Collusion

27

The Traveller kept walking along the side street, his head down. He chanced one look back over his shoulder. No one followed. His Merc was parked on the next street north, the one tethered to Eglantine Avenue by this side street. He didn’t know its name. Belfast was starting to grate on him, with its red-brick houses and cars parked on top of one another. And the people, all smug and smiling now they’d gathered the wit to quit killing each other and start making money instead.

He reached the Merc and got in. He dialled the number.

‘For fuck’s sake, what now?’ Orla asked.

‘Jesus, love, don’t bite my face off.’

‘Don’t “love” me, you gyppo bastard. I’ll come up there and cut your balls off. Now what do you want?’

The Traveller sensed it was not an idle threat. Was she on the rag? ‘All right,’ he said. ‘That cop. What did you find out about him?’

‘Why?’

‘’Cause he’s sitting outside that McKenna blade’s flat again. What’s he doing hanging about there? Who is he?’

‘That cop’s the least of your worries, believe me,’ she said. ‘He’s Jack Lennon, a detective inspector. A smart cop. He should be higher up the ranks, but he’s been in some bother. He had a sexual harassment charge hanging over him a few years back, some tramp from the office tried to make a claim against him. The charge didn’t stick, but the reputation did. He’s in debt up to his eyeballs. He’s too friendly with some Loyalists. We’re told he might be taking payment in kind from the brothels, and another cop accused him of trying to pass on a bribe. His superiors are wary of him, think he’s bent. Don’t worry about him.’

‘Well, I am worried about him,’ the Traveller said. ‘He’s going to get in the way. I should do something about it.’

‘No,’ Orla said. ‘You have a go at a cop, even if he’s bent, you’ll fuck everything up.’

‘I’ll do it right,’ the Traveller said. ‘There’ll be nothing to connect him—’

‘No, I said. Look, certain people are indulging us by letting you clean up this mess. You tackle a cop, they won’t indulge us any more. You understand?’

‘Whatever you say, love,’ the Traveller said.

Hard silence for a moment, then she said, ‘What about Patsy Toner?’

‘I’ll call with him tonight.’

‘Good,’ Orla said. ‘You’re stretching my patience. Just do what we’re paying you to do.’

‘All right,’ the Traveller said.

He hung up and pocketed the phone. ‘Grumpy auld pishmire,’ he said. He started the Merc and went looking for Patsy Toner.