Road Kill

Seventeen

After everything I’d been through to get myself onto the Irish trip in the first place, I damned near missed the ferry.

I dithered over packing, even though I learned to travel light when I was in the army. Having to carry everything and still keep up with the blokes soon makes you drop out the unessentials. Besides, it was a bikers’ run, for heaven’s sake, not a garden party – how posh could it be? I put my washbag, first-aid kit, and anything hard into the squashy bag that clipped magnetically to the bike’s tank, and packed spare clothing into my old rucksack.

I wasn’t planning on coming off the ‘Blade, but if I did it was better not to have anything on me that was going to make the accident worse. A mate once made the mistake of carrying his tools in a backpack and, although having some dozy old bastard in a Volvo knock him off was bad enough, then getting his left kidney punctured by one of his own screwdrivers merely added injury to insult.

Traffic was heavy and obstructive. To cap it all, just when I needed to make up a bit of time I ended up in a group of cars on the motorway who were all travelling at exactly sixty-nine miles an hour because one of them was a jam sandwich being driven by a policeman with a warped sense of humour.

The end result was that I came howling into the Port of Heysham with barely fifteen minutes to spare before they would have told me to take a hike. I gave my name at the barrier and found that, true to his word, William had sorted my ticket.

They whizzed me straight through and onto the fast cat ferry that was standing at the dockside. I watched the deck crew strap the ‘Blade down, then headed for the stairwell to the passenger lounges. I found myself hoping that the rest of the Devil’s Bridge crowd were already on board, or I’d no idea where I was going once I reached the other side.

Inside, the catamaran had a wide open-plan restaurant across the centre bridgedeck area with a bar upstairs and rows of aircraft-type seating at either side.

The place seemed to be teeming with bikers. I did a quick tour but couldn’t see anyone familiar. A couple of times, though, I could have sworn someone was watching me. But when I turned round to scan the crowd, I couldn’t see anyone paying me particular attention. Nevertheless, it made me twitchy. By the time I went out onto the small section of outside deck I was starting to get worried. It was there I found Paxo.

He was leaning on the aft railing, his leathers stripped to his waist to take full advantage of the syrupy heat. Underneath, he was wearing a white vest that was already stained with sweat and his exposed shoulders had the pink tinge of sunburn to them that was going to sting in the morning. He had a crumpled packet of Lambert & Butler clutched in his hand like a talisman. I moved alongside him.

“Hi,” I said. “Where is everyone?”

He jerked his head towards the heavily tinted windows immediately behind us. “First Class lounge. William pulled some strings,” he said, adding sourly, “The rest of ‘em are in there but it’s no smoking.”

He gave me a look of resentment but I couldn’t work out if I was to blame or it was just brought on by the prospect of a lack of nicotine in his system for four hours. Or possibly both.

The last stragglers were loaded onto the car deck beneath us and the ramp was winched up like a drawbridge. There was a sign on the rail next to me that announced we were about to cross an area of special ecological interest and to do our bit not to pollute it by throwing any rubbish over the side. Then the captain eased us away from our berth and the whole view of the harbour disappeared in a belching cloud of black diesel smoke. It almost, but not quite, managed to obscure the slab-sided concrete monstrosity that is the nuclear power station next door.

Coughing, we both retreated inside and Paxo led the way through the opaque glass door into the First Class area. It was a sizeable room with windows on two sides. One of the cabin crew smiled at him and said, “You found her, then?”

Paxo scowled back, as though it was some sign of weakness to admit he might have been looking out for me.

There were sets of tables for four all round the walls and one larger table in the centre. William and Jamie had taken that over, spilling luggage and helmets into the surrounding area. The other tables were mostly taken by serious-looking couples who’d clearly been hoping to escape the bike crowd by coming in here and didn’t exactly look overjoyed when I added to their number.

The ferry cleared the harbour entrance and the jagged remains of the old wooden pier and the captain opened her up. The deck vibrations under our feet increased to a buzz as the four massive Ruston diesels began to work. Great rooster tails of spray curved up behind the stern, casting our own personal rainbow in the brilliant sunlight.

I stripped off my jacket, unzipping it from my leather jeans and draping it over the back of one of the bolted-down chairs.

