Tommy Farr was standing off to one side of the lobby. He was a couple of years younger than Lar, but his lined and pale face made him look older. The Spanish sun hadn’t done him a lot of good.
They went into the large, busy Lord Mayor’s Lounge and found three tanned blondes getting up from around a table, yakking and taking their time about gathering their belongings and leaving. Two couples hovered nearby, drinks in hand. Lar and Tommy pushed past them and took two of the seats across the table from each other.
‘Charmed, I’m sure,’ one of the blondes said. Tommy told her to fuck off. The two couples who had expected to sit down exchanged uneasy glances, then moved away. Tommy took off his overcoat and threw it on the third seat.
Lar, his face close to Tommy’s, said, ‘First thing, Frank Tucker is a dead man – no matter what else goes down, there’s no way that doesn’t happen.’
Tommy Farr said, ‘It’s what I said, too – but that’s not the way it is, Lar.’
Lar’s voice was harsh. ‘Tell me how it is.’
‘Frank brought me home from Spain for this. He didn’t tell me what was happening, just told me to be here.’
‘You his messenger boy?’
‘I’m retired. Tucker wants you to do the same.’
‘He can—’
‘Hear me out.’
‘I’m going to kill him – whatever else, that I’ll do.’
‘Can I help you, gentlemen?’
Tommy Farr ordered two coffees.
The waiter’s voice was wrapped in sweetness. ‘I wonder, sir, if I could ask you to remove your coat from the seat, and perhaps if one of you could change seats – we’re rather busy and we could arrange the seats so—’
Tommy made eye contact with the waiter. ‘Haven’t you got those coffees yet?’
The way it happened with Tommy Farr, he got a taxi driver knocking on his door one night, handing over an envelope with a DVD inside.
‘My nephew, my youngest sister’s youngest kid—’
Tommy looked down at the carpet. ‘The newspapers said it was some bastard he’d had a row with, over a job they did – I never said anything different. That’s what my sister believes.’
Lar said, ‘I was at the funeral – I believed it, everyone did.’
Tommy met Lar’s gaze. ‘Soft lad, he was, hardly involved in anything. Tied to a chair.’ Tommy’s face was stiff, his non-stop blinking the only clue to the emotion inside. ‘Standing behind him, wearing a mask – Frank Tucker. All business. Sorry about this, Tommy, he says, nothing personal – we do it this way or it doesn’t work.’
Lar leaned forward, his voice low and tight. ‘You let him get away with that?’
‘It’s not that simple.’
‘How come he’s still breathing?’
Tommy shook his head. ‘There isn’t a day goes by, and not an hour in the day, when I don’t see that kid looking out from that screen, pale as a sheet, tears running down his cheeks, asking me to do something – Help me, Uncle Tommy, please.’ Tommy Farr lowered his head for a moment.
‘He shot him in the back – twice. Later on, he said he did it that way because he didn’t want to make it worse by letting the kid see what was coming. And he didn’t do the head, he didn’t touch the face – the fucker told me this, like it was a sign of his fucking humanity – he didn’t touch the face because he wanted the kid’s mother to be able to – fuck!’
‘Tommy—’
Farr’s head was bent, the fingers of one hand holding his forehead. He pressed the tips of two of his fingernails hard into his temple.
Mackendrick had to lean even closer to hear Tommy’s whisper above the hotel hubbub. ‘Jesus, Lar, I’ve thought it through a million times, what I’d do to the fucker if I could. But I had to make a choice.’
‘We’ll do it together, Tommy – you and me, we can raise a fucking army, cut the bastard to pieces.’
‘Lar – I made my choice. That’s why he has me here tonight – to tell you about your choice.’
‘My choice – he gets an automatic in his mouth and I look right in his eyes when I squeeze the trigger.’
Tommy looked around. The lounge was getting even more crowded. ‘This place is getting on my wick. Let’s go for a walk.’
Lar Mackendrick looked at him. Tommy was tired, beaten. A crowded hotel was some protection – Tommy might be under orders to bring Lar outside, where there were fewer potential witnesses.
