Eightball Boogie

by Declan Burke

  “You’re smart, Harry. I had faith in you.”

  “I’m touched. I’d imagine Katie is too. Touched in the head, she looked pretty fried when I dropped her off at the hospital. I presume you were going to ask how she was doing, seeing as how you were knocking her off?”

  “Katie can look after herself.”

  “Maybe. She looked after me pretty well.” I ignored the affronted look Denise shot me. “See, she looked after me too well, someone she hardly knew, some lunatic who turned up at that hour of the morning telling her that his brother had been murdered. I was grateful, don’t get me wrong, and it’s nice to see that Irish hospitality is still alive and well. But still.”

  Galway was shifting in his seat, edgy. His breath was coming short and I could almost hear him sweat. I knew, and Gonzo knew, that he was going to do something desperate.

  “Get Dee out of here, Gonz. For Ben’s sake.”

  He shook his head, motioned with the gun, which was still pointed at Galway.

  “On the floor. Now. Face down, hands out. Do it slow.”

  Galway eased himself off the couch, spread-eagled himself on the shag-pile. Gonzo looked at me.

  “Katie’s a friendly girl. So she’s friendly to you. So what?”

  “So she thinks I’m mixed up in a murder attempt. That’s the kind of friendly you buy and the last time I checked my stock was rock bottom. Friendly to some stranger who won’t go to the Dibble about being shot? Who’s that friendly? No one, that’s who. Not unless they know there’s no murder.”

  “You knew I wasn’t dead.”

  “Not until tonight.”

  “What can I say, Holmes?” he drawled. “You’re a fucking genius.”

  I ignored him. While I was talking I was still alive, and Ben was still alive, and Denise was still alive. Gonzo had to be alive too, to do the listening, but then you can’t have everything.

  “So I’m supposed to think you’re dead, which was fine and dandy by me. People die every day, even brothers. Galway and Brady even turned up the next morning to keep the show on the road. The only person who knew I was at Katie’s was Katie, she had to let them know. Had to let you know, rather, and you told Galway. They could have looked around while they were there but they didn’t, because they would have found me. And that wouldn’t have done at all. So off they toddled, job done, waiting for me to make my next stupid move. It was only a matter of waiting.”

  I looked back at Denise.

  “Anyway, Gonzo’s dead. Sad but true. I was more worried about the living, which was why I got Ben and you out of town. Once I knew you were safe I started worrying about Herbie, who wasn’t answering the phone. So I take a stroll around to Herbie’s and the boy’s in bad shape, because someone told Sheridan that Herbie had the photos of him and Helen Conway. How did they know Herbie had the camera? Katie knew, because I told her. So Galway gets on the blower to Sheridan, tells him this could wreck the deal, and Herbie gets the shitty end of the stick. They don’t find the camera, because I have it, but what I couldn’t work out was how they managed to find Herbie. Who knew where Herbie was? Dutch.”

  Gonzo looked away from Galway, stared at me, eyes hooded, lips pursed. Then he went back to Galway.

  “I don’t blame Dutch, he did what he had to do. But once I knew he was offside he was offside for good. And Dutchie would have worked out where Denise and Ben were, which meant Gonz could find you if he looked hard enough. That was okay, though, because you were safe until the shit hit the fan, which it did tonight in The Odeon. As far as Gonzo was concerned, I’d get a bullet and he could nail Sheridan for murder. Worse case scenario, I’d walk away with the camera and Gonzo would take it off me. Either way, Gonz was quids in.”

  I shrugged.

  “It didn’t happen that way and now the gig’s fucked. Brady wants Galway, there’s no coke, and there are no ATMs where Helen Conway and Tony Sheridan are going.”

  Gonzo nodded, satisfied, as if his plan was working out perfectly.

  “They’ll keep. They’ll be out soon enough, if they ever go in.”

  “Besides,” I said, “the money was only ever a bonus.”

  The temperature dropped a couple of degrees. Galway twisted to stare at Gonzo.

  “What the fuck is he talking about?”

  I grinned a cold one.

  “Jesus, Galway, get with the programme. Gonz didn’t have to come home to sting some sleazebag politico for beer money. He could have done that anywhere in the country, and in any country you care to mention.”

  Gonzo looked suddenly tired, his eyes even more sleepy than usual.

