The Last Crossing

by Brian McGilloway

  Tony allowed himself a breath; at least it had been on.

  ‘That’s great, thanks.’

  Duggan replaced the receiver and walked back to the desk.

  ‘8.15pm,’ he said as he passed the chair. Tony could smell stale sweat off the man and wondered whether, perhaps, he’d been put through the same form of questioning.

  ‘I was late,’ Tony explained. ‘I missed the opening.’

  Mullan took a moment to consider the comment, looked to the man who shrugged.

  ‘Do you have your ticket there?’

  ‘Not on me,’ Tony said. ‘I probably binned it with my drinks cup.’

  ‘What did you think of the film?’ Mullan asked, pronouncing it ‘filum’ as everyone at home did.

  ‘It was all right.’

  ‘What’s the new guy like as Bond?’

  Tony was wary one more, the innocuousness of the question the very thing that most frightened him. He had to assume that Mullan had seen it and was testing him.

  ‘He was good. A bit serious.’

  ‘The cello bit was a bit stupid,’ Mullan said, his tone friendly, laddish.

  ‘It was,’ Tony agreed. ‘The skiing down the mountain part.’

  ‘Did you speak to anyone about what we were planning with the cop?’ Mullan asked, the sudden shift in conversation jarring.

  ‘No!’ Tony said, mustering offence.

  The man stepped forward, lifted the wooden bat and brought it down across his shoulders and neck.

  Tony slumped forward onto the floor, screaming in pain.

  ‘Quiet, son,’ the man said. ‘Did you tell anyone?’

  ‘No!’

  Another strike, this time across the back.

  ‘You must have said something. Your dad? Your mother?’

  ‘I swear!’ Tony shouted, flinching in expectation of another strike. Instead, the man kicked at him, the boot connecting with his knee.

  ‘I swear to God, son, if you’re lying to me, I’ll shoot your fucking da. He’s a coward anyway. All it’ll take is one phone call here and he’ll be done. Do you understand me?’

  ‘Yes,’ Tony said, gripping his knee.

  ‘Do you understand me?’ the man repeated, this time aiming his kick higher, to the groin.

  Tony arched with the pain, his stomach heaving, and he vomited all over the plastic sheeting.

  ‘I didn’t tell anyone,’ he shouted, his abdomen aching. ‘I swear to God, I didn’t.’

  Even as he said it, the words stuck in his throat, but he had no choice. If he told them now, what was to stop them killing his father anyway? They already considered him a coward, might think that Tony had involved him in some way.

  ‘Did you go to the cops?’

  ‘No,’ Tony gasped, trying to spit the bile from his mouth.

  Another blow, this time across the back with the wooden baton.

  ‘Who did you tell?’

  ‘No one.’

  A blow to the stomach with his boot caused him to retch again, the pain in his innards searing.

  ‘Who did you tell?’

  ‘No one!’

  Another blow, this time to the side of the head. Tony fell prostrate, his face pressed against the plastic sheeting, his head haloed in his own vomit. He lay there, looking sideways at this attacker’s feet, wondering whether it wouldn’t just be easier to tell the truth. They might understand, they might see why he’d wanted to protect Alice.

  ‘Leave him,’ Mullan said, and Tony saw the feet move backwards. He felt a touch on his shoulder, which stung with pain. He looked around into the face of Mullan, friendly, warm.

  ‘We’re nearly finished,’ he said. ‘Tell the truth now; did you tell anyone?’

  Tony began to cry, the shame burning his cheeks, his words lost in his sobs. ‘Leave me da alone,’ he said. ‘Leave him alone.’

  ‘That’s OK,’ Mullan said. ‘Did you tell anyone? Someone in school maybe? A colleague? Maybe a bit of chat in the staff room? You can tell us. Confess. Everyone needs to confess in the end.’

  Tony lay back, tried to catch his breath. Something about Mullan’s questions surprised him. They didn’t know someone had spoken directly to the cop himself.