Screw it.
Lar too was tired of the noise and the crowds and their pre-Christmas cheer. If Frank Tucker or one of his people wanted to get up close and personal – what the fuck.
Tommy said, ‘My choice – walk away from it all. Leave the operation to Frank Tucker – the coke trade, the protection, everything else. Or have a war I couldn’t win.’
‘You could take him – I could take him – together—’
They were on the footpath across the road from the Shelbourne, beside Stephen’s Green, walking towards Grafton Street. Inside the railings of the park, out of sight, some young drunks were whooping and cackling. Tommy Farr stopped and turned to Lar Mackendrick. ‘First thing that happens – if I didn’t do what he said – my kid sister would get a DVD in the post. She gets to watch her son pleading for his life before that fucker wastes him. And whenever it’s convenient for Tucker he takes another of her kids.’
‘We can crush him.’
‘I have three sisters, they’ve got six kids between them – five now. I’ve got three daughters. And I can’t protect them all, all the time, for ever.’
‘He’s got family.’
Tommy said, ‘And what? He does one of mine, I do two of his – then, how many does he do and where does that end?’
‘He’s not invulnerable.’
‘He’d got to some of my people – he showed me that. Any step I might take, he’d know about it from the off.’
‘That shouldn’t—’
‘He knows what he’s doing, Lar. You and me, I’m pushing sixty, you’re a bit older. We’ve got things to lose – people to lose. And we’ve got enough put by that we can afford to walk away. Jesus, Lar, look around you. Jo-Jo, God rest him, he’s gone. Martin Cahill’s dead, Gilligan’s in jail – and a whole lot more got tapped in the head. Bet you’ve had the same thoughts?’
‘I decide when I walk away, not some jumped-up prick from Cullybawn.’
‘That’s what I said, at first. But that’s pride – and when you weigh that against what you’ve got to lose . . . it’s not worth it. Tucker’s another generation, Lar. It’s like fighting time – there’s no point. It moves, we don’t.’
They started walking again. The taxi rank was busy. Across the road, near the top of Grafton Street, four teenage girls were doing some kind of pop dance routine, their movements choreographed, their voices loud, half a dozen friends cheering them on.
Lar said, ‘What does he want me to do – just hand over the keys to everything and get on the next plane to Spain?’
‘He wants to talk. Tomorrow. He’s got it arranged.’
‘Where?’
‘He wants me to call you, first thing in the morning. To make the arrangements. He says you should stay home.’
‘And that’s it?’
They were close to the gates of Stephen’s Green. Across the road a giant Christmas tree dominated the junction. All down Grafton Street the night was radiant with sparkling chandelier-like lights strung across the street. Tommy Farr looked at the display for a few moments.
‘He sends me a couple of grand a week – severance pay, he called it.’
‘Nice of him.’
‘He’ll probably offer you the same.’
‘No one tells me I’m finished.’
Tommy said, ‘If I can ever tear his throat out, without risking my family, I’ll do it – in the meantime I do what I’m told. He’s more ruthless than we ever were, Lar, and there’s a time to fight and a time to walk away. And this is a time to say fuck it and do the
sensible thing.’
*
At home, Lar checked that May was still sleeping, then he went downstairs and watched the DVD again. When it was done he broke it into a dozen pieces. He put on his overcoat again and left the house. He walked down the hill to Howth village, then he crossed to the east pier. A handful of teenagers were making a racket close to the water. Lar walked down the pier, the broken DVD in one pocket, his hand clutching the Walther in the other.
Tomorrow Matty’s wife and Todd’s parents would be pestering him. He decided he’d play it like he was mystified, and say truthfully that he hadn’t seen either of them in a couple of days. And that he hadn’t a clue where they were. Matty had some businesses of his own in Spain, and Lar could wonder aloud if he might perhaps have gone there in a hurry to sort out a problem.