  “Gonzo’s home for something money can’t buy. Kill two birds with one stone while he’s at it.”

  They were a rapt audience, Denise especially. I said, to Gonzo: “I always thought the best thing you ever did for me was screw Celine because if you hadn’t I’d never have met Dee. But that wasn’t the best thing you did. The best thing you did was not turn up for the christening. How could you? Godfather and father of the same child? Even you’re not that sick.”

  Denise goggled. Gonzo just stared, cool and hard.

  “Think I didn’t know, Gonz?” I laughed, but not for long, because the branding iron slipped back into my side. “Jesus, just look at him. The eyes are the giveaway.”

  Denise was shaking her head, a fruitless denial. Gonzo didn’t react. Galway stared at Ben, still snuggled asleep in Denise’s arms. Then he looked at Gonzo.

  “It’s yours?”

  “Gonzo did the easy part, but Ben’s mine.” Gonzo was still staring at me. “Think again, Gonz. If you’re planning on leaving here with Ben, make a new plan. I’ll kill you first. Believe me, I’ll do time before I let you take him away. Because bad as I am, you’re poison, and I’ll be damned if I’ll let you touch him again.”

  He sat forward, lazy and slow.

  “Nice speech, Harry,” he drawled. “But you’re forgetting one thing.” He changed the angle of the gun, so it was pointing at me instead of Galway. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

  “I’m only making the one.”

  “Don’t push it.”

  “You’re taking him?”

  “I’m taking him.”

  “You’d better be better than you think you are.”

  “Whatever,” he said, lifting the gun and firing in one smooth, practised movement. It clicked. Then it clicked again. Then he went for the floor, for Galway’s gun, and as he went there was a confused expression of admiration and fear on his face.

  He didn’t get far. The pro’s gun was already cocked, safety off, deep in the pocket of the zip-up fleece. All I had to do was squeeze. I squeezed. It caught him high in the chest, the impact slamming him back against the cushion. He rebounded, flopping, useless.

  “Harry!”

  Denise screamed. Galway lunged up off the carpet, going for his gun, a scrumhalf in a loose maul, but he was too late, by then it was too late for anything but a prayer before bedtime. Brady was kicking in the door, two Emergency Response Unit wallahs behind him, machine-pistols to the fore, all three screaming conflicting instructions to freeze, lie down, put our hands behind our heads. Galway froze. I froze. Ben screamed, Denise huddling over him, also screaming. One of the ERU wallahs dragged Galway’s arms behind his back to handcuff him. Then he started to read him his rights.

  Brady prised the gun from Gonzo’s grip, pulled his head back, Gonzo’s breathing coming in gurgles. Denise lurched to her feet, a hand to her mouth, retching, making for the door. The second ERU wallah threw out an arm to block her way. Brady nodded her past, and I heard the sound of her bare feet padding up the hallway as the din from the gunshot faded.

  Brady looked at me, the burn mark on the pocket of the fleece, then looked at Gonzo. He had fallen to one side, a hole the size of a boxing glove punched through his back, a pool of blood seeping between his legs.

  “Sibling rivalry,” he sneered.

  I didn’t answer. I was suddenly
tired, so tired I hadn’t the strength to close my eyes. Brady held his hand out, snapped his fingers. I handed him the pro’s gun. He gave it a quick once over, removed the clip, dropped to one knee in front of Galway.

  “Alright, boss?” he asked, the evil smile on full wattage. “How goes it?”

  Galway said nothing. Brady clapped him lightly on the shoulder, moved around behind him. Then he slipped the butt of the pro’s gun into Galway’s hand, closing Galway’s fingers around it. The ERU wallah watched, impassive. When Brady finished he stood again, holding the gun by the trigger-guard.

  “Take him out. Put him in the van and don’t drop him too often. There’s a lot of people want to see Detective-Inspector Galway and I want him in good nick for receiving visitors.” He jerked a thumb at Gonzo. “And get someone in here to look after that.”

  They hauled Galway to his feet. He glared at me, a look of pure hatred.

  “Remember what I said, chief,” I reminded him. “No lubrication.”