“Where’s Daz?” I asked, but caught the quick glance Paxo exchanged with the others. “What? Don’t tell me he’s missed the boat.”

“Oh no, he’s not done that,” Paxo said darkly, and his tone indicated that he thought it might be better if Daz hadn’t made it on board.

Before I could ask any questions, the door to the lounge opened and Daz himself sauntered through, looking cool and handsome in his snazzy race leathers. He had that faint half-smile on his face, as though life was one big joke and he was in on it. In this case, perhaps he was right.

Behind him, also dressed in bike gear, was Tess.

I stared at her blankly, then skimmed my eyes across the veiled faces of the rest of the Devil’s Bridge Club and straight away I understood Paxo’s comment. Daz had not, I surmised, told the others that he was bringing Slick’s widow with him. After all the arguments, I could understand their anger at this sudden apparently about-face decision.

Tess smiled brightly at the group of us, seemingly enjoying the discomfort her presence was causing. I suppose it was better than being ignored. Her glee lost a little of its shine when she spotted me, though.

I got the feeling she enjoyed the position of lone female amid a group of men and, from the way her gaze turned calculating, she was trying to work out how much competition I was going to be for their attention. If the way her expression rapidly cleared was anything to go by – not much.

“Oh, hiya Charlie,” she said, wrapping herself round Daz’s arm like she was staking a claim on the alpha male and I’d have to make do with pickings lower down the food chain.

“Hello Tess,” I said, adding dryly, “I’m glad to see you’re coping so well with overcoming your grief.”

“Yeah well.” She pouted. “Life goes on.”

“You’re certainly proving that,” I said, watching Daz’s obvious uneasiness with some amusement. “I must admit I’m surprised to see you here, though.”

That injected a new smugness to her smile. “Well, this trip was my Slick’s idea in the first place and when the boys found out how I was the only one with certain vital—” her eyes slid over them, “—arrangements at my fingertips, they realised they really couldn’t do it without me. So what made them bring you along?”

“She was fast enough,” Paxo said shortly. It was a testament to his dislike of Tess, I reckoned, that he’d felt inclined to jump to my defence.

The ferry was out of the lee of the land now and pushing up towards its maximum cruising velocity as it struck out across Morecambe Bay. At that kind of speed the gentle swell had lumps in it like concrete sleeping policemen. As soon as we got into open water it had also begun a perceptible cindering motion, a slight corkscrewing, that always seems to come with a following sea.

I noticed Jamie was gripping the edge of the table like it was a designated flotation device. He had a sheen of sweat across his pale skin and when one of the cabin crew approached to ask if we’d like anything to eat, he actually took on a greenish cast.

“I’m just going outside for a bit of fresh air,” he managed, lurching to his feet.

“Remember to throw up on the downwind side, mate,” Paxo suggested helpfully.

“We’re doing forty knots,” William pointed out. “It’s all down wind.”

Jamie just gave them a panicked look and fled. Tess took his vacant seat, seeming pleased with herself. I wondered if I was going to be able to stand a whole weekend of her like this.

“So where are we going when we get in to Belfast?” I asked Daz.

“Nice little hotel I found up on the Antrim coast,” he said, prompt but almost deliberately vague. “Then tomorrow morning you have to suffer some culture by looking at the Giant’s Causeway. Your reward is a trip round the distillery at Bushmills afterwards.”

“I’ll try to contain my boredom,” I said.

The others slipped into a discussion on the merits of Irish whiskey versus Scottish single malt but I let it flow over me. Through the tinted windows I could see Jamie standing at the railing, hunched over like a man who knows his digestive system is about to suffer a violent inversion and there’s nothing he can do about it.

Most of the other people on the outside deck correctly identified the signs and steered well clear of him, but one guy strolled over to stand alongside him. He was dressed in plain black bike leathers, with a cotton scarf round his neck to keep the draught and the bugs out. Jamie glanced up sharply, recognised the figure and seemed to relax a little. The newcomer turned sideways to speak to him and then, with a jolt, I recognised him, too.

“Excuse me a minute,” I muttered, getting to my feet. “I’m just going to check on Jamie.”

Paxo groaned. “Not you as well,” he said, leaning back in his chair to call after me. “Well don’t come back in here if you smell of sick.”

