Collusion

41

The Traveller sat alone in the darkened room. It was cold, smelled of disuse, like the houses of dead people. As he waited he ran his eyes across the different surfaces, imagining the life that had once been here.

Dust hazed a television set in the corner. A colouring book and various pencils and pens lay on the table beneath the window. A dead pot plant lay on its side at the foot of the fireplace, loose compost spilt across the hearth.

He mopped his eye with a tissue, winced at the sting. It burned, throbbing in time with his shoulder. He’d rinsed the eye with water before coming over to the woman’s flat. His vision in that eye faded, blurring until he had to blink hard to clear it. His left arm had stiffened. That little fucker Toner had twisted in the bathtub, wrenching the shoulder and aggravating the wound.

His phone rang.

‘Change of plan,’ Orla O’Kane said. ‘The woman and the kid will have company.’

‘Who?’

‘That cop,’ Orla said. ‘He’s going to meet them at the City Airport. Get over there and keep a watch on them. He’s too smart to take her to the flat. My guess is the woman will want to go see her father at the hospital.’

‘And what do you want me to do with the cop?’

‘He knows too much. You’ll have to take care of him as well. You’ll be doing a friend of ours a favour. You’ll get a bonus for your trouble.’

‘Bonus?’ The Traveller’s eye dribbled as he smiled. ‘Don’t need a bonus. It’ll be my pleasure.’