Falling Glass Part 41

"It's Killian," he said.

There was a long pause. A very long pause. "Where are you?" Sean asked.

"I'd rather not say, mate," Killian said.

"You can tell me," Sean insisted.

"Better not."

"You're with her now, right? Her and the weans. She f.u.c.king turned you, didn't she?"

"It's not like that, Sean."

"What is it like, Killian?" Sean said, seething.

"There's a lot of information you don't know."

"Try me."

"Like the fact that our friend pimped out kids in his care in the 1970s, like the fact that he's got a collection of homemade p.o.r.nographic images of children."

There was another long pause.

"Can I ask you a question, Killian?" Sean asked.

"Ask."

"Have you lost your f.u.c.king mind?"

"No."

"You know who came to see me at my home yesterday?"

"I'm guessing it wasn't Cardinal Brady."

"Tom E and his new pal Ivan. In my house. In my f.u.c.king house with Mary in the back kitchen making tea for everyone," Sean said, dripping poison.

"I'm sorry, Sean."

"They explained how high up this goes. It's not just Mr C, is it? It's people just a wee toty bit scarier than that. And Ivan's a pretty scary motherf.u.c.ker himself isn't he? Mate."

"Sean, listen, I'm sorry they've got you involved in all this but-"

"You're sorry? I was keeking my b.l.o.o.d.y whips. They call him the Starshyna, the Sergeant. The boy's a vet. He's a f.u.c.king hero of the Chechen wars. He's worked in Mexico. He's a pro, Killian. There's me looking at him, remembering his play in Ballymena, thinking Mary and me are for the cold cold ground and you're sorry? You're f.u.c.king sorry? Do everyone a favour, mate, go for a long b.l.o.o.d.y drive somewhere and when you're well away tell us where she f.u.c.king is."

"Look, the game's changed, the laptop's gone forever, it's all over now. Finished."

"That's not how Tom sees it."

"How does Tom see it?"

"Call him. Call him now!"

"I will."

Dead air.

A sigh of disappointment.

"How could you do this, Killian? After all I've done for you?"

Killian shook his head. How could he explain? He had tried the legit universe and failed, his confidence broken, his faith in himself shattered along with the Irish economy. He'd taken one step backwards to work with Sean again, but coming here had transported him not one year but decades. Sean might be a surrogate father, but these were his people.

This was a different world.

This was a world that lived in a web of obligations, duties, lore, folk wisdom, tradition.

This was a world where honour was not a concept heading for obsolescence.

He liked Rachel and he liked the girls. He had taken them under his protection and he had given them his word.

"I better go then, Sean, I'll try Tom."

"Do that," Sean said. "I wish you luck. Please don't call me back until this is resolved."

Killian was more than a little upset by this...this betrayal from an old pal, but as if to an unseen familiar he said aloud: "Ach, he's only protecting himself. Do the same thing myself more than likely," which he and the ghosts and the familiars knew wasn't true at all.

He shook his head, took the wallet out of his pocket and found Tom's number. He got through a secretary by saying "I'm Killian, Mr Eichel's been waiting for my call."

"Killian," Tom said.

"h.e.l.lo Tom," Killian replied.

"Where are you?"

"I can't tell you."

"Like f.u.c.k you can't, you're working for me."

"Not any more."

"You gave me your word. You made an agreement. Now, where are you?"

Macau seemed a long, long time ago.

"How about a new agreement," Killian said.

Instead of exploding, Tom hesitated. "I'm listening," he said cautiously.

"I take it our friend told you what happened to the computer?"

"He did."

"As I see it that returns things to the status quo ante," Killian said.

"How so?"

"Well, just like before, we've got nothing on you and you've got stuff on us, so why not just let things go back to the way they were?" Killian said.

"It's we now is it?"

"Cut that out, Tom, you're a f.u.c.king grown-up. We're talking business here."

Tom said nothing for a while.

"You don't have a backup of the computer's hard drive?" he asked.

"No."

"How do we know that?"

"You can give me a lie detector test if you want. Why would she need a backup when she had the machine itself?"

Killian could hear Tom pacing on the hardwood floor of that fancy office of his on Royal Avenue. Killian got to his feet and walked down to the water.

Sue came running past him and made it to the den yelling, "One, two, three, I'm in free!"

Killian stood in the wet sand, watching his army boots sink. The ferry had long since vanished into the pink haze and the seascape was empty but for a couple of gulls.

"The way they were?" Tom said at last.

"Yes."

"She'll keep her mouth shut?"

"She'll keep her mouth shut and you'll keep the stuff you have on her under wraps. She and he will agree to share custody with the girls. I can make her see that our friend's predilections were all in the past and a long, long time ago."

"What about her parents?"

"What about them? I've been watching the news. It's still a blank sheet there, isn't it? The cops are still treating Rocky as a missing person's rap."

"Aye, but for how long? Five days? It's not going to go a week."

"She'll talk, I know she'll talk. She's the type."

"She won't."

"This isn't just about C. It's about me, too. My life!"

"I know. I'll explain it to her."

"And then there's our other friend. He thinks the films were burned up in an incendiary attack in 1982. An attack which him and his friends carried out. C has been lying to him and me for twenty years."

"Tell him that."

"No! I'm not telling him f.u.c.king anything. We'd all be f.u.c.king dead."

"Tom listen-"

"No, you listen. I never trusted you, Killian. But I had heard you were a man of your word. You made a deal with us. Keep your end of it. It's the right thing to do. You know it's a ticking clock. As soon as she hears about what happened in Ballymena she is going to f.u.c.king squeal," Tom said dismissively.

"She won't. Not if it's to protect herself and her kids. And if she did say something she wouldn't have the proof to tie our friend to it."

"She doesn't need proof. The innuendo would be enough to destroy the share price, and my friend's reputation. My whole f.u.c.king career. Our lives. It would be f.u.c.king catastrophic. I'm not prepared to take that risk."

"I'll fix her," Killian insisted.

Tom coughed. "And there's a third f.u.c.king problem isn't there?"

"What?"

"You. You know about Ballymena. And she showed you the laptop. What do we do to keep you quiet?"

"Are you kidding? I'm cheap, Tom, I'm cheap as dirt. A couple of grand will keep me happy. You can spare it."

Silence.

The waves on the beach.

Children's laughter.

Tom's brain churning gears.

"Well?" Killian asked.

"Let me get this straight, you fix her, and everything goes back to the way it was?" Tom asked.

"Aye."

"And the guarantee is what?"

"Make her sign something. Something legal. You're a lawyer. If she ever bad-mouths our friend or you in any publication then blah blah blah..."

More silence.

"Tom, I need to ditch this phone."

"Okay. It might be doable. Allow me to talk it over with our friend, will you?" Tom asked with less edge in his voice than he'd had all conversation.