A Carra King (54 page)

Minogue nodded at the Guard behind the wheel.

“Good enough, so,” he said. Malone turned the Opel back toward the dunes. Minogue looked back to see the squad car being reversed across the road by the lights.

“Do you know where you're going?”

“No,” said Malone. “But I'll find a way out onto the bloody thing somehow. What if it's six feet deep in water?”

“Does the tide come in like that?” Minogue asked.

“I don't know, but we're going to find out, aren't we.”

The headlight slid over ash-coloured sand.

“That's the club house there on the left,” said Malone, “the Royal Dublin. If we go this way . . . Yeah, look: that's a sort of a car park.”

The city lights slid into view as the Opel came around the dunes and onto the open strand.

“Turn off the lights a minute, Tommy. I can't see with them.”

“What's this — you're coming out of the closet here, are you?”

Minogue rolled down the window further.

“I can hear the water, but I can't see it.”

“Famous last words,” said Malone. “Come on.”

“Drive over there so we can see where the tide's in.”

The waves broke gently in white, curling strips at the outer limits of the car's high beams. Malone slowed as they approached the water's edge.

“That's them up ahead, isn't it. The boulders.”

Minogue couldn't make out anything. He followed the tire marks criss-crossing the sand ahead.

“There. Now do you see them?”

Like dumplings or something, he thought, or the rocks on the Burren. The beam of light wavered as the car bobbed in soft spots in the sand. The rocks seemed to move as they drew closer.

“Lawrence of shagging Arabia, here,” said Malone. “But in the middle of Dublin Bay, like.”

Minogue radioed in his position. Control asked him to confirm it.

“Boulders,” said Minogue. “Out here halfway down Dollymount Strand. Bull Island.”

Malone turned slowly. The headlight flickered on the sand in the spaces between the rocks. He stopped.

“Well?”

Minogue uncoupled his belt and pulled the door release.

“Keep your hands to yourself,” Malone said. “Or I'll tell Kathleen on you.”

“I'll be back in a minute.”

“What? A leak?”

“A walkabout for a minute, you savage,” Minogue said over his shoulder. He slammed the door behind him and listened to the sea.

He looked into the tunnel of light made by the beam ahead. The lights stopped at the foot of what he guessed to be dunes leading up to the golf club. The sand gave way slightly under his feet. Malone's voice carried over the dull thunder of the waves rushing up on the sand.

“Ah, come on,” Minogue heard. He shielded his eyes and looked back. He could make out Malone leaning on the roof in the open door of the Opel. The grille was in bits, he could see now, the bumper sideways and marked.

“We'll head back and let them wait until daylight,” Malone went on. “Then it won't be us walking up and down like gobshites here.”

He turned back and followed the line of boulders into the water. No moon. He could make out spreading movements of the waves as they slid up and then retreated on the sand. He trod hard with his heel in the sand. It barely wiggled now. The breeze was yanking at his hair now. He pulled his collar tighter, looked around the bay to the south. The boulders must run down right into the water, to stop traffic even at low tide.

He rubbed his eyes again. Sheer bloody vanity: he should get his eyes tested more often. The furthest rock he could see had a more regular shape. Cement, maybe, a final wall built to finish the job. He took a few steps, trailing his hand on one of the boulders. The dull vibrations coming from the car must be the radio. He glanced back. Malone was standing in the beam of light now. Minogue could make out the walkie-talkie in his hand. The lone headlight wasn't helping him at all: better off to let the night vision settle in for this.

He rubbed at his eyes again and waited for his vision to return. The dark shapes became sharper. The water was slapping the base of a boulder not fifty feet ahead. That one in the water had straight edges all right. He walked beyond the next boulder, let his eyes play to both sides. He shielded his eyes to both sides with his hands. The water lapped not twenty feet from him now. It slapped against the rocks and slid up the sand with a hush. He closed his eyes for several seconds and waited. It was no better when he opened them again.

