Read Online Dark Dawn by Matt McGuire - Free Book Online

‘Police?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘A prick?’ The other detective laughed, thumbing towards Morgan in the back.
    ‘No.’
    Kearney paused. ‘I give up.’
    ‘Prison,’ O’Neill announced triumphantly, forcing a laugh.
    ‘Shit. I should have got that,’ Kearney said, faking disappointment.
    ‘That’s right, Janty.’ O’Neill knew he was talking to himself, but he kept up the performance. ‘You can call me Mystic Meg from now on. HMP. Her Majesty’s Prison. On its way for you, son. We might as well take you to Maghaberry right now. Save us all a load of paperwork. How many years do you fancy? I’ll make you a deal right now.’
    Janty Morgan slouched further into the back seat, his eyes narrowing.
    ‘That’s right, Detective,’ O’Neill continued. ‘Swipe a lady’s handbag. Not too bad. But you better hope she doesn’t grab you. You may have to smack her a few times, just to get away. I mean, hey,
she
grabbed
you.
Judges tend to not really go for that though. Help me with the maths here, Kearney. What does theft plus assault equal? Two years? Four? Hey Janty, you any good at maths?’
    Silence.
    ‘No. I didn’t think so. ’Cause if you were, you’d have known better. And you know what else, Detective, whenever I am going to smack some auld doll I like to make sure she’s not the sister of anyone important – like, say, the frigging Lord Mayor.’
    Janty mumbled to himself in the back, ‘Fuck sake.’
    ‘Oh. You didn’t know? That’s right, Janty. The Lord Mayor’s sister.’ O’Neill laughed out loud. ‘You definitely didn’t do your homework on this one, son.’
    The lady had had her bag snatched in the Clifton Street car park. Truth was she only saw a blur of white tracksuit and the car park didn’t have CCTV. The attendant’s description matched Morgan. They could charge him but it wouldn’t get a conviction. Half the hoods in Belfast were wearing a white tracksuit that day. Janty had been two streets away when he saw a PSNI Land Rover and bolted. Uniform caught him but he was clean so unless they could get something out of him now, they wouldn’t sniff a charge. The PPS would take one look at it and tell them to wise up.
    O’Neill kept on at Morgan. ‘Snatching a bag in broad daylight – you must be one dopey fucker. This is the twenty-first century, Janty. There’s CCTV everywhere. Did you want to be famous? Was that it? Couldn’t get on
X Factor,
so thought you’d go for
World’s Dumbest Criminals.
Obviously you don’t watch
CSI
either though, eh Janty?’
    Silence.
    ‘That handbag will have left traces all over you. There’s all that technology now. We take you to the station, shine the blue light on you, you’re going to light up like a Christmas tree. A regular old Papa Smurf.’
    O’Neill was bullshitting, trying to sow some doubt, to get beneath Morgan’s street persona.
    ‘By the time we get to the station though, Janty, it’s going to be all over. We’ll have you then and nothing you say then will make a bit of difference. You need to start talking, Janty. And I mean now.’
    ‘No comment.’ A mumble from the back.
    ‘Buuuurrrraghl’
O’Neill shouted, like a game-show buzzer. ‘Wrong answer.’
    Janty was sticking to the golden rule. The one that stretched across the city, crossing every Peace Wall and all the old divides. From the Ballysillan to Ballymacarrett, from the New Lodge to the Short Strand – you didn’t talk to peelers.
    ‘Try again, Janty.’
    Silence.
    ‘The strong silent type. That’s what I thought.’
    O’Neill turned right off Millfield and steered the car up the Shankill Road. The Shankill was the heart of Protestant Belfast and had been a stronghold for Loyalist paramilitaries during the Troubles. It wasn’t the best place for a young Catholic from the New Lodge to be hanging out. O’Neill knew it, so did Janty. Almost instantly the playful atmosphere in the car started to darken. The eighteen year old got more nervous as the red,