Angels in the Moonlight

by Caimh McDonnell

  “I’ll be seeing you again, Bunny, you hear me? I’ll be seeing you again.”

  He limped off in the opposite direction, like a whipped dog.

  Frock put the phone to his ear again. “He has dealt with the situation, the other guy is gone.”

  “Very well. Pick him up in four minutes and keep a close eye on him.”

  Yeah, thought Frock, no kidding.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  “Pull in here.”

  “Grand,” said Bunny. “The meter says thirty-two quid, but sure, just call it thirty. Seeing as the banter has been such good craic.”

  “Shut up.”

  It had been about an hour since the silver Audi had pulled up outside his house and its occupant had honked the horn. Bunny had appeared, holding an Arnott’s bag containing a videotape. He was wearing his anorak, as the encroaching evening was laden with dark clouds that promised an unhappy night.

  He stood looking at the man standing beside the car. Well built, but not excessively muscled, forties, smart enough to be wary, experienced enough not to be jittery. There was the waft of ex-military about him. He was maybe six foot two and carried himself like a man who had been in a fair few fights and had come out mostly on the right side. Bunny knew how to recognise those people because he was one of those people.

  Bunny had jangled his leg and awkwardly pulled at his underpants. “Apologies. That gobshite earlier caught me a dig right in the Martha and the Vandellas.”

  “If you’ve any weapons on you, you’ll be checked at the other end.” English accent.

  “Only my devastating wit.”

  “Get in, you’re driving.”

  The English bloke had sat in the back seat as Bunny got into the front.

  “Check your rear-view.”

  Bunny adjusted the mirror enough to see the gun that the man held under a newspaper.

  “We clear?”

  “Clearer than a nudist’s sexual preference.”

  “What?”

  “Cause, ye see, you’d be able to see who they—”

  “Shut up and drive.”

  Bunny put the bag with the tape in it under his seat and adjusted himself, trying to get comfortable. “Where to, guv?”

  Over the next hour, his passenger had only given Bunny directions, guiding them up into the Wicklow Mountains via the M50. All attempts at casual conversation had been met with a firm “shut up”. There seemed to be no way to either wind him up or win him over. Either would have done. Bunny placed great stock in an enemy being too annoyed to think straight. This guy was not going to play ball. If anything, he seemed slightly bored with the whole thing.

  “Get out of the car.”

  The sporadic rain was in the middle of one of its more sustained outbursts. They were in a lay-by at the bottom of a valley, densely forested hills on either side.

  His guide, the gun now tucked into the pocket of his dark grey overcoat, nodded towards a worn and muddied path that lay between the fir trees. As they trudged forward, Bunny could just make out the sound of the occasional car whooshing by in the background. If anyone noticed the Audi at all, it would be as a brief flash of soon-forgotten silver on their way to somewhere else. This area was no doubt popular with hill walkers and tree huggers in the summer months, but in the fading light of a shitty December day, it only existed as somewhere on the line between two points.

  About twenty yards in they came to a clearing. Bunny could see stone steps leading up the south face of the hill. A brook, giddy with winter rains, rushed by under the wooden bridge that lay at the foot of the steps.

  “Stop.”

  Bunny did as instructed.

  His guide stepped in front of him and dialled a number on his mobile. “We’re here.” He nodded and carefully extended the phone out to Bunny, his gun in the other hand, pointed at Bunny’s centre mass.

  Bunny took the phone and clamped it against his ear with his shoulder, leaving his left hand free to pull at the posterior of his trousers, his right hand still clutching the carrier bag.

  “Detective McGarry, thank you for coming. Is everything alright?”

  “Grand, yeah. Sorry about that, I’m having a bit of testicular discomfort due to earlier ructions.”

  Bunny shoved his left hand back into the pocket of his anorak.

  “I trust you have brought the tape with you?”

  Bunny held up the carrier bag. “Yep, I did. There she is – and this is as close to it as you’re getting until I see Simone.”

  The voice laughed. “I think you have greatly overestimated your negotiating position, Detective.”

