The Mammoth Book of Best British Crime 9 Part 61

"OK, I'll get it myself." He blasted Castro in the chest "... That's from arkid ..."

Castro buckled and gasped for air, his expression a grimace with a dash of disbelief. He leaned against the corridor wall.

"... And this one's from me." The second shot hit the top of Castro's brow and he collapsed in slow motion.

He stepped over the bodies, resisting the strong urge to spit on them, and retrieved the empty Glock. Still no DNA for Jack Striker. As he heard the sirens, he glanced down the corridor at the wall.

It's always surprising how far brain and skull fragments fly from the back of your head when shot at close range. An odd mix akin to cheap ketchup and mushy peas splattering a whitewashed wall is never a pretty sight, but it can be perversely satisfying to see in this relentless process of mopping up.

Later that night, he opened the bottle of triple-distilled Jameson Irish Whisky he'd been saving and he toasted the photo of his brother on the mantelpiece. After taking a mouthful, he started working on a new list ...

AUL YELLAH BELLY.

Gerard Brennan.

"BELFAST CITY COUNCIL has announced its first amnesty to hand over pit bull-type dogs. Owners of pit bull terriers and other illegal breeds can hand them in without fear of prosecution. Confirmed illegal breeds will be humanely ..."

Niall O'Hagan thumbed the standby b.u.t.ton on the remote control. Newsline's Donna Traynor disappeared to the pop and fizz of screen static.

"Lewis has to go."

Ach, s.h.i.+t, Niall thought. Too late.

Niall turned to his ma. She stood in the living-room doorway and sucked a lungful from her Mayfair Menthol. The barcode of wrinkles on her upper lip flexed.

"We agreed," she said. "Remember?"

Niall nodded. He didn't know what to say.

"I know he's your pet, love, but if he gets reported to the USPCA it'll mean a bigger fine for your da. Maybe worse. You don't want that, do you?"

Niall shook his head.

"Good. At least you've a few weeks left with him, eh? You can take him for loads of walks around the forest and spoil him a bit before he goes." Niall's ma shoved a hand into the hip pocket of her Levis. "Here, love. Go to the butchers and get him a couple of steaks. You'll have enough change to get yourself a wee chocolate bar and some sweets. Maybe even a squeaky toy for Lewis from the pound shop."

Niall heaved himself out of the sofa and took the tenner off his ma. He mumbled a thank you and she laid her hand on his shoulder.

"Dinner'll be ready soon. I've got your favourite in the oven. Crispy Pancakes and Potato Waffles. The proper ones. I know you don't like the store brands."

"OK, Ma. Be there in a minute."

"Call me Mummy, love. You know I hate it when you call me Ma."

"Sorry, Mummy."

She stepped out of the doorway to let Niall past. As he trudged up the stairs he ran his fingers along the diagonal dado rail that separated the paint and the wallpaper. The machine-cut grooves in the wood had almost disappeared under years of glossing.

Niall rested his belly on the rim of the bathroom sink, and studied his upper lip in the mirror. He had the ghost of a moustache. He rubbed his chubby cheeks. Red as ever, but not as round. Maybe his puppy fat had finally gone into remission. He might even be good-looking underneath.

He dropped his Adidas bottoms before he noticed the toilet roll situation. Down to the last two sheets. He cursed and whipped them back up. No point shouting to his ma for the kitchen roll. She'd never hear him over the sound of the knackered oven fan. He pulled open the bathroom door and walked into his da.

"f.u.c.k's sake, Niall. Watch where you're going."

"Sorry, Da."

His da looked at him and tilted his head. "Your ma told me about the dog. Aul Yellah Belly's days are numbered."

Niall shrugged. He hated his da's nickname for Lewis but had given up protesting.

"Look, son. I'll get you a wee Staffy for your birthday. They're almost as good as a pit bull anyway."

Niall shrugged again. His da tutted. "Come with me. I've something for you."

He led him to the computer room. They called it the computer room, but really it had a bit of everything in it. Weights, stereo speakers, old books about the Troubles, rolled-up carpet remnants, the s.h.i.+tty pictures his da had painted in prison and, of course, the PC on its desk.

Niall watched the aul fellah pull the bottom desk drawer out. He reached in and took out a wee black tube.

"Don't tell your ma about this."