  ‘I swear, I didn’t tell anyone in school. I swear on my da’s life, I didn’t,’ he managed, honest at least in that.

  ‘Good fella,’ Mullan said, patting him on the shoulder. ‘Get yourself up and have another drink. It’s all right, now.’

  Tony pulled himself to his feet, using the overturned chair for support, then limped across towards the bar, holding his side gingerly with one hand, his stomach in agony, his balls cupped in his other hand. He glared at the unnamed man, spat blood and bile onto the plastic sheeting, but the man paid him no heed, moving across instead and removing something from the booth next to him. When Tony glanced back a moment later, the man was holding a pistol.

  Tony stopped, turned to look at Mullan and Duggan. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘See, the thing is, Tony,’ Mullan said. ‘We have a witness. Someone was spotted going into the home of the cop on Saturday night.’

  Tony felt his legs seem to crumple under him.

  ‘We already know who the tout is. We just needed to be sure.’

  Chapter Forty-Six

  ‘Are you sure? It’s definitely this way?’

  Tony nodded. He couldn’t put his finger on what, but something felt familiar about the path they now followed, though if he were honest, it might have been simply that he was convincing himself that they were on the right track, for the trees blended one into the other. He was looking for the stream; it alone would prove that he was leading them in the right direction.

  ‘Who was he?’ Tony asked, gaining a quizzical look from Mullan. ‘The third man, from back then. The one who beat us up.’

  ‘It was hardly a beating,’ Mullan laughed. ‘I’ve got worse in the bar evenings.’

  ‘He took a nail-studded bat to me at one stage.’

  Mullan shrugged, glancing at Karen sceptically. ‘I think you’ve misremembered that.’

  ‘I know what happened to me,’ Tony said. ‘Who was he?’

  ‘Joe Doherty,’ Mullan said. ‘He was one of the Nutting Squad. He helped us out.’

  ‘He was an animal.’

  ‘He did what needed to be done to be sure we had the right person.’

  ‘We didn’t have the right person,’ Duggan muttered from behind them.

  ‘And why were you there?’ Tony asked.

  Mullan looked at him askance. ‘Me? I was in charge.’

  Duggan spoke behind them again. ‘Uncle Sean here was the one set us all up together. He was the one sent me to the health centre to meet you, Karen. And he told me to look out for you, too, after your brother’s death. We’re all together now because of him. He was even the one who named the cop to us.’

  ‘I thought it was Martin who saw him in a supermarket,’ Karen said. Tony nodded, grateful at least that her memory coincided with his in that regard.

  ‘Martin told me that Sean here sent him to that shop, week after week. Told him he’d heard a rumour that our guy was living in the area, shopping there. Martin knew him from back home.’

  ‘Is that right?’ Karen asked.

  Mullan nodded, smiling a little ruefully. ‘I’m surprised he told you. We knew the target was living in the area; we’d got word from someone that he’d relocated there. Kelly knew the man already; it made sense to send him out to check whether the rumours were true.’

  ‘Martin told me everything back then. So, why didn’t you come to me directly?’ Duggan asked. ‘Why go through Martin?’

  ‘You always needed to feel like you came up with your own ideas, Hugh,’ Mullan said. ‘If I’d sent you after him, there’d have been no guarantee that you’d have followed through. Why do you think we’d sent you to Scotland? You were too awkward, too prone to heading off in your own direction.’

  ‘That’s a lie.’

  ‘
Your move over here was sanctioned at the highest levels, Hugh. You know that. You were brought back when the ceasefire started, because there was nothing more you could do.’

  ‘I was loyal.’

  ‘You were,’ Mullan said. ‘And brutal. And effective. But you needed to feel like you were in charge. Still do.’

  ‘What’s that meant to mean?’

  ‘Like I said, you’re the man holding a gun. I told Kelly to mention to you that he’d seen the cop in the supermarket. I knew you’d come back to me, looking for permission to target him. And you did. You were predictable.’