  “I’m not so sure. Let me tell you about Bibi Baskin.”

  “Who?”

  “She was a goldfish. You see Gringo, my very much ex-partner, said it wasn’t healthy for me to be living alone – said it was making me grumpy. So, he went off one day and bought me a goldfish.”

  “Bibi Baskin?”

  “That’s right. Named after the thinking man’s thinking woman off the telly. Do you know Irish TV? Probably not. Anyway, she’s a fine looking red-headed woman, and the fish was sort of red so—”

  “Is there a point to this?”

  “Yes,” said Bunny, rolling his eyes at his guide, as if his boss was a little hard of thinking. “So Gringo got me this fish, but I’d to go buy Bibi an aquarium and all this stuff. Jesus, it adds up. Few hundred quid all told, but I went for the whole nine yards, as you Yanks say. Anyway, first week in, I come home and Bibi – and I still don’t know how this happened – has jumped out of her tank, died there on the floor.”

  “Oh dear. Is the point of this story your lack of success in protecting the women in your life?”

  “No, no, not at all. The point is, I’d bought all this gear, including this thing for cleaning the algae off the tank. The guy in the shop really did a sales pitch on me, said it would make my life so much easier. ‘It makes tank cleaning a joy’ – I distinctly remember him saying that.”

  The voice sounded slightly irritated now. “What is your point?”

  “Well,” said Bunny, pulling his left hand out of his pocket to produce a black object, which he held a foot above the bag, “the point is, that algae doodah is how I happened to have a decent-sized magnet in the house. And videotapes and magnets don’t get on.”

  “So, let me get this straight, detective: you are threatening to destroy a tape that I came here to destroy?”

  “Ah, well then, if all you want is the tape destroyed, then I’m as screwed as screwed can be. Thing is, I’m guessing a man like yourself would rather own this tape than just destroy it. I’m guessing it has a value in still existing and in you being the one that has it. Am I right?”

  “And you think your little magnet is enough to destroy it before Mr Frock puts a bullet through your head.”

  “D’ye know, I’ve no idea, and I’m betting you don’t either. So, will I tell Frocky boy here to shoot me in the head and we can both find out?”

  Mr Frock pursed his lips and looked at Bunny.

  The voice sighed. “Very well, Detective, let us play your game. You can keep your magnet and the tape, but I shall not be allowing you to go any further with the weapons I’m sure you will have on your person.”

  “Ye can frisk me if you like.”

  “And allow you the chance to ’try something’? That will not be necessary. Please hand the phone back to Mr Frock.”

  Bunny switched the magnet to his right hand and then quickly tossed the phone at Frock.

  He calmly took a step backwards and let the phone fall onto the muddy ground, his gun never wavering from covering Bunny. Then he leaned forward and picked it up, mumbling something under his breath that sounded a lot like “asshole”.

  Mr Frock listened for a few seconds then hung up the phone.

  “Strip.”

  “Excuse me?” said Bunny.

  “Strip.”

  “Y’know, I get that there was some obvious sexual tension between
us on the drive over, but I’m kind of seeing someone.”

  “Strip.”

  “Seriously? It’s pissing rain and nearly freezing.”

  “Like I care. You want to play silly buggers, fine. Strip.”

  “Alright, but, before I do, I want you to remember it is cold and you’re not seeing me at my best.”

  Bunny put the bag containing the tape on a nearby rock and held the magnet over it while he stripped. It was a slow process, by the end of which he was slick with rain and shivering.

  “Can I keep my shoes on?”

  “No. Nothing.”

  “I’m really starting to go off you.”

  Mr Frock tilted his head in the direction of the stone steps. “Up there.”

  “You first.”

  “Move.”

  “I’m serious. You stay in front of me. I’m not having you being tempted to shoot me in the back of the head when I can’t see it coming. I want you where I can see you or . . .” Bunny looked pointedly down at the magnet and the plastic bag containing the video tape.