The other occupants of the lounge stared fixedly at their newspapers and their laptops and tried to ignore him.

Outside, the wind whipped through my shirt and made me wish I’d put my jacket back on, despite the gorgeous weather. Jamie was still clinging miserably to the railing and there, alongside him, was Sean.

Sean turned to meet me as I approached. He smiled, and I wanted to run and throw myself into his arms. Aware of the audience from inside the lounge – not to mention Jamie – I contented myself with an answering smile.

“Surprise, surprise,” I said with admirable cool. I nodded to the leathers. “I didn’t know you still had a bike.”

“I don’t, but one of the guys who works for me does and as a) he’s out of the country at the moment, and b) I’m his boss,” he said, counting the points off on his fingers, “he’s generously agreed to lend me his Super Blackbird for the weekend.”

“Wow,” I said. “He must really like his job.”

Sean grinned. “Yeah, he does.”

Jamie chose that moment to start to heave and Sean and I both instinctively stepped back. “Unless you really want to watch the kid trying to turn his stomach inside out, I would suggest we take a walk,” Sean murmured. “Where are the others?”

“First Class lounge,” I said nodding to the windows as we moved round the corner, more towards the side of the boat. “William wangled it or I’d invite you in.”

“Madeleine sorted my ticket,” Sean said, smiling. “I’m already in.”

I waited a beat. “What are you doing here, Sean?”

“Watching your back,” he said. His eyes flipped down to my thin shirt. “Although, in this breeze, your front looks pretty good, too.”

I folded my arms across my chest, defensive. “Be serious.”

His face sobered. “I am being serious – about your back, I mean,” he said quietly.

He glanced across but Jamie was out of sight and undoubtedly too preoccupied to be even thinking about listening in. And besides, the wind was whipping our words away over the stern as soon as they were spoken.

“We think we might have made some headway but that’s not necessarily a good thing,” Sean said. “Madeleine’s being doing some searches on our friend Eamonn and it turns out he moves in some very nasty circles.”

Eamonn’s words when he’d first laid eyes on Sean came back to me in a cold rush. Now that wouldn’t be a bastard squaddie I can smell, would it? Seen plenty of your type . . .

“He’s connected to the IRA?” I said, tense.

Sean ducked his head in a ‘maybe, maybe not’ gesture. “More likely the other side of the sectarian divide,” he said. “Our intelligence suggests good old Eamonn Garroway is just an old-fashioned thug, but you can’t operate in Northern Ireland without the knowledge and tacit approval of the paramilitaries – regardless of your politics. The bad news is, he’s heavily into the drugs trade.”

“Shit,” I murmured, my eyes straying to Jamie again. “We were afraid of something like that.”

“Quite,” Sean said, letting his voice drawl. “You see now why I thought you might be glad of some back-up on this one?”

“Yeah,” I said, giving him a wry smile. “But I’m glad to see you anyway, Sean – not just for that reason.”

He raised an eyebrow, momentarily lost for words, then he laughed softly, shaken. “Well, that’s progress, I think,” he said.

Impulsively, I moved in closer so I could take some shelter from his body. He only hesitated a fraction then put his arm round my shoulders and pulled me in closer still. I tilted my head against his chest and we stood like that for a long time without the need to say anything further, watching the foaming white line of wake stretching out behind us from the ferry’s twin hulls.

I could feel the heat of him seeping into my bones but it wasn’t just a physical warmth. It felt good just to be near him, whatever my father’s doom-ridden predictions.

Nevertheless, the memory of those words chilled me. I broke away, turned to face Sean a little. I’d forgotten how good he looked in leathers, dark and dangerous, with the wind tousling his hair. I swallowed, forced myself to concentrate.

“Did Madeleine manage to dig out anything on Isobel?” I asked, peering round the corner of the superstructure to check on Jamie. He was still where we’d left him, slumped onto the rail now, eyes shut, but at least he had more colour. Being his bodyguard, I reasoned, just meant ensuring he didn’t fall over the side. It didn’t mean I had to go and mop up after him.

“Some,” Sean said easily. “She’s not averse to walking a thin line when it comes to the law.”

“So maybe that receiving charge against Jacob was more down to his wife at the time,” I said.

