Read Online Resurrection Man by Eoin McNamee - Free Book Online

so. It’s not a bad evening. Good for shooting.’
    ‘I suppose.’
    ‘Ducks.’
    ‘Too much glare. They’d come in at you out of the sun before you knew where you were,’ Artie Wilson said, knowing he was lost.
    ‘Or Taigs.’ There was a black Capri on the other side of the road with another man leaning on the bonnet looking at him with the kind of passionate disinterest people reserve for victims of serious car accidents lying on roadside verges. Victor took a revolver out of its pocket and pressed it to Wilson’s side just below his heart.
    ‘Or traitors,’ he suggested in a whisper.
    *
    In Castlereagh Interrogation Centre Victor was fingerprinted then photographed front and profile. Looking good, Victor. He knew that these photographs were important, that in the future they could be released to the press. When he took a comb out of his pocket and smoothed his hair back none of the policemen objected. There was a silent acceptance of his sense of privilege. He was escorted from room to room gently. He began to suspect that they had a good case against him.
    He was brought to an interview room. He recognized the detective who entered.
    ‘How’s about you, Herbie. Haven’t seen you this good while. Thought you was transferred.’
    ‘I seen you though, Victor. I was keeping a wee eye out for you.’
    Victor laughed out loud to show he was aware of the direction things were taking. That he knew how policemen were attracted to the ominous statement.
    ‘You’re a hard nut, Victor, isn’t that right?’
    ‘See my new motor when you were watching me, Herbie? The Capri?’
    ‘I suppose you’re going to tell me where you got the money to buy it?’
    ‘That’s right, Herbie, I’m going to break down and confess.’
    ‘I know you are Victor. You’re going to cry like a baby and tell us you wish you never done it, you just don’t know what come over you.’
    ‘Capri’s a flying machine, Herbie. Give us a shout someday, I’ll give you a run in her.’
    Each man chose his words carefully. They knew that ordinary speech was inadequate to the occasion. The exchange was carefully staged. At the start they were using the tones of flawed irony employed in gangster films, weary and laced with knowledge of the relentless nature of human greed and cruelty. Later they would move towards the process of questioning, a language of lovers prone to nuance and revelation, sensitive to pain.
    ‘You’re a good-looking boy, Victor, a real charmer.’
    ‘You know how it is, Herbie.’
    ‘We got some eye-witnesses in a line-up downstairs to admire you, Victor. Women and all. Just dying to get a look at the great Victor Kelly. Seen you do Artie Wilson, so they did. I’m sure you won’t object.’
    ‘You know me, Herbie, always willing and eager to help the law.’
    ‘This won’t take a second, Victor.’
    Victor joined four other men in the identification parade. The others all wore leather jackets, cheaper than the one Victor had. The brightness of the room highlighted the lines on their faces. They exuded an air of disappointment, unfulfilled lives. Somewhere it seemed they had been found wanting and brought, haggard and unshaven, to this windowless room, a place of unwavering judgement. There was a stir when the eyewitnesses were brought in. They waited in the darkness behind the bright lights. Victor could sense their attentiveness, the way they held their breath in the face of the choice they were about to make.
    ‘Face front.’
    Victor turned into the lights and gave them a dangerous smile which he had practised in front of the mirror. It was a Cagney smile, elegant and derisive. It showed that he had invulnerability to spare. Then he began to walk towards the lights. At first no one reacted. The other men in the line-up exchanged glances. He stepped in front of the lights and peered into the darkness with one hand shading his eyes. He looked bewildered now, deprived of familiar landmarks. Two uniformed policemen