  Frock grimaced and slowly walked backwards over the wooden bridge, Bunny following about six feet behind. He made no effort to maintain his modesty, preferring to hold his hands up in such a way that the magnet would fall into the bag containing the tape if he dropped it or Frock dropped him.

  Frock started to climb slowly up the steps, still facing Bunny.

  “So, Frock, is that a German name?”

  Frock said nothing.

  “In the British Army with a German name, dear oh dear. Were the other children mean?”

  By the time they reached the top of the stairs, Bunny was unable to stop shaking as the cold went through him. The granite was hard and slippery beneath his feet as the rain teemed down, the sound of it washing all others away. Bunny glanced around into the trees, a random thought popping into his head as to what the wildlife must be making of all this.

  At the top of the stairs was a forest clearing that sloped down towards where Bunny now stood. Four picnic tables were dotted around, and Simone was sitting behind the one furthest away from Bunny. Her right hand was handcuffed to it. Her hair clung wet around her face, which looked puffy and swollen. Her eyes welled when she saw him and she turned away. She was wearing the overalls Bunny recognised as the ones she wore to do the cleaning in Charlie’s.

  Leaning against one of the other tables was a dark-skinned Latino man holding a golf umbrella over his head. He was wearing a black sheepskin coat over a cream suit that matched neither the weather nor the environment, and a pair of dark glasses that were the definition of optimism for Ireland in December. He completed the outfit with a handgun held nonchalantly in his right hand.

  Mr Frock moved towards the top of the clearing, to provide wide cover while also sheltering beneath the treeline from the worst of the rain .

  “Ah, Detective, we meet at last. You may call me Mr Lopez.”

  Bunny ignored him and moved awkwardly towards Simone. “Are you alright?”

  “Ah-ah. Far enough, Detective.”

  Simone looked up and nodded at Bunny. When she spoke, her voice came out in a croak that barely carried amidst the thundering rain. “I’m sorry. So sorry, so sorry.”

  Bunny spoke softly. ”Look at me, Simone.”

  She raised her head slowly and her eyes met his.

  “Whatever happens, you’ve got nothing to be sorry about.”

  “This is all very touching,” said Lopez, “but this rain is playing havoc with my shoes, so can we move this along?”

  Bunny turned to address the man for the first time. “I want you to know – if this goes really well, I’m looking forward to watching you die slowly.”

  The man smirked. “And if it goes really badly?”

  “Then you get to die quick.”

  This at least wiped the smile from his face. “I’m bored of your histrionics. Put the tape on the table and back away.”

  “No.”

  “Do it or I will shoot you in the leg.”

  “I always wanted to ask you . . .” They both turned at Simone’s interruption. She looked at Bunny. “That night in the alley outside Charlie’s when Ryan, y’know . . .”

  Bunny nodded.

  “Why were you there?”

  “I was . . . I dunno. I was hoping to accidentally bump into you or . . . something. Daft, I guess.”

  She shook her head. “No. It would’ve been nice.” She gave him that lopsided smile that made him forget everything for the briefest moment. “I wish things had worked out differently.”

  “But they didn’t,” said Lopez, taking a step towards Bunny. “Let us be realistic, Detective, there is a very good chance that the tape you are holding isn’t the correct one. I would be a fool to think otherwise. I let this play out as I wanted you to deliver yourself to me, and you have, naked and helpless. The more likely options are that you either don’t have the tape or you have it hidden elsewhere. If it is the latter, I will take my time and get that information out of you. I am very good at getting answers – it is a skill I have. Incidentally, your lady friend broke a lot more quickly this time than she did last time. I don’t know what that says about her feelings for her ex-beau compared to you.”

  Bunny refused to rise to the bait. “And if I don’t have the tape?”

  “Then I will enjoy greatly confirming that answer. I like my work.”

  “Ah sure, enjoy your job and you never work a day in your life. Isn’t it lucky you’re a scum-sucking psycho cockwomble?”

  “Sticks and stones, really? I mean, coming here, what was it? Some ludicrous romantic gesture or did you have any kind of a plan?”