Sean nodded. “I think you could be right,” he admitted. “She’s been living with Eamonn – or off him, actually – for the past two years.”

I frowned. “I always got the impression that she was the one with the money.”

“On paper, yes,” Sean agreed. “It’s a case of being asset rich but cash poor. She’s got plenty of property but it’s tied in to long-term leases. She’s also got a portfolio of stuff that’s up for redevelopment and will be worth something in the future but is worth bugger all now. Less than that, in fact, because she bought high and prices have temporarily fallen back. If this divorce from Jacob goes ahead and she has to pay him off any time soon, she’s going to be financially crippled.”

“Surely they won’t still have to divide everything up now, will they – not after all this time?” I said.

Sean shrugged. “Makes no difference how long they’ve been apart,” he said. “Assets are divided at the time of divorce, not separation.”

I recalled my last conversation with Clare at the hospital. “Do you think that might be the reason Jamie got himself in deep enough water that he had to go to Clare for money?” I asked. “If his mother’s in debt, he might have thought that getting tangled up with Eamonn’s business would somehow help get her out of it?”

“But instead he’s got himself into a bigger mess,” Sean finished for me.

“Mm. Clare said he’d got himself in over his head and I assumed – or rather, she let me assume – that she was talking about the Devil’s Bridge Club. But she also said it wasn’t those lads who were the problem, but whoever was after them.”

“I wonder what she meant by that,” Sean murmured, almost to himself. “Why would Eamonn be after them? What have they done?”

“Maybe nothing yet,” I said. “Maybe it’s what they’re planning on doing on this trip. Could it be a territorial thing, do you think?”

“Could be,” Sean said, but he didn’t sound convinced. “Everything we’ve dug up on Eamonn suggests he’s highly territorial.” He shrugged. “Has to be, I suppose.”

“Is that really enough of a reason to kill Slick, badly injure Clare and then Sam, and have a go at me as well?” I said. “Bit drastic, isn’t it?”

Sean fixed me with a look. “This is Eamonn we’re talking about.”

I remembered the venom and the easy violence the Irishman had displayed that day at Jacob and Clare’s. “Good point,” I said. “And well made.”

“Hmm, I thought so,” he said, giving me a lazy smile that died away as his own memories of the same incident surfaced. His face grew hard and just as ruthless as Eamonn’s, in its own way. “Just goes to show,” he said with a smile that did nothing to warm up his words, “you should have let me finish him while I had the chance.”

***

When Jamie had recovered enough to prise himself away from the railing, the three of us went back inside together. As we moved into the main cabin I got that same watched feeling down my spine and paused, scanning the crowd again.

“What is it?” Sean asked.

“I just can’t help getting the feeling somebody’s keeping an eye on us,” I muttered. “It’s probably just me being paranoid.”

“I don’t think so,” Sean said. “You go ahead. I think I’ll do a quick recce.”

When Jamie and I walked back into First Class, the others turned and looked at us.

“Can’t leave him alone, eh, Charlie?” William said. “We saw you out there.”

“Who’s the guy?” Daz asked quietly. He’d gone very still, the way some people do when they’re very angry. He was staring intently at me.

“That’s Sean,” I said carefully. “I work for him. I didn’t know he was coming and I didn’t invite him.” But I’m bloody glad he’s here.

“You work for him?” Tess said with scorn in her voice. “Looking at the two of you I bet I can guess what form the interview took.”

“I bet you can’t,” I bit back.

I still had the two spent 9mm rounds I’d put myself in the path of to save Sean’s life. Two slightly flattened copper mushrooms. I had them with me now, in fact. They were in the top pocket of my leather jacket like some kind of good luck charm, but I wasn’t about to show them to her.

“What’s he riding?” Daz wanted to know.

“A mate’s lent him a Blackie,” I said.

William raised his eyebrows. “I say, steady on old girl,” he drawled, exaggerating his educated accent. “Don’t want to offend the coloured chappies, what?”

“OK – it’s a Honda CBR1100XX Super Blackbird,” I said and he grinned at me.

“Well, the bike should be quick enough, but what about the rider?” Daz said.

