Dark Times in the City (24 page)

Matty, his voice a mixture of anger and contempt, turns to Todd and says, ‘Shut – the
fuck
–
up!
’

Frank Tucker says, ‘I agree.’ He leans towards the camera. ‘Sorry about this, Lar.’

He turns, moves to one side, raising the automatic. Todd wrenches his head sideways, screaming a long ‘
Nooooo!
’ – the cry interrupted by the bullet that hits him in the mouth. Silence, then his mouth is gushing blood, he’s gulping – making pleading sounds. The masked man shoots him in the forehead and Todd’s head jerks back and remains still, his chin pointing towards the ceiling.

Matty is white-faced, breathing heavily.

Watching the DVD, Lar Mackendrick focuses on Matty’s eyes. Hard, angry – behind it all, Matty’s still thinking, assessing.

Frank Tucker says something to someone off-screen. There’s a laugh. A second man appears, moving from behind the camera, wearing denim jeans and a rough plaid shirt. He’s not masked but he keeps his face turned away. He bends and looks at Todd’s
face, then he uses a couple of fingers to take some blood from Todd’s wound and smears it on Matty’s face.

‘Sick fuck,’ Matty says. The second man spits in Matty’s face and walks off to one side, out of camera range.

Matty is looking towards Frank Tucker. His voice is low, trying for calm. ‘You’ve made your point. It can stop here.’

‘You’re a very good man, Matty. Lar relies on you a lot.’

‘There has to be a way.’

‘Don’t think so, Matty.’

The masked man reaches into a pocket and takes out a mobile. He taps several keys, then he holds it to his ear and when he’s sure its ringing he says, ‘You want to talk to Lar?’

Matty says nothing.

After a moment, the masked man holds the phone close to Matty’s mouth and nods and Matty says, ‘Boss—’ and the masked man ends the call. He turns and walks forward until he fills the screen, blocking out Matty. He holds up the phone and says, ‘You remember that call, Lar?’

He turns back to Matty, goes around behind him, points the gun at the back of his head. Every muscle in Matty’s face is straining, his mouth emits a harsh, rising, wordless sound that becomes louder the longer it lasts.

Lar Mackendrick forces himself to continue watching, even as the unseen gun belches and Matty’s face erupts. In the silence that follows Lar continues to stare at the screen, at Matty’s head slumped forward, his shirt-front bloody.

Frank Tucker moves towards the camera until he fills the screen again. ‘We’ll be in touch,’ he says, and the screen goes black.

Twenty minutes later, Tommy Farr rang.

‘I know about Matty, and we need to talk.’

‘Did you have anything to do with—’

‘Don’t be a fucking sap, Lar.’

Despite the arrival of a lot of competition from the young and the aggressive, Tommy Farr had until recently run a number of profitable enterprises in the Dolphin’s Barn and Rialto areas. Although never close to the Mackendrick brothers, the two outfits didn’t directly compete and the relationship was cordial and respectful. On one occasion, Lar arranged for the kneecapping of a young tearaway from Cabra who was troubling Tommy. Tommy promised to return the favour but the necessity had never arisen. Last thing Lar heard, a couple of months back, was that Tommy had cashed in his winnings and retired to Spain. A bit young for that, but Tommy had put a lot of his money into property and got out of it before the collapse.

‘Where?’ Lar said.

‘You name it.’

‘There’s safety in numbers. The lobby of the Shelbourne.’

Lar had a tool shed in the back garden, an old pitched-roof type, raised on a breeze-block base. Halfway along the bottom of one side of the shed a section of weatherboard could be lifted, revealing a shallow space from which Lar withdrew a heavy plastic Ziploc bag. He checked the semi-automatic Walther P22 inside and inserted the clip that came with it. It was the only firearm at his home. Twice, when Lar’s house had been raided by the police, the Walther had lain undiscovered under the shed.

He had no reason to mistrust Tommy Farr, and the Shelbourne Hotel was an unlikely location for a hit, but he wasn’t going anywhere without firepower.

Lar went upstairs and found May asleep, a book open on the pillow, the bedside light still on. He turned down a corner of the page of the book, put it away and switched off the light. Then he leaned down and kissed her.

‘Love you,’ he whispered.

Her voice was faint. ‘Night.’

Lar had his hand inside the deep square pocket of his black overcoat, holding the Walther, as he entered the Shelbourne. The hotel lobby was noisy with late-night shoppers, many of them already carrying big bags with tasteful Christmas motifs from Grafton Street stores. Drink-powered chatter and occasional whoops leaked from the nearby Horseshoe bar. A woman in fur and jeans laughed loudly as she squeezed out from the crush in the other bar on the left of the lobby.

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.