freedom,’ he used to tell Sissy. ‘Not used to it. Don’t know how to behave. In this country, we were born free and we know how to handle it.’
Sissy gave him another of her smiles.
‘No, really,’ he said.
Walter checked his mobile – just in case he’d missed a call.
Nothing
.
Briefly, Walter wondered if maybe before he headed off to Glasgow there might be something to be done about Dessie Blue. By way of revenge, and maybe a small financial return. A call to Detective Garda Templeton-Smith, one last bit of business.
Not worth it
.
And if Dessie didn’t cough up tonight – and he probably wouldn’t – when Walter eventually came back to Dublin it might be no harm to have a debt that might still come through.
Live in hope
.
Walter slid around a small roundabout that led into the Mansfield estate. A wannabe neighbourhood, Walter reckoned, and very nice too. On the other side of the river, in the days of the boom, these houses would go for an arm and a couple of legs. And they looked after their houses, the people around here. Some of the front lawns looked like they hadn’t been mown, more like shaved. Walter reckoned, what with the way the economy had been going, a lot of people in places like this had trouble meeting their mortgage payments – and that meant before too long a house in a place like this might be halfway affordable.
Walter kept an eye on that kind of thing. ‘You’re mad,’ Sissy laughed at him when he talked about house prices. ‘You stand in the middle of your bedroom, the only kip you can afford torent, and when you stretch your arms out you can touch both walls.’
‘You never know when you might get a lucky break,’ Walter told her. ‘It’s all about watching the market, seizing your opportunity. And if you don’t keep up to speed with these things you never know what you might miss.’ Sissy just looked at him, a smile on her lips, and after a while Walter started grinning and the two of them had a good laugh.
‘Three twelve-inch pepperoni, three Cokes,’ Walter said when his next customer opened the front door. Karl Prowse showed him a big smile and a small gun and said, ‘That’s right – won’t you join us?’
Lar Mackendrick had several mobile phones, all off the shelf, no contract. The Sony Ericsson had two numbers keyed in – one each for Karl Prowse and his buddy Robbie Nugent. Those were the only numbers the phone had ever called, and the only numbers from which it had received calls. Once the phone was destroyed, there would be no record linking it to Lar Mackendrick or anyone else.
Lar was pouring a sherry for May when the Sony Ericsson beeped notice that a text had arrived. He finished pouring the drink and brought it into the living room, where May was sitting in front of the television. She was halfway through a boxed set of the fourth series of
ER
, the final series in which George Clooney appeared. She limited herself to one episode per night, eking out the series over almost a whole month. Lar thought George Clooney was an asshole.
‘Thanks, love,’ May said, and as Lar left the room she pressed the button that brought the menu up on the screen.
Back in the kitchen, Lar took out his Sony Ericsson and checked the text message.
Our friend is leaving. Any last requests?
Walter had twice called Lar at home and Lar had already stressed to Karl Prowse the importance of not leaving that kind of evidence lying around. No harm giving Karl a reminder.
Remember to get his phone
.
It was a big room and mostly white. Two smaller rooms converted to one. The carpet and the walls were white with a slight golden tinge. The large fireplace was white marble. There was a painting over the fireplace that was all white except for a small swirl of red in the lower-right corner. Against one wall a tall white vase with purple flowers stood on a black marble sideboard. The three-seater sofa, where Walter Bennett was sitting, was white, matching the two
Sissy gave him another of her smiles.
‘No, really,’ he said.
Walter checked his mobile – just in case he’d missed a call.
Nothing
.
Briefly, Walter wondered if maybe before he headed off to Glasgow there might be something to be done about Dessie Blue. By way of revenge, and maybe a small financial return. A call to Detective Garda Templeton-Smith, one last bit of business.
Not worth it
.
And if Dessie didn’t cough up tonight – and he probably wouldn’t – when Walter eventually came back to Dublin it might be no harm to have a debt that might still come through.
Live in hope
.
Walter slid around a small roundabout that led into the Mansfield estate. A wannabe neighbourhood, Walter reckoned, and very nice too. On the other side of the river, in the days of the boom, these houses would go for an arm and a couple of legs. And they looked after their houses, the people around here. Some of the front lawns looked like they hadn’t been mown, more like shaved. Walter reckoned, what with the way the economy had been going, a lot of people in places like this had trouble meeting their mortgage payments – and that meant before too long a house in a place like this might be halfway affordable.
Walter kept an eye on that kind of thing. ‘You’re mad,’ Sissy laughed at him when he talked about house prices. ‘You stand in the middle of your bedroom, the only kip you can afford torent, and when you stretch your arms out you can touch both walls.’
‘You never know when you might get a lucky break,’ Walter told her. ‘It’s all about watching the market, seizing your opportunity. And if you don’t keep up to speed with these things you never know what you might miss.’ Sissy just looked at him, a smile on her lips, and after a while Walter started grinning and the two of them had a good laugh.
‘Three twelve-inch pepperoni, three Cokes,’ Walter said when his next customer opened the front door. Karl Prowse showed him a big smile and a small gun and said, ‘That’s right – won’t you join us?’
Lar Mackendrick had several mobile phones, all off the shelf, no contract. The Sony Ericsson had two numbers keyed in – one each for Karl Prowse and his buddy Robbie Nugent. Those were the only numbers the phone had ever called, and the only numbers from which it had received calls. Once the phone was destroyed, there would be no record linking it to Lar Mackendrick or anyone else.
Lar was pouring a sherry for May when the Sony Ericsson beeped notice that a text had arrived. He finished pouring the drink and brought it into the living room, where May was sitting in front of the television. She was halfway through a boxed set of the fourth series of
ER
, the final series in which George Clooney appeared. She limited herself to one episode per night, eking out the series over almost a whole month. Lar thought George Clooney was an asshole.
‘Thanks, love,’ May said, and as Lar left the room she pressed the button that brought the menu up on the screen.
Back in the kitchen, Lar took out his Sony Ericsson and checked the text message.
Our friend is leaving. Any last requests?
Walter had twice called Lar at home and Lar had already stressed to Karl Prowse the importance of not leaving that kind of evidence lying around. No harm giving Karl a reminder.
Remember to get his phone
.
It was a big room and mostly white. Two smaller rooms converted to one. The carpet and the walls were white with a slight golden tinge. The large fireplace was white marble. There was a painting over the fireplace that was all white except for a small swirl of red in the lower-right corner. Against one wall a tall white vase with purple flowers stood on a black marble sideboard. The three-seater sofa, where Walter Bennett was sitting, was white, matching the two
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