  ‘Not anymore,’ Duggan said.

  ‘Do you think? Why are we here? You approached me about this, first.’

  ‘I’ve said; I want the truth–’

  ‘No, why did you first think about him?’ Mullan asked, smiling.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘What first started you thinking about him, recently?’

  ‘I’m dying. My pancreas, bowel, even moved into my lungs. I’ve weeks left,’ he said, finally.

  Despite everything, Tony felt sorry for the man, how defeated he looked despite holding a gun on them all.

  ‘I know,’ Mullan said. ‘You were spotted going in and out of the cancer centre months back. News travels fast.’ He offered no empathy, no concern. Business-like. ‘But what made you think of Martin?’

  ‘He was on the news. The family were looking again for him, in all the wrong places.’

  Mullan nodded. ‘I wonder where they got those tip-offs?’

  Duggan stared at him a moment, as if piecing together what he had said. ‘You?’

  Mullan nodded. ‘We needed to get him back; I knew you were dying, reflecting on things, according to your drinking cronies. I guessed a few high-profile stories about Martin’s family and you’d be in touch. And you were. Predictable.’

  ‘Don’t push me, Sean,’ Duggan growled.

  ‘Or what?’ Mullan laughed. ‘What do you think is going to happen? Do you really think you’re going to shoot one of us, here, with all these witnesses? Or shoot all of us? And then what? Drive yourself back home? You don’t think you’ll be caught?’

  ‘I don’t care if I am,’ Duggan said. ‘I’ll be dead soon enough. But when I am, I don’t want to face the dead and see Martin Kelly there, blaming me for what I did.’

  ‘You think Kelly will be the only one waiting for you when you die?’ Mullan sneered.

  ‘Anyone else I did, got what they deserved.’

  ‘Kelly got what he deserved, too,’ Mullan said.

  ‘I don’t believe that,’ Duggan said.

  ‘But you told us there was a witness?’ Tony said.

  ‘What?’

  Both Duggan and Mullan turned to look at him. He glanced at Karen. She seemed to give a shake of her head as if in warning, but it was too late.

  ‘Someone saw him going to speak to Hamilton?’ he continued.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  ‘Someone saw?’ Tony asked. He was standing at the bar, one hand holding the brass handrail for support.

  ‘Someone was watching the house that evening. It was a last-minute decision, apparently,’ Mullan said. ‘But they saw someone going into the cop’s house and not coming back out again.’

  Tony swallowed, glanced at the doorway. It was about six feet to his right, but limping as he was, he’d hardly be through it when the unnamed man would be on him, if he even got that far.

  ‘Who was it?’

  ‘You’ll know soon enough,’ Mullan said. ‘Finish your drink and follow me.’

  Tony struggled to pour himself a drink, his hand shaking so much the neck of the bottle rang on the edge of the glass several times before he managed to quarter fill the glass. He put down the bottle and, holding the glass two-handed, drained it.

  His legs shook as he walked, his hands balled into fists in an attempt to control the shuddering which vibrated along his arms. As he passed the unnamed man, he tensed, refusing to look the man in the eye. All the way to the far door, he expected a bullet to strike him, flinching at the sound of Duggan’s chair scraping on the floor as the man stood.

  Mullan continued walking, leading him down a corridor to the door at the end which opened onto a small metal staircase. ‘Down there,’ Mullan said. ‘Someone will be down for you in a while. Help yourself to a drink. We’ll sort Betty out for it later.’

  Tony picked his way down the steps, his footsteps echoing metallically off the cellar walls. Crates of empty bottles were piled to one side, while on the other wall, he could make out boxes of spirits, their labels barely readable in the penumbra of the light thrown from a single bulb in the centre of the room.

  Amongst the shadows, against the far wall, sat Karen.

  ‘Are you OK?’ he said, moving over towards her.