“Hang on a minute. That’s not the point,” Paxo snapped. “The rest of us had to earn our place on this trip.” He let his gaze skate over Tess with hardly a flicker. “We can’t just let someone muscle in on—”

“But that is just the point,” Daz cut in. “He looks like muscle and maybe we could do with some of that, hmm? It doesn’t mean he has to be part of anything, does it?”

“Part of what?” I said.

I almost think they’d forgotten I was there. They fell into silence that went on long enough that I was just about to growl in frustration when Jamie piped up.

“You said Sean was your boss,” he said suddenly, as though he’d only just caught up with that part of the conversation. “Does that mean he’s in close protection, too?”

I nodded, glancing round at the others, but only Tess looked surprised at this bit of news. He’d obviously told the rest of them something of the conversation we’d had outside the hospital, when I’d first broken the news to Jamie that Clare wanted me to bodyguard him. Daz’s face took on a shrewd air of calculation.

“There you go,” he said, as if that settled things. “Like I said – this boy could be useful.”

Any further discussion on the subject was cut short by the arrival of Sean himself. He picked up on the atmosphere as soon as he came into the room but didn’t comment on it. On the surface he seemed friendly and relaxed. I was probably the only one who spotted the tell-tale minute shift in stance, the slight narrowing of those coal-black eyes. And then only because I was expecting to see the almost negligible controlled reaction.

Daz sat back in his chair and studied Sean as he approached, head on one side. “So you’re Sean Meyer,” he said, his voice rippling with undercurrents. “We’ve been hearing a lot about you.”

“Really?” Sean said easily. “Well, same applies.”

Daz looked momentarily discomfited, then he smiled slightly. “I understand you’re in the same line of work as Charlie here.”

“That’s right.”

“So, you’ve been to Ireland before? Only, I expect we could do with someone who knows his way around, so to speak.”

Jamie, silent until this point, started to protest, as well he might. Daz’s words were an insult to his own local knowledge – if you took them purely at face value. But Daz had been talking between the lines and he silenced Jamie with a single barbed glance.

“I’ve spent a little time over the other side of the water, yes,” Sean said then, softly. “I reckon I know my way around fairly well.”

Daz nodded, as if that was the answer he’d been expecting, more or less.

“OK,” he said, giving Sean a sudden dazzling smile. “You’re in.”

Paxo made a sound of disgust at this apparent capitulation, which was echoed by Jamie. William just sat, his broad face impassive, as though he had no opinion on the subject one way or another.

“You can’t do that, Daz,” Tess said, sounding furious. “You can’t just—”

“I think you’ll find I can do anything I like,” Daz said. “Everybody needs everybody else, here.”

Tess gave a noisy sigh, shot to her feet and stormed out. Her flouncy exit was somewhat spoiled by a sudden lurch from the ship, which gave her a drunken stagger halfway to the door.

Ignoring the reactions, Daz leaned across the table and nonchalantly offered Sean his hand to shake. After only a fractional hesitation, Sean took it. Their eyes met and something seemed to pass between them, some unspoken message I didn’t fully catch or follow. But when Sean turned away he was frowning.

The boys had obviously ordered food while we’d been outside and the first of it was brought out at that point. Jamie lost some of his newly-acquired colour but managed to stay in his seat while they tucked in.

The conversation turned general while they ate. Daz gave Paxo grief for stuffing his face with chips and a non-diet soft drink. “Have you any idea how much sugar there is in one can of that stuff, mate?”

Paxo broke into a smile for once. “Good job I’ve got a metabolism that can burn it off quick then,” he said, undeterred.

“Yeah, won’t stop you becoming diabetic, though, will it?” Daz said. “Just wait until someone has to jab a needle full of insulin into your arse every morning and see how you like that.”

“Mate, I tell you, that’s about the only thing I would let anyone jab into my arse!”

They all laughed. Sean sat with his forearms resting on the table and his fingers linked together, watching them interact without joining in. It was as though he was conducting some kind of silent assessment. He used to do that with his trainees when he was an instructor. Without a hint of it showing on his features, he’d always been able to convey the impression that we were all somehow falling short of his expectations.

He was doing the same thing now and I could see they were all aware of it. A couple of times Daz met Sean’s gaze in direct challenge, but he was the only one of them who did.

“I suppose I’d better go try and placate Tess,” Daz said with a show of reluctance when they’d all finished. He got up and strolled out.

