die?”
Paul tilted his beer to his lips and took a slow sip. His mind raced. Obviously, O’Rourke had hauled him in here to test his mettle, but killing some poor bastard with a gambling problem? It was too hardcore. Paul decided straight out that he wouldn’t suggest Charlie die. What he needed to do was come up with a good reason to keep the guy alive. He set his tin between his legs and resisted the urge to rub his sweaty palms on his T-shirt. Be cool, be cool, be cool.
“Here’s the thing,” Paul said, impressed that he spoke without squeaking. “There’s no real gain for you if Charlie dies. Like you said, a dead Charlie is a bad debt written off. You also said killing him sends out a strong message. I disagree. Who’s going to spread this message? Me? Don’t think so. At this stage I’m implicated in the murder, so blabbing about it will only get me scooped. You’re not going to chat about it either, are you? Will Charlie? Not unless he goes through a medium.”
O’Rourke pinned Paul to his seat with a steady, unflinching gaze.
Paul continued. “So let him go this time, under the proviso that for every additional week he avoids payment, you’re taking a toe, then a finger, then an ankle... you get where I’m going, like.”
“I’d say Charlie will be very grateful that you’re arguing his corner,” O’Rourke said.
“Arguing his corner? Pfft. Fuck that. I’m looking out for you . This Charlie fellah doesn’t mean anything to me. He’s just some eejit who got himself into a mess.”
“Really?”
Paul stood slowly. He turned in a half-circle and threw a kick from his hip. His shin crashed into Charlie’s chest. Charlie toppled backwards in his chair and cracked the back of his head on O’Rourke’s carpeted floor. Paul rounded the toppled heap and soccer-kicked Charlie’s skull. He pulled it slightly on contact, but Charlie’s unconscious head whipped to the side. Paul spat on him.
“When he wakes up, tell him he’ll get a lot worse if he runs to the cops on either of us.”
“I’ll do that, Paul.”
“Did you want me for anything else, Mister O’Rourke?”
“I told you. Call me Richard.”
“Anything else, Richard?”
“No, Paul. I’ll call you later. I’ve some new addresses for you. Bigger payers.”
Another raise, Paul thought. “Okay, Richard. That’ll do well.”
Paul gave poor Charlie another glance on the way out. His chest rose and fell steadily. Paul kept the relief from his face. You’re lucky I’m a clever bastard, Charlie. Very lucky.
A Lead
Mad Mickey shifted his arse cheeks but it did no good. He just couldn’t find a comfortable spot on the wall in front of the house on his favourite corner. It was too cold, too hard, too high. He missed his van. Couldn’t wait until he got it back. Until then, he’d have to put up with pins and needles in his hole.
Big Dave sucked hard on a fag as he ambled up to Mad Mickey. He looked like he might be smiling though, in fairness, it was hard to tell. With the big wide jaw and sloping forehead, Dave was a man who always looked angry, even at the best of times.
“They found your van,” Dave said.
“Yeah, where?”
“Just outside Newry.”
“So we know where he is, then.”
“Well, we know he’s somewhere near Newry. He’ll not have burned it in his own back garden, though.”
Mad Mickey lit a spliff. “He burned it?”
“Afraid so.”
“Fucker.” Mad Mickey puffed on his joint and held the smoke in his lungs until it burned. He coughed out a cloud of brownish-bluish smoke. “Okay, it’s a start. Get in touch with anybody who owes us a favour in the surrounding towns. We’ll catch him yet.”
And then I’ll set fire to his balls.
The Chinese Connection
The bell above the door sounded a gentle ping as Paul pushed it open. A friendly face greeted them at the counter of the Welcome Inn Oriental takeaway. The man was Chinese but his accent pure Belfast. Paul hoped he
Paul tilted his beer to his lips and took a slow sip. His mind raced. Obviously, O’Rourke had hauled him in here to test his mettle, but killing some poor bastard with a gambling problem? It was too hardcore. Paul decided straight out that he wouldn’t suggest Charlie die. What he needed to do was come up with a good reason to keep the guy alive. He set his tin between his legs and resisted the urge to rub his sweaty palms on his T-shirt. Be cool, be cool, be cool.
“Here’s the thing,” Paul said, impressed that he spoke without squeaking. “There’s no real gain for you if Charlie dies. Like you said, a dead Charlie is a bad debt written off. You also said killing him sends out a strong message. I disagree. Who’s going to spread this message? Me? Don’t think so. At this stage I’m implicated in the murder, so blabbing about it will only get me scooped. You’re not going to chat about it either, are you? Will Charlie? Not unless he goes through a medium.”
O’Rourke pinned Paul to his seat with a steady, unflinching gaze.
Paul continued. “So let him go this time, under the proviso that for every additional week he avoids payment, you’re taking a toe, then a finger, then an ankle... you get where I’m going, like.”
“I’d say Charlie will be very grateful that you’re arguing his corner,” O’Rourke said.
“Arguing his corner? Pfft. Fuck that. I’m looking out for you . This Charlie fellah doesn’t mean anything to me. He’s just some eejit who got himself into a mess.”
“Really?”
Paul stood slowly. He turned in a half-circle and threw a kick from his hip. His shin crashed into Charlie’s chest. Charlie toppled backwards in his chair and cracked the back of his head on O’Rourke’s carpeted floor. Paul rounded the toppled heap and soccer-kicked Charlie’s skull. He pulled it slightly on contact, but Charlie’s unconscious head whipped to the side. Paul spat on him.
“When he wakes up, tell him he’ll get a lot worse if he runs to the cops on either of us.”
“I’ll do that, Paul.”
“Did you want me for anything else, Mister O’Rourke?”
“I told you. Call me Richard.”
“Anything else, Richard?”
“No, Paul. I’ll call you later. I’ve some new addresses for you. Bigger payers.”
Another raise, Paul thought. “Okay, Richard. That’ll do well.”
Paul gave poor Charlie another glance on the way out. His chest rose and fell steadily. Paul kept the relief from his face. You’re lucky I’m a clever bastard, Charlie. Very lucky.
A Lead
Mad Mickey shifted his arse cheeks but it did no good. He just couldn’t find a comfortable spot on the wall in front of the house on his favourite corner. It was too cold, too hard, too high. He missed his van. Couldn’t wait until he got it back. Until then, he’d have to put up with pins and needles in his hole.
Big Dave sucked hard on a fag as he ambled up to Mad Mickey. He looked like he might be smiling though, in fairness, it was hard to tell. With the big wide jaw and sloping forehead, Dave was a man who always looked angry, even at the best of times.
“They found your van,” Dave said.
“Yeah, where?”
“Just outside Newry.”
“So we know where he is, then.”
“Well, we know he’s somewhere near Newry. He’ll not have burned it in his own back garden, though.”
Mad Mickey lit a spliff. “He burned it?”
“Afraid so.”
“Fucker.” Mad Mickey puffed on his joint and held the smoke in his lungs until it burned. He coughed out a cloud of brownish-bluish smoke. “Okay, it’s a start. Get in touch with anybody who owes us a favour in the surrounding towns. We’ll catch him yet.”
And then I’ll set fire to his balls.
The Chinese Connection
The bell above the door sounded a gentle ping as Paul pushed it open. A friendly face greeted them at the counter of the Welcome Inn Oriental takeaway. The man was Chinese but his accent pure Belfast. Paul hoped he
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