A hundred yards down the pier, he stopped and looked back at the village. Pushing one o’clock in the morning, everything quiet except for the distant squawks of the teenagers. Lights along the waterfront, fishing boats lined along the west pier, pleasure craft dotting the harbour, the whole thing over-seen by the three-quarter moon in an almost clear sky. A few yards from where he stood, the stone stairway led down to the water. It was where he and Jo-Jo used to take the boat across to Ireland’s Eye.
It might have been a fishing village over on the west coast, rather than a haven for the Dublin gentry.
The peace was stained by the sound of a car accelerating along Harbour Road, a low sports model passing out a family car. Lar stood in the cold, looking at the village. Pretty and familiar and all in his past, all the things that made his life comfortable, if that mad fucker had his way. He went close to the edge of the pier and dropped the pieces of the DVD into the water.
Chapter 30
In the end he did as Frank Tucker instructed, through Tommy Farr. ‘Choose a hotel, book a room, anywhere in the city centre,’ Tommy said. ‘You pick the place, you tell no one until you get there – that way you know there’ll be no surprises waiting. Have your people check it out, then call me – I’ll tell him you’re ready. He’s got it worked out so it’s safe for everyone.’
Lar Mackendrick chose Buswell’s Hotel. It was central, busy, close to the Dail. The police and the army had permanent posts in Leinster House, protecting the politicians, so the area had slightly more security than most. As instructed, he booked two rooms on the same floor, under a phoney name.
Lar got there at ten in the morning. After he called Tommy Farr to say where he was, he waited half an hour until a young man arrived in the lobby and introduced himself to Lar’s people. They took him into the toilets and patted him down, then brought him up to the second floor. The young man was a civilian, a technician with a laptop. He put the laptop on a table, logged on, then crouched down by the skirting board and ran a phone cable up to the computer. He spent a minute tapping keys, then he gestured for Lar to pay attention.
‘That’s the camera, that little round thing over the screen. There’s the mike – speak normally, the sound levels are set, there should be no problem.’ The picture on the screen was of a room like this one, probably a hotel room.
‘Where’s that?’
‘I’ve no idea – another hotel, I’d guess.’
‘How do I know this thing isn’t wired to blow up in my face?’
‘I bought it yesterday, in Dixon’s. No one’s messed with it.’
Lar said, ‘You wait across the hall, with my people, just in case. If anything goes wrong, your family will always wonder what happened to you.’
The technician nodded. He seemed unconcerned. He made a call on his mobile, then left the room and a few seconds later Frank Tucker appeared on the screen. He was wearing a dark blue suit, with a pale cream shirt and a dark blue tie. He sat down and said, ‘You’re looking well, Lar – all things considered.’
‘You cunt.’
‘Doing it this way means no cops had a chance to tap anything, bug anything. We can speak freely – no one has to wonder if anyone’s got a gun in his sock.’ Tucker put regret in his voice. ‘First off, I’m sorry about Matty.’
Lar said nothing.
Tucker said, ‘Any other way of opening negotiations, it wouldn’t have worked.’
‘I’m going to do you myself, cunt.’
Tucker stared out of the screen, his expression patient and sympathetic. ‘I know how you feel, Lar. You need time to think this through, to see what the choices are. You spoke to Tommy, so you know what I’m aiming at.’
Lar said, ‘From what I gather, you reckon we need a new high king and you’re the man for the job.’
Tucker turned his hands palms up. ‘Self-protection, really. It makes sense. The setup we have now, it’s a mess. Any number of gangs, some of them nothing but coked-up kiddies who’ll swat you if you look crooked at them. They kill one another because someone insulted someone else’s uncle – a waste of energy. Then, there’s a handful of smart guys like you and Tommy Farr.’
‘So, you take us out of the game?’
‘Like I say, Lar, it’s a mess. It’s all based on neighbourhoods and families, people who grew up together. Everyone’s got their own little market, their own suppliers, their own distribution. All that shit, it’s a recipe for small wars and endless feuds.’
‘There’s room for everyone.’