He pushed a little silver b.u.t.ton on the side of the tube. It bucked in his hand and a thin blade flipped out. Niall blinked and took a step back.

"Son, they call this an Italian stiletto. I call it a flick-knife."

He folded the blade back into its handle and pa.s.sed it to Niall. Niall held it at arm's length, half expecting it to snap open and take off his fingers.

"Your uncle brought me that home from Thailand. I want it back when you're done with it, so don't lose it. And for G.o.d's sake, don't show it off to your mates. I don't want you getting scooped for acting the big lad."

"When I'm done with it?" Niall felt like he'd missed something important.

"Yeah, when you've taken care of Aul Yellah Belly."

"What? Why do I need this? They have injections for that."

Niall's da shook his head and rubbed the SNIPER AT WORK tattoo on his forearm. "I don't care what big Gerry says. No O'Hagan is ever going to cooperate with the peelers. You'll take care of your own dog yourself." He drew his index finger across his stubble-dashed throat to ill.u.s.trate.

Niall clenched his a.r.s.e. He wished his da had broken this to him after he'd been to the toilet.

"You want me to use this on Lewis?" Niall tried to sound casual. He squeaked his dog's name and spoiled the act.

"Grow some b.a.l.l.s, son. You're near sixteen."

The trees of Colin Glen Forest whispered secrets as the wind coaxed branches together and riffled through the fresh leaves. The river shushed the gossiping oak and ash on its way to the Lagan. Hyper sparrowhawks flitted between the trees, sticking their beaks where they weren't wanted and mixing it up. The midges kept out of it. They were more interested in Niall's damp suede-head. He waved them away with his baseball cap.

Lewis snarled and shook the rubber bone from side to side. His lips curled back to reveal the strong teeth gripping the squeaky toy. The thick muscles in his neck and shoulders bunched. Niall barked at his dog, the sound echoing in the clearing. The powerful black pit bull dropped the toy and backed away from his master.

"Grow some b.a.l.l.s, Lewis. You're near dead."

The dog responded to his master's gentler tone and shuffled forward, hunched but hopeful. Niall knelt and patted his flat head. The dog's cropped ears flopped forward. His tongue lolled and he panted enthusiastically. Niall scratched the soft patch under Lewis's jaw.

"You big wimp."

Lewis licked Niall's wrist.

"This isn't fair, Lewis. I shouldn't have to do this. But I can't let you fend for yourself. You'll just follow me home, and Da'll knock me out. Can't pa.s.s you on to one of my mates either. They're f.u.c.king useless. Wee John's been through about ten goldfish this year."

Niall grabbed Lewis's head with two hands. He leaned in closer and looked his dog in his brown eyes. He earned a s...o...b..ry face for his efforts.

"Ach, thanks, you big b.i.t.c.h. Right in the mouth too."

Lewis used to be Uncle Peter's dog. According to his da, Peter had bought him as a pup from a Donegal breeder, the year Lennox Lewis retired from boxing for good. Peter kept him for two years. He'd wanted to train him as a fighter. But Lewis hadn't the heart for that game. It didn't matter how long Peter starved him nor how many times he poked him through chicken wire with a walking stick. Lewis refused to snap. In a last-ditch effort to build the dog's confidence, Peter had thrown him into a makes.h.i.+ft ring with a wee Cairn terrier. Lewis p.i.s.sed all over the place and backed into a corner while the wee dog barked for Ireland.

Peter gave the dog to Niall's da after that. Niall asked if he could walk him for pocket money, thinking he'd look hard with a black pit bull on a thick chain. His da didn't really want the responsibility anyway, and said Niall could have him.

Niall slipped his sweaty baseball cap back on. The stiletto weighed his pocket down. Lewis had lived the fortnight of his dreams since the amnesty was announced. Fed well and spoiled for attention every day. But each day went by quicker than the last and Niall's guilt increased with each pa.s.sing minute. He'd woken the night before, hyperventilating after a nightmare involving a ninja with a pit bull's head and a sword with a folding blade.

"OK, Lewis. Let's just do this now. Any longer and I'll bottle out."

Niall pulled the flick knife out. The schnick-schnack of the blade unfolding ripped through the peaceful forest soundtrack. The dog growled.

"Come here, boy."

Niall reached out for Lewis's collar. Lewis lowered his haunches and growled another warning. Niall hesitated. Animal instincts?