He turned back to the car. Malone had switched off the headlight. Maybe he had gotten the idea. Now he'd turn the car around and point the one light out over the water, see what that thing looked like out there. The engine was off, too. Out for a leak maybe. He saw that the bootlid was open. Something about that caused Minogue to stop. He let go his collar. The gusts played about his scalp.

“Matt?”

He turned to the voice. A figure detached itself from the darker shape of a boulder.

“Matt. Stay put now, or there'll be trouble.”

The shock tightened his scalp. He struggled to remember something that was familiar in the voice, but it stayed just out of reach.

“Where's Tommy?” he managed.

“Tommy's looked after. Don't be worrying.”

The odd quiet he remembered was gone from the voice, but the soft ah-huh, the clearing of the throat that had become a mannerism.

“Damian . . . ”

“I'll drop you right here, Matt, if you don't shut up. I mean it. Hit the dirt there and I'll give you your chance.”

Little stepped forward. He held the gun at arm's length.

“What are you doing?” he tried again.

“It's Tommy's. Don't make me do for you.”

Minogue felt the breeze work its way under his coat. He didn't try to stop the lapel of his coat flapping. Little cocked the pistol.

“He's in the fucking boot, okay?” he said. “He's going to wake up with a lump on his bloody head. Now move.”

The sand under his knee gave way slowly. The rain and seawater soaked up his trousers. He hesitated, tried again to speak through the tightness in his throat.

“Damian,” he managed. Little was standing over him, his hand working down his back. He stopped at his shoulder.

“You're carrying, Matt? Well, my Jesus. What's the world coming to. Where is it?”

“I took it out. Tommy — ”

The cold metal pressed against his head made him stop. He held his breath. The hand ran under his arm, pushing at his armpit, tugging at his coat. The pressure of the muzzle began to ease.

“Where'd you put it then?”

Minogue started to talk but couldn't.

“You're a fucking iijit, Matt. Where'd you put it?”

“. . . Locked it up. I didn't want to — ”

“Put your hands on the back of your head — that's it, close your fingers. Now, roll over. Nice and slow.”

Minogue used his elbows to manoeuvre. Little kept circling him, doubling back, stopping, walking again.

“We have to do some business, Matt. The timing's not the best, I know. But you have some deciding to do. And you're going to do the deciding for himself there in the boot, too.”

The breeze made Minogue's eyes water. He'd been trying to keep Little in sight as he walked.

“You're too much, Matt. Things'd still be shaping up grand if Kilmartin wasn't away on his bloody jaunt. What made you decide to come down here?”

“We'd lost the van.”

“You've got squad cars at both ends, haven't you?”

Minogue said nothing.

“Tell them to walk, Matt, the one at Dollymount only. The walkie-talkie's on the front seat. You and me and Tommy are heading back to civilization.”

Minogue took a breath. He spread his hands. The sand was like wet cement.

“I want to see Tommy first.”

The flash and thump of the bullet as it tore into the sand beside him made his arms buckle. The ripples in the sand were like bones pushing up at his own. He covered his head with his arms. He felt Little's weight move the sand near him. The voice wasn't much more than a whisper.

“You're not doing so hot here,” Little said. “Don't be leaning on me. By rights you and your pal should be out there floating by the van. Up.”

Minogue stumbled once near the Opel.

“Wait a minute,” Little called out. Minogue watched the bootlid fall, heard it catch. Little shoved the lid again to be sure.

“Take the walkie-talkie out the window,” said Little. “Tell them.”

T
HIRTY
-O
NE

T
he light didn't go on when Minogue opened the door. He hesitated.

“On the driver's seat,” Little said. “Take it out with you. Go on.”

“Mazurka to Alpha Bravo One. Over.”

“Go ahead, Mazurka. Over.”

Alpha Bravo One didn't sound impressed. The slagging would filter back soon enough: now they'd screwed up, the glamour brigade in the Murder Squad couldn't make up their minds what way to look.

“Okay,” said Little. “Put it back. You're driving. Go on in.”