  He spat, a filthy gob that landed squarely on my cheek, and then they were gone. A third ERU wallah came and stood in the doorway, nervous, machine-gun clutched to his chest. I could hear voices outside, orders being barked, doors slamming. Two medics appeared, began tending to Gonzo. They covered his face with an oxygen mask, stuck a needle in his arm, but even I could see it was a lost cause. Gonzo’s head was lolling, the pool of blood widening by the second. Brady stood over me as I rubbed at Galway’s spittle, plastering it all over the side of my face, unable to take my eyes off Gonzo.

  “You’ll make Commissioner for this,” I said.

  “Aye. And you’ll do time.”

  “All things considered, I’ll take prison any day. You find what you wanted at The Odeon?”

  “Pretty much.” He nodded at the Ice Queen’s gun. “That the magic gun?”

  “Yeah. Rub the barrel and a genie pops out.”

  Gonzo went into a spasm of coughing, spattering the medics with a spray of blood.

  “She’d lost a lot of blood, Rigby. Another twenty minutes, maybe, she’d have bled to death.”

  “Stop teasing. What about Sheridan?”

  “Made a full confession on the spot. Named you as the leader of a gang of dissident Republicans that had kidnapped him and Helen Conway for ransom.”

  “Obviously in shock, poor lad.”

  “Obviously. The fractured skull wasn’t doing him any favours.”

  “That confession goes on the record?”

  “Has to.”

  “So I’m getting a day out in my Sunday best?”

  “Let you into court with a mouth like that? Fuck no. The way my report reads, Galway ran the show and plugged his own side when they double-crossed him. Then he came looking for you. When Eddie there bravely tried to protect his brother and sister-in-law, Galway nailed him too. Extortion, drugs, murder… Fuck me, Galway won’t get out until the anti-Christ arrives.” He paused. “Whether they’ll believe the report is another matter, of course.”

  “Of course. What about Joe?”

  “The old bloke? Ascended into heaven in a fiery chariot just as we arrived.” He looked at Gonzo. Then: “You alright, Rigby?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  He laughed, gruff.

  “I’m ten years on the force and I’ve shot a gun in anger twice. Never came near hitting the target either time and you better believe I’m twice as happy as they were that I didn’t.”

  “Next time open your eyes.”

  “You’ve just shot your brother, Rigby. You’re telling me you can deal with that?”

  I looked across at Gonzo. I had an impulse to say something to him before he died, because nothing was surer than Gonzo’s dying, this time for real. Nothing came to mind.

  “Who’s going to deal with it for me if I don’t?”

  “You’re some cold bastard.”

  “What do you want, poetry?”

  “You killed him, Rigby, your own brother. The papers are going to love that.”

  I shrugged. He said: “Got a brief? If they don’t run with my report?”

  “No.”

  “Get one. If you’re stuck, I know some people. They’ll tell you what I’m telling you now. Self-defence, he was going for the gun. Better still, he had the gun and you took it off him. You’ll get manslaughter at worst, be out in five. Plus, you’ve apprehended a bent copper while you were at it, saved your wife and child. You’ll be a fucking hero.”

  I needed a shower, sleep and a smoke, maybe a coffee.

  “It’s done, Brady. I did it. End of story. I’ll take my chances with the way it happened.”

  “Big-balls Rigby.”

  “Someone had to, Brady. I didn’t see you in the queue.”

  “You were looking in the wrong queue.” He came to a decision. “Alright. Forensics will be in so don’t touch anything. And I’d get out of here before the press Johnnies get here. For her sake, and the kid.”

  “Jesus, Brady. It’s Christmas day.”

  “Parasites don’t take holidays. Which reminds me. Take a holiday yourself.”

  “Can’t afford it. Conway’s a bust, and I haven’t had a gig in two months.”

  “I’m not talking about the sun. I’m talking about the job. I’d pack it in for a while. There’s going to be a lot of pissed-off suits up at the station tomorrow morning.”

  “Any ideas what I should do for money?”

  “Try politics. You’ve the smart mouth for it and there’s a by-election due.”

  He left. I rolled a smoke, hands shaking, watching the medics working on Gonzo until they finally gave up, recorded a time of death. When I was sure he was dead I left.

  26

  I found Denise on her parents’ bed, lights off, crying, cuddling Ben, who was still snuffling. I sat on the edge of the bed, not knowing what to say, smoothing the wrinkled duvet with the palm of my hand.

  “You okay?”

  She didn’t speak.

  “Is Ben okay?”

