Ли Чайлд - Belfast Noir

Rosie stood up. The ropes had fallen off her and she was holding a gun. I saw clearly that all her fingers were exactly where they should have been—on her hands. I also saw that the reason for John Joe’s clumsiness was that his left hand was bandaged. I imagined if we looked there’d be a bottle of pink nail polish somewhere around the container.

My back was against the container wall, cold and damp. “Now,” I said, speaking clearly, “there’s an explanation for this. There’s a reason we’re all here at the docks .”

“You stole the money, you little bastard.” Rosie waved the gun.

“No, no. It’s being looked after. By John Joe here’s uncle. While we’re here at the docks .”

“Uncle Nasher?” John Joe looked perplexed. “What’s he got to do with it?”

“He’s found us out, you moron,” said Rosie, starting to pace. “I told you he didn’t like me.”

It was true so I didn’t disagree.

She pointed the gun at me. “What’ll we do with this one?”

I held onto the knife tight. If John Joe’d had any sense he could have squashed me like a grape. Luckily he didn’t seem to. “Look, nice as it is here at the docks , I think we should—”

“We’ll have to go to plan B. Get rid of him, send his ear to my parents.”

They don’t do a lot but I’m fond of my ears all the same. “Now, look, I’m sure all of us here in container 341, at the docks , could do with calming down a bit.”

Rosie continued: “They’ll send someone who’s less of an eejit with more cash. We take it and scarper to the ferry as planned. Done. Or else we send your other finger to your uncle.”

“Aw, Rosie. It really hurt last time.”

“It worked, didn’t it? Bit of nail polish and my ring—they’re such eejits. I’m always right.”

I cleared my throat loudly. They both turned to look at me. “Now,” I said slowly, “why don’t we come up with a different plan? There’s not much we can do while we’re here in shipping container 341 , is there? Your uncle has the money, John Joe. Why don’t we go and visit him?” Surely I could manage to get the gun off them in that time, and rescue Gavin, and get past Nasher’s henchmen, and . . . ah, feck.

Rosie hoicked up the gun. “I want that money,” she said to me. “If we bump you off, it’ll look more convincing, won’t it? And we could send them any number of body parts off you.”

I panicked. “You could send them my shoe! That’d work just as well!” Oh bollocks. I whipped out the knife, hands shaking. “Now just stop right there.”

Rosie threw back her lovely head and laughed. “I’ve got a gun, you fecking eejit. Who’s going to stop me?”

“I reckon I could have a go.” A different voice, harsh as a hundred cigarettes a day.

I blinked in a new beam of light. Nasher was at the door, grabbing the gun from Rosie’s hands. “You didn’t even take the safety off, you daft little cow. Here she is, Sammy.” And there was his mate, DS Sammy Taylor, slapping cuffs on Rosie as another officer frisked John Joe.

“Sorry, Romeo and Juliet. Love’ll have to be across the prison wings now, never mind the barricades.” Taylor stopped in front of me.

I tried to drop the knife surreptitiously but it made a terrible clang. “Er, hello, DS Taylor.”

“So you did phone me after all, Magnum PI.”

“I felt the situation had . . . escalated.”

“Lucky I put that wee tracker on your phone then, eh?”

“ What ?”

“How do you think we got here so quickly? Though your chat was handy to find the right place. We’re here in container 341! Gas.” He laughed heartily.

“That’s, that’s . . . a violation of my human rights! I’ll be contacting the police ombudsman.”

The other officer was now in front of me, handcuffs dangling. “What about this one, sir?”

“Not him,” said Taylor, still laughing. “He’s an eejit, but sadly they’ve yet to make that a crime. Take him home, his mammy’s worried.”

* * *

Once everything was sorted out, Nasher gave the money back to Rosie’s parents, who hopefully saw it as some comfort. Far from being missing, they now knew exactly where their daughter was: in the women’s wing of Hydebank prison. DS Taylor got a promotion for catching the two extortionists, and I kept my mouth shut about the fact he was obviously in cahoots with Nasher. I spent my reward money on renting out some office space. There’s even a desk for Gavin, though he’s been strictly warned about hacking during work hours. I also took Ma out for dinner, so she didn’t have to cook at least one night. She said it was nice but she didn’t like to get too behind on Coronation Street .

There’s a bit left over, so I might see if Maddy Grant wants to go to a film sometime. I get half price on a Wednesday. I think she’ll like that.

OUT OF TIME

BY SAM MILLAR

Hill Street

Karl Kane’s mobile began ringing on the bedroom table, just as the tablets he had consumed four hours earlier were starting to lose their cosy effectiveness. He could tell it was early morning because of the particular quietness from outside: no drunken louts or screaming teenagers spilling out from nearby pubs and clubs in and around Hill Street in city centre.

He let the mobile ring for a few more seconds while glancing at the luminous alarm clock on the table. It was the dangerous side of four in the morning and phone calls at four in the morning, in Karl’s profession, only ever meant one thing: trouble.

Reaching over, he hooked the phone with a finger and thumb before staring at the number.

Lipstick. What the hell now?

“Karl?” said the groggy voice of Naomi by his side. “What’s wrong?”

Naomi was dark-skinned, drop-dead gorgeous, with large hazel eyes and wild black hair. Despite the Northern Irish cadence in her voice, it still commanded a strong Southern resonance.

“Sorry, my wee darling. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Who . . . who is it?”

“Lipstick.”

“Lipstick? I hope she’s not in some sort of trouble.”

“Trouble? Lipstick?” he said sarcastically. He hit the button on the mobile. “Okay, Lipstick, what’s wrong?”

“Karl? What kept you?” Lipstick whispered, edginess in her young voice. “I’ve been waiting ages for you to answer.”

“Sorry, like most law-abiding citizens I was in bed, trying to sleep.”

“Say you won’t get mad.”

“That’s a bit like when someone tells you not to get nervous. The first thing you do is get nervous.”

“I need your help.”

“Where are you?”

“Locked in a bathroom.”

“What the bloody hell? You call me at four in the morning just to get you out of a—”

“In the Europa.”

“The Europa?”

“Yes.”

“I take it you’re whispering because you can’t speak too loud, in case someone hears you.”

“Yes.”

“A disgruntled client?”

“If that means ugly and angry, then yes. He’s screaming through the door right now that he’s gonna kill me. I’m scared, Karl. He means it.”

“Room number?” Karl quickly swung his legs out of bed, before parking his impressive bulk on the edge.

“Fourteen.”

“Has this creep got a name?”

“Calls himself Graham Butler. He’s from London. He . . . he wanted me to do things I hadn’t agreed to. He wouldn’t pay me for what I already done for him, so I took his Rolex in exchange.”

“I’ll be there within ten minutes. Hold tight.”

“Karl?”

“What?”

“Look tough.”

“At four in the morning and wearing pyjamas?”