  She shifted slightly away from him and, at first, he thought she was still angry with him, but then he saw her face. A vertical line of blood had dried along one side of her face, from the cut above her eyebrow to the curve of her jaw.

  ‘Did he fucking hit you?’ Tony said. ‘I swear to God, I’ll…’ He did not know what to say, knew how absurd such threats were in the situation and so allowed the sentence to die into silence. ‘Are you OK?’ he asked again, finally.

  Karen sniffed, wiped at her eyes with her hand, the end of her jumper sleeve balled like a tissue in her fist. ‘I’m all right. He only hit me once.’

  ‘He hit you?’ Tony spat.

  She nodded. ‘What about you?’

  Tony blushed a little. ‘Yeah, a few times. He had a bat with nails in it. I think he punctured my calf muscle with it.’

  ‘Jesus. Are you OK?’

  He shrugged. The question was offered more as a social observance than genuine inquiry, clearly, for the blood on his face was answer enough.

  ‘What do you think they’re going to do to us?’ Karen asked.

  Tony dropped roughly to the ground next to her. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Did they tell you who did it?’

  Karen looked at him a moment, her expression unreadable. ‘No. Did they tell you?’

  Tony shook his head, unable to meet her eye. ‘No. They said someone was seen, but that’s all. Where’s Kelly?’

  ‘I’ve not seen him. I was told to be here at 9.30.’

  ‘I was at 10.30. What time is it now?’

  Karen glanced at her watch, angling it in the dim light. ‘Almost one,’ she said.

  ‘What did they ask you?’

  Karen cleared her throat. ‘About you, mostly. And me.’

  Tony felt his stomach churn again. They’d been asking about him. Did that mean they suspected him? But then, they had asked him mostly about her. Maybe they’d been bluffing when they said someone had seen. Maybe it had been to see if he would confess on the spot.

  ‘What did you tell them?’

  ‘The truth,’ Karen said. ‘We were going out and now, well, we’re not.’

  ‘I said the same thing,’ Tony said. ‘They wanted to know why we broke up.’

  ‘What did you say?’ Karen asked, suddenly apprehensive.

  ‘I said you cheated on me at that party.’

  ‘I didn’t know what I was doing,’ Karen said.

  ‘I’m not arguing with you. They asked me if I thought we could trust you. If I trusted you.’

  There was a pause for a moment, before Karen spoke. ‘What did you tell them?’

  ‘I said that we could. That I did.’

  ‘Do you trust me? Completely?’

  ‘Yes,’ Tony said.

  Karen took his hand in hers. ‘We’re going to be OK,’ she said. ‘I promise. Everything’s going to be OK.’

  Tony wanted to tell her the truth, wanted to unburden himself. She knew already about Alice; they’d spoken about her before. He felt certain she would understand why he’d done what he did. But then a voice niggling at the back of his mind made him wonder if this, too, was part of the interrogation. Was Karen sent to g
et him to confess, all along? Was she working with them? He desperately wanted to trust her, to tell her everything, but couldn’t gather the nerve to do so.

  In the end, their conversation was cut short by the grinding of the cellar door as it was pushed open. Duggan stood, alone at the top of the steps. He looked exhausted, his body slumped, his hands hanging uselessly by his sides.

  ‘It’s time to go,’ he said. ‘Come on.’

  Tony struggled to his feet, put out his hand to help Karen to hers. ‘Where are we going?’ he asked.

  ‘To finish this,’ Duggan said.

  ‘Where’s Mullan? And the other guy?’

  ‘They’ve gone,’ Duggan said. ‘They don’t stay for this part. Mullan won’t get his hands dirty.’

  Tony stepped in front of Karen, his arm outstretched to stop her moving forward.

  ‘What happens now? I’m not going anywhere until I know what’s going to happen.’

  ‘We shoot the tout,’ Duggan said. ‘We’re taking him to Skiff Woods and we’ll leave him there. All three of us need to do it. That way, no one will ever speak about it again.’