  “He’s okay.” Her nose sounded blocked. “I told him you were playing cops and robbers with the big boys. The noise gave him a fright.”

  “Me and him both. C’mon, we have to get out of here.”

  “What am I going to tell Mam and Dad?”

  “That you heard about it on the news, same way as everyone else. That some mad bastards broke in on Christmas Eve, started shooting one another. I don’t know, we’ll have to make it up as we go along. Worst case scenario, I’m guessing Brendan’ll pay for your ticket to Dallas next time.”

  She giggled through the tears, took a deep breath, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand.

  “And… Gonz?”

  I nodded.

  “This time for good.”

  “He was doing everything you said?”

  “That’s as far as I know. That’s the last couple of days. Fuck knows what he was at for the last four years.”

  “When I saw him… earlier, when they arrived. Harry, I nearly died.”

  “I know the feeling.” I stood up. “Come on. Get your stuff packed. And for Christ’s sake leave those pyjamas behind.”

  “Harry?”

  “What?”

  “I’m sorry, Harry…”

  “Don’t be. If you apologise you’ll want to explain and I don’t need the gory details. Get packed.”

  I sat in the living room until they were ready to go, smoking, looking at Gonzo. The medics were gone, leaving the corpse behind, that and a thick wad of padded cotton wool they’d been using to staunch the flow of blood. The bleeding had stopped by then, and he sat in a black pool that was maybe a couple of inches deep. I felt no remorse for killing him, no regret that he was dead. I felt nothing, numb. All I knew was that the world was one sociopath fewer. He had been my brother but from where I was sitting that wasn’t a hanging offence.

  The only thing that bothered me was, his screwing Denise was now out in the open, which meant that Ben would probably find out when he was
old enough to understand. When that might be I didn’t know. I had thirty years on Ben and I still didn’t get it.

  And then I remembered something. I stubbed the smoke, got up and walked across to Gonzo. Ruffled his hair, bent down, kissed his forehead.

  “You play the player, Gonz,” I whispered. “Not the cards.”

  Brady stopped me as we left.

  “You’ll be around? I don’t have to take you in?”

  “I’ll be asleep, Brady. Just don’t wake me when you throw me in the wagon.”

  “Alright. I’ll ring those people.”

  “Cheers.”

  Dawn was breaking dull beyond the mountains by the time we got away. We drove for home, Ben strapped into the back seat, asleep before we even hit the main road, Denise driving. I rolled a smoke, told her what Brady had said about packing in the job, on the off chance that she might want to fill the silence with something more important.

  “And will you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “But what else can you do?”

  “I don’t know, something’ll come up.” I thought of the feeding frenzy the photos would cause, once the murders hit the airwaves. Even when I subtracted Herbie’s cut, the money would still take up a lot of room in the deposit box of whatever bank I decided to favour with my custom. “I’ll worry about it next week. If I wake up.”

  She smiled at that, looked across. I didn’t have the energy to smile back. Her expression grew serious.

  “Harry?”

  “Don’t, Dee.”

  “What you said, Monday night?”

  “Jesus, Dee. I’m trying to forget what I did an hour ago.”

  “About me having an affair? That you’d kill him and cripple me?”

  I didn’t look at her.

  “Don’t read too much into it, Dee. He was going to kill me and take Ben.” I looked out the window, watching the thaw charge down the hillsides, coursing through the ditches. I wasn’t sure if she could hear me. I wasn’t even sure who it was I was supposed to be talking to. “Anyway, you’re already a cripple,” I said. “Me too. You’re my crutch. I think that’s the whole idea.”

  She didn’t say anything to that. I switched on the stereo, turned away, tried to make myself comfortable, the wound starting to burn again. Closed my eyes but couldn’t stop thinking, about Gonzo, panned out on the pool table and holding the eight ball over the pocket because what else can you do when they want you to play with a crooked cue. I thought about Dutchie, sitting at home, hoping I was dead and hoping I wasn’t and realising, way too late, that you only ever have a choice in hindsight. I thought about Ben, how he’d have to wait another year for his snowman, wondering about who might help him build it. I thought about Denise, and how she might fare out getting someone to take her on with another man’s kid in tow. And I thought too about a dumb blonde answering the door in the middle of the night, shivering, not knowing that the cold was the last thing she would ever feel.