‘The boom years, we all got rich, even the coked-up kids. So much money around – the rugby crowd and the business crowd, the celebrity set, they all need a little toot to keep them at their peak. This isn’t a cottage industry any more – someone’s going to consolidate the market and the losers go to the wall.’
‘And you’ve got yourself down for Mr Big.’
‘Leave it too late, someone sees me as a soft, juicy target.’
‘That’s how you see me?’
‘You made your money a long time ago, Lar, same as Tommy Farr. Most of us, me included – we’re too scared to spend real money. We’ve got the CAB looking over our shoulders, so we live in poxy little houses in the old neighbourhoods. Your money’s been well laundered for years, before all that crap started. You’re settled, comfortable. What they call you, in business terms, Lar – you’re low-hanging fruit.’
‘Mr fucking Big.’
‘I’ve got troubles of my own, Lar. There’s some mad bastards out in Clondalkin – they’ve got me in their sights. I’ve got one of them in my pocket, so I know what they’re thinking. It’s just a matter of time. They reckon they’re the dog’s bollocks – all they have to do is point a finger and go boom and they’re in the big time. Soon as you and I reach an agreement, I’ve got plans for that shower.’
‘I’m a detail, then, before you get onto the main agenda.’
‘Consolidation, Lar. I’ve got Tommy Farr’s operation in the bag, I come to an arrangement with you and I’m bigger than Manchester United. The Clondalkin crowd are a couple of leagues too small – when they see that, they back off and hope I don’t swat them.’
‘So, I just walk away – with what?’ Lar’s head was down, his gaze unfocused, staring at the keyboard of the laptop.
‘No one goes away empty-handed. Same deal I offered Tommy Farr. You can sell most of your property, or rent it out if the market’s too depressed – you leave the businesses to me. Then, two grand a week – call it a pension.’
Lar Mackendrick looked up, teeth bared.
‘Cunt.’
‘No offence taken, Lar. I know it hurts.’
‘Piece of shit. You strut around this fucking town, Mr Big – you piece of shit – but you won’t see me coming.’
‘There was a time, Lar, when that would have been true. It was your brother who built up the tight outfit, it was Jo-Jo who made it work, set up the money laundering and the property shelters. You’re different, Lar. You have employees, casual labour. Apart from Matty – most of them you don’t know their names. There isn’t one of them would risk a cut finger for you, let alone a bullet in the head.’
Tucker leaned fo
rward towards the camera. ‘I could swat you tonight, Lar. I reached into your outfit and I took Todd, and he set up Matty. You don’t know who else I’ve got. And that makes every one of them suspect, and that means there isn’t one of them you can count on.’
‘Piece of shit!’
‘You’ve got a week to get back to me.’
Lar pointed at Tucker’s image on the screen. ‘You think you can just—’
Tucker reached forward and tapped three keys on his laptop and the screen went blank.
‘– tell me – you fucking—’
Lar stopped. He stared at the screen, aware of the sound of his own loud breathing. He stood up, grabbed the laptop by the screen and threw it against the wall.
Chapter 31
May knew something was going on, but when she tried to get Lar to talk about it he waved her away and found something that urgently needed doing.
On the second day of his sour mood, he lost his temper with her. She was cooking dinner and Lar was sitting at the kitchen table, with the Evening Herald spread in front of him. He’d been staring at the same page for ten minutes.
‘What’s wrong, love?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Please, let’s—’
‘Just stop – leave it alone.’
Her tone was soft. ‘Whatever’s going on—’
‘Christ sake!’
The fear beneath the stubbornness was unmistakable. Lar left the house and when he came home two hours later May could smell the drink off him.
‘Tell me.’
He told her.
She said, ‘Well—’
Lar said, ‘He’s right – the little fuck is right. There’s nothing more to say – it’s over.’
Frank Tucker had the balls and the organisation he needed to cut out Tommy Farr, and he knew how to dismantle Lar Mackendrick.
Dark Times in the City Page 18
