t have any black clothes with me. In fact, I didn’t even own any black clothes—they showed up my dandruff. On the other hand, I didn’t feel like walking up to that front gate and pressing the entry buzzer either.
Hi, my name’s Maguire, I think Mr. McGovern may have had my dad murdered?
Either they’d tell me to piss off, or they’d let me in and I’d never be seen again. Not that many people would be looking.
It had taken me an hour to get here, and I didn’t feel like going home just yet. It was mid-morning and the street was deserted, though not exactly quiet. The tree surgeon was up a plane tree nearby with a chainsaw, lopping off the spring growth and letting the green branches fall onto a cordoned-off section of pavement. His mate, in hi-viz jacket and ear protectors, was at the tailgate of the truck, feeding the branches into a shredder. The blades of the machine kept up a constant deafening whine that every minute or so rose to a crescendo as a branch was fed in, ground up and sprayed in fragments onto the growing heap in the back of thetruck. I noticed another lorry just like the tree surgeon’s coming down the street, indicating left … McGovern’s mansion was on its left. This other truck was towing a shredder, rather
Similar Books