"Stop it, Lewis. This is hard enough. Come here!"

Niall reached out again and Lewis laid back his ears and barked. Niall retreated a few steps. Lewis curled back his lips and a line of drool escaped from his maw. More barking. It bounced around the woods like gunfire.

"Take it easy, Lewis."

Niall stepped back again and stumbled over a tree root. As he pinwheeled his arms for balance the knife slipped out of his grasp. He caught himself but Lewis reacted to the sudden movement by bounding forward, stopping inches shy of his master.

"Sit, Lewis. Sit!"

Lewis jumped and toppled him.

Stunned and breathless, Niall rolled about in the mulch. He wrestled to hold off the slavering, scrabbling pit bull. Thoughts of Lewis's powerful jaws around his throat chilled him. His struggling arms shook then folded. Lewis's breath warmed his face. Then his cheek went warm and wet. Lewis slurped on his master like he'd been dipped in honey. Niall chuckled.

"No way I'm going to kill you. Da must be soft in the head."

Eventually Lewis tired of slathering Niall in saliva, wandered over to a tree and raised a leg in salute. Niall dug the flick-knife out of a nearby mound of leaves and pocketed it again. He'd hand it to his da and then tell him Lewis was going back to Donegal where Niall would visit him every Christmas and every twelfth of July. His Uncle Peter would get in touch with the dog breeder there as a favour for his favourite nephew. Problem solved. Piece of p.i.s.s.

Niall travelled home via the cover of the dense redbrick housing estates from the Suffolk Road to the Lenadoon estate. He was worried that a dander down the Glen Road might attract the attention of a pa.s.sing PSNI patrol.

He could smell the sausages sizzling under the grill as soon as he pushed open the front door. The oven fan droned irregularly. He led Lewis through the house and out into the mossy concrete backyard. As was his ritual, Lewis sniffed the pile of cigarette b.u.t.ts in the far corner by the big wooden gate, then padded back towards the scent of cooking. Niall pointed at the cus.h.i.+oned wicker basket against the yard's wall and the dog obediently curled up in it for a nap. Niall closed the back door and turned to find his ma shadowing him. She leaned forward until their noses almost touched.

"Your da is going to freak out if he sees that dog here tonight." She whispered as if Da was in the next room, rather than stuck in the rush-hour traffic on the M1.

"Chill out. I have a plan."

"Oh, a plan? Well that's OK then." She shook her head and went back to poking the dinner with a fork.

"Don't worry. I'll talk to Da when he gets home."

"Aye, dead on." His ma clattered a lid on to the steaming pot of potatoes and drained the starchy water into the sink.

Niall left her to it. He flipped on the TV and went straight to Sky One for a Simpsons repeat.

Halfway through the episode, his da barged in the front door and stormed into the kitchen, blanking his son and wife, focused only on the fridge. The source of Harp lager. Niall stood up but didn't know what to do with himself. His heart beat like a dinger and his armpits got sticky. Instinct ordered him to slip out the front door and disappear for a few hours, but his loyalty to Lewis froze him in place. He waited for the crack and hiss of the ringpull and gave his da a few seconds to gulp down a mouthful. Deep breath. He baby-stepped into the kitchen to face the music.

"Hiya, Da."

His da shot him a little head flick. Acknowledgement of his presence without an invitation to chat. Niall's hands instinctively crept towards his tracksuit bottom pockets as his shoulders slumped. His fingers brushed the cold, tubular knife handle and he shook himself out of his natural silence.

"Lewis is out back, Da."

Niall flinched as his da's dark eyes widened. The big man planted his Harp tin on the kitchen worktop and jutted his chin.

"You what?"

"Lewis." Niall swallowed hard. "He's out sleeping in his basket."

"I told you to get that done today!"

"I don't want to do it."

"You mean you can't." He rubbed at the SNIPER AT WORK tattoo. "Good job n.o.body was relying on you when our streets needed the Provos."

"Leave him alone, Frank." His ma twisted the tea towel in her bony hands. "You're too hard on him."

"You too, Trish?" He turned back to Niall. "Have you finally turned your ma against me?"

Niall struggled to breathe without sobbing. "No. I just want to look out for my dog." He sniffed back watery snot.

"You mean you're standing up for that yellah b.a.s.t.a.r.d of a useless fleabag? Standing up to me? Your da!"