Little had the passenger door open already. The smell of the upholstery came to Minogue over the smell of the strand and sea. His pistol was an arm's length away. He imagined its weight in his hand.

The Opel felt sluggish, too much travel in the clutch. The steering wheel wobbled as he crossed a patch of wetter sand. He turned away from the dunes.

“Do you know your way?”

“I'm not sure.”

“Keep to the right of that light there ahead of you. That's the way through the dunes.”

Minogue geared up to third for traction.

“What about your fella back there,” he said. “The van?”

“He's not my fella,” said Little. “And it was his look-out. He would've jumped ship sooner or later anyway.”

Minogue tried to set the wheels back into the tracks ahead.

“Don't come the high and mighty here,” Little said. “They're all bent, they're all gougers. You know that. I just hope you see a bit of sense. For Tommy too.”

“As long as I know he's — ”

“Don't start,” Little snapped. “You don't even know how close you came. It was me kept you and that bullet-headed gobshite in the back in one piece, so don't start on me. Kathleen's the widow who's going to be in bits at the funeral, with the Killer and Tynan and all the fucking hoi polloi standing there — all because you couldn't see straight! Christ, Kilmartin and his big mouth.”

“What does Jimmy know?”

“He doesn't know a damned thing! Jimmy's a gobshite. Blathering on there and making an iijit of himself there in the bloody papers. But you — I told them you could be trouble.”

Minogue grasped the wheel tighter. Lights appeared in a gap in the dunes.

“I couldn't have stopped that mess this afternoon,” Little went on. “Even if I'd wanted to I couldn't. I didn't know about it until later.”

The line of sand looked like a sizeable bump. He let the wheel slide under his fingers. The car thudded as they hit. There was a squeak from the springs, a shuffling in the boot. He wondered if that had been enough to slide the gun back.

“Back over there,” said Little. “Stick to those tire tracks there.”

The dunes opened and street lamps began to slide into the widening gap. The yellow glow from the centre city grew brighter. Little shifted in his seat. He was soaked, Minogue realized.

“So, nice and easy, there. Get us out onto the Howth Road and we'll see what's what.”

There were two cars parked by the wall. One had fogged windows.

“Same as ever,” said Little. “Like rabbits. Tell me something.”

Minogue's neck was beginning to cramp. He tried to ease it but couldn't. Had the bumpy drive across the strand done anything for Malone? He looked across at the lights of the cars on the Clontarf Road. He couldn't see any cars near the bridge.

Minogue let his hand rest on the gearstick. Not three feet away, he thought, but it might as well be three miles.

“Did you have any idea that there could be an insider?”

“I was sort of wondering,” he said. “There were a lot of closed doors.”

Little shoved the gun under his coat.

“Closed doors,” he said.

Minogue slowed for the light. No patrol car by the end of the bridge.

“You ever get locked out, Matt?”

“I, well I lost the keys of the car a few times.”

“Not your car. Your house, your
marriage
. Your job, even.”

He let the Opel roll to a stop. He pushed it into neutral and pulled up the handbrake.

“I've put away some real gougers, Matt. I don't mean just Saturday night pub champs, armed robbers even. I mean McGrane. Kennedy. Remember them?”

Minogue nodded.

“I wasn't looking for glory either. It was pretty simple. They were a threat to the State. I swore an oath, Matt, so did you. But Smith and his crowd were mental. We got phone calls at home. I've had a half-dozen numbers in one year — that's at home. She said it was for the kids and that we could talk about it. How can you talk when you're not even allowed in the door of your own house? The guns, says she. The
atmosphere
. Well she fucking conned the JP into getting the barring order. For about ten seconds I wanted to kill her.

Right then, right there. But then I got real, I don't know, tired or something. I just walked away. And we haven't had a cross word since, the two of us. I meet her a couple of times a week.

The kids, I see them every weekend. They're coming around.

I knew they were frightened of me, I knew that. In a weird way it's worked out. Here — there's the light.”

Minogue shifted into first and released the handbrake. He let the clutch in quickly. The car lurched.