“Have you been to Ireland before, Charlie?” Jamie asked when he’d gone. It was the first time he’d addressed me directly since we’d set off and I turned to him trying to hide my surprise.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I was booked to come once, but the trip was cancelled.”

It was supposed to have been my first posting when I came out of Special Forces training. Straight into the thick of it in Shankhill. The army were conducting surveillance operations throughout the six counties and, much as they hated to admit it, women were more effective, more unobtrusive, than some big hairy squaddie who, especially in the favoured civvy garb of jeans and tan Cat boots and a bomber jacket, stood out a mile for what he was.

So although I’d never set foot there I knew a lot about Northern Ireland, but the wrong things. I knew about the soldiers killed at Warrenpoint, about the skirmishes in Newry and the running battles on the Bogside. If I dredged my memory I could probably still tell you which parts of Belfast were safe and which were no go areas. Not quite what the Tourist Board had in mind.

And, now I came to think about it, I couldn’t help a prickle of unease about going there as a civilian.

***

If there was one thing the Devil’s Bridge Club didn’t do on the ferry crossing, it was sit still in one place for any length of time. Paxo announced he was going to try his luck on the slot machines he’d noticed in the bar and Jamie went with him. Sean went out shortly afterwards and although he didn’t say anything I knew he was still hoping to spot whoever was keeping an eye on us. Daz still hadn’t returned with Tess, so that left me and William. And I wasn’t quick enough.

“I think I’ll just go and see if I can find myself a good paperback in the shop,” he said. “You don’t mind staying and keeping an eye on our gear, do you, Charlie?”

Resigned, I shook my head and found myself alone in a sea of lids and backpacks.

The First Class lounge had a selection of newspapers and I grabbed one of those, scanning the headlines without too much interest. The next time I glanced outside, Daz and Sean were standing talking by the aft rail.

Actually, ‘talking’ was too mild a way of putting it. Sean was standing with his arms folded and his head on one side, listening intently, and Daz seemed to be pleading with him about something. There was no way I could hear what they were saying but I stared intently, knowing the dark tint on the cabin windows would mean they couldn’t see in.

Eventually, Daz seemed to talk himself out. He stood, shoulders tensed, as though waiting for a judgement. Sean took his time about delivering his verdict but then, at last, he gave a short reluctant nod. Whatever it was he’d just agreed to, he wasn’t happy about it.

Daz almost sagged with relief. It gave his smile a brittle, artificial brightness. He moved forwards as if to clap the other man on the shoulder but Sean froze him with a single look. Daz turned down the volume on his smile, his manner sheepish now, grateful. Instead, he offered Sean his hand again and they shook, like they were sealing a pact. Then Daz stuffed his hands into the pockets of his leather jeans and walked away quickly. As though, if he stayed around, Sean might change his mind about something.

But what?

Sean stayed by the railing for a moment longer. As I watched, he turned his head and stared straight at the glass towards me. It made me draw in a sharp breath, though I was certain he couldn’t see me. With Sean you could never quite tell. The normal laws of physics sometimes didn’t seem to apply to the man.

After a few moments he pushed himself away from the railing and strolled back round towards the doors into the main cabin. A few moments later, he was back in First Class taking the seat opposite me.

“Well?” I demanded.

“Well what?” he said, playing the infuriating card to best effect.

“Come on, Sean,” I said, speaking fast in case any of the others walked back in. “I saw you out there with Daz. What are they up to? What did he say to you? Come on, spill it!”

Sean regarded me without expression for a moment, then he gave me a rueful smile. “I’m sorry, Charlie,” he said, “but I can’t tell you.”

“What do you mean you can’t tell me?” I said between clenched teeth, trying to keep to a frantic whisper and stop my voice rising with outrage like an air raid siren. Even Sean looked vaguely alarmed.

“Calm down,” he said. “Daz has just admitted something to me in absolute confidence. He’ll tell the rest of you when he’s ready but until then I really can’t say anything – even to you.”

“But—”

“No,” Sean said, in a voice that brooked no argument. There were no buts when that voice came out. “I gave him my word,” he said, more gently. “Look, it’s important, but it has nothing to do with why we’re here.” He saw the sheer frustration on my face and smiled again. “You’re just going to have to trust me on this.”