Collusion

39

The Traveller lay on the bed, the phone against his ear. A half-hearted rain shower pattered against the window. Horns blared below on University Street.

‘Good job on Toner,’ Orla said. ‘Pity you fucked up on Quigley.’

The Traveller sat up, ignoring the protests of his shoulder. ‘How do you mean?’

‘There was another kid there. He turned himself in this morning. He told them there was another man there. He saw you.’

The Traveller thought fast. ‘I never saw another kid,’ he lied.

‘Don’t bullshit me. You knew he was there, and he got away.’

‘He never got a proper look at me,’ the Traveller said.

‘Doesn’t matter,’ Orla said. ‘He told the cops there was someone else there. It means they could be looking for you.’

The Traveller stood and went to the window. A car overtook a cyclist, cutting too close, almost causing the rider to fall. Smokers stood outside an old house that had been converted into offices, hunching their shoulders against the rain. ‘So what now?’ he asked.

‘What now?’ Orla’s voice hardened. ‘What now is we clean up your mess for you. We have a friend who can take care of the kid for you, make sure he has an accident in his cell tonight. But first, you have a job to finish.’

‘The woman and the kid?’

‘That’s right,’ Orla said. ‘Her and the wee girl are on a flight home. She’ll be in Belfast in an hour. You know what to do.’

Orla hung up.

The Traveller went to his bag and dug the file out from under the loose jumble of clothes. The key was taped inside the cover.