  “To be honest with you, I was sorta hoping I’d be able to pull something out of me arse.”

  “And how is that working out?”

  “It’s really too early to tell. Although, you’re wrong, there’s a third option for what’s about to happen.”

  “Really?”

  “Oh yes, amigo.”

  And then Simone screamed.

  21.8 miles away, seventy-six minutes previously . . .

  Gringo rang the doorbell, took a deep breath and looked around. A young kid was standing a few doors down from Bunny’s house gawping at him, having taken a break from walloping stuff with a stick.

  Something crunched under Gringo’s feet. He looked down to see what appeared to be the remains of a mobile phone, and then the door opened.

  Even by his standards, Bunny looked pissed. “I’ve nothing further to say to you.”

  Gringo held his arms out in a supplicatory gesture. “Look, I’m sorry.”

  Bunny stepped out onto the doorstep; Gringo moved backwards.

  “Now isn’t the time to be sorry. D’you have any idea the trouble you’ve caused?”

  “Amigo, I’m sorry.”

  Bunny pushed Gringo, causing him to stumble. “Not as sorry as you’re going to be.”

  “Look, I’ll do anything to make it up to you.”

  “OK.”

  Then Bunny swung a punch straight into Gringo’s jaw.

  Gringo spun and the world roulette-wheeled around him. As he hit the ground, he was dimly aware of the kid whooping excitedly. Then Bunny was on top of him, his big arm wrapped around his throat.

  Bunny pulled him closer and whispered in his ear. “Act like we’re fighting.”

  Gringo choked a response that came out as nothing more than a strangled cough.

  Bunny loosened his grip slightly while simultaneously kneeing Gringo in the back. “What?”

  “I said, we are fighting.”

  “So hit me.”

  Gringo slammed his fist into the side of Bunny’s head.

  “Ouch, me fucking ear, ye fucker – good. They’ve got Simone. Silver Audi. Follow it.”

  “But—”

  Bunny grabbed a handful of Gringo’s shirt, heaving on it to send three buttons pinging away.

  “What the—?”

  “No time. Do it.”r />
  Bunny pushed himself back onto his feet. Gringo remained on the ground, bleeding, dazed and confused. He watched as Bunny picked up a nearby bin and hurled it down at him. He raised his knee to deflect it away without too much damage.

  In the background, Gringo heard the little kid whooping with delight.

  “You – get the feck out of here or I’ll skin ye alive.”

  Gringo could hear the kid’s feet slapping lightly on the pavement as he hotfooted it to a safe distance.

  Bunny turned around and re-entered the house, slamming the door behind him.

  Gringo slowly staggered to his feet, blood streaming from his nose. His shirt was half ripped off him and he felt like he might throw up.

  He stumbled out of the gate, trying to look only slightly more dazed than he felt, but aware enough to clock the silver Audi briefly, and the man sitting in the front seat.

  Gringo turned back towards the door.

  “I’ll be seeing you again, Bunny, you hear me? I’ll be seeing you again.”

  He limped off around the corner to where his car was parked.

  Then he drove off.

  He went around the block and parked up on the main road, where he could keep an unseen eye on the silver Audi.

  At Simone’s scream, everyone in the clearing turned towards her.

  This allowed Gringo almost, but not quite, enough time to cover the ground between the treeline and Frock. When all eyes had been on Bunny, Simone had clocked Gringo making his way around the clearing.

  Unfortunately, while her attempt at a distraction did partially work, it still gave Frock just enough time to identify where the real threat was coming from. He ducked down to the side, meaning that the blow from the large log Gringo swung two-handed at him only landed on his wrist, sending the gun skittering off into the trees. Frock went down but he had the presence of mind to lash out with his legs, taking Gringo with him.

  Lopez moved towards Bunny, his gun aimed directly at his head, stopping his attempted charge before it could start. “Don’t.”

  Lopez looked around, confirming that the cavalry was limited to one unarmed man.

  “Was this your big plan?”

  “Well, to be honest, I thought he’d have a gun.”