Cross

23

It was early morning. The postman had come, bringing an official-looking letter. I'd made strong coffee, toast but had no appetite, tore open the letter. It was from the estate agent.

I read it in amazement, crunched on a slice of hard toast, tasting nothing. There'd been three offers to buy. The figures were ridiculous. I couldn't actually take in that such amounts of money were available. Galway was reputed to be the most expensive area in the country and the price of houses was beyond insane. All I had to do was say yes to the highest offer and I'd be rich . . . and homeless. The latter was familiar, but the former – how would that feel?

A knock on the door and I put the letter aside, figuring Ridge.

It was Stewart, dressed like civility: smart overcoat, silk scarf loosely tied around the collar, dark stylish pants. His shoes were dazzling in their spit polish.

I asked, 'How did you know where I live?'

His eyes were alight with dark energy.

'Don't be stupid, Jack.'

I moved aside to wave him in. He gave the apartment intensive scrutiny, then spotted the estate agent's heading.

'Selling up?'

I closed the door, said, 'Well, selling out is what I do.'

He sat on the hard chair and I asked if he'd like anything, saying I'd, alas, no herbal tea.

He declined, looked at me, said, 'I found her.'

'Gail?'

'We're dating.'

He had to be fucking joking, though humour was one of the traits he'd left in jail.

I asked, 'You're joking?'

He gave me that odd look, as if he still wasn't quite sure when I was serious.

'In all our odd and colourful history, Jack, you ever knew me to be a kidder?'

A slight edge leaked over his words and I wondered anew what he'd had to shut down, to cut off, to survive in prison. Whatever it was, it wasn't returning.

I shook my head, said, 'Tell me.'

He gave a slight smile. This was the Jack Taylor he was most comfortable with.

'There's the Guard in you still remains. I told you I have contacts, and though I don't deal drugs any more, I know the network and that means knowing where the players hang out. You with me?'

How fucking complicated was it?

I said, 'Gee, I think I can follow it.'

He let that slide.

'So I checked out the clubs, like revisiting my youth, and third strike, I found her. And I have to tell you, Jack, you didn't do her justice.'

I wasn't sure where he was going with this, but I was sure I didn't like it. I snapped, 'What do you mean?'

He drew a deep sigh.

'My sister, who was killed – and I'll never forget you got justice for her – she was the best person I ever met, true goodness. I think Gail might have once been a little like her, but after her mother died, after the suicide attempt, she died.'

My expression must have shown cynicism.

He continued, 'Sure, she came back, but wherever she was during that time before, someone else came back, a true malevolent being. I met the worst men on the planet in jail – real scum, pure evil, psychos, sociopaths, you name it, every type of dangerous animal – but they are nothing, nothing compared to the sheer power of darkness in this girl.'

I wasn't buying it, said, 'She's just a girl, and a nasty vicious thug. Don't make her out to be some super being.'

Now his smile was full but not warm. He said, 'Good, we're on the same page, my friend. I needed to know you were on board.'

What the hell was this?

I stared at him and he said, 'Jail isn't going to stop her. You have to remove her.'

I was pacing, said, 'Call it what it is: kill her.'

He stood up.

'Here is the address of the house they're renting. On Friday night, she'll be meeting me. Why don't you go and have a chat with the father and son, and I'll keep the girl . . . occupied.'

I wasn't sure what he was driving at, so I asked, 'And what the hell am I supposed to do?'

He let his shoulders slump, the classic body language of defeat.

'Jack, this is your gig, I'm just along for the ride.'

Fuck.

I said, 'Nothing's exactly that . . . nothing.'

He stopped at the door, taken by surprise.

'Is that Zen you've been studying?'

And that rarity in his tone: delight.

I let him savour it, then said, 'Fuck no, that's Paul Newman in Cool Hand Luke.'