Declan Burke - Slaughter's hound

What didn’t make sense was the big finale. The sick punch line, so ludicrous I actually laughed out loud.

I got the dull point of the paper knife under Gillick’s chin, pushing up so that his head strained back, leaving his throat exposed.

‘This is true?’ I said.

‘On my fucking life ,’ he rasped at the ceiling.

He had nothing left. No reason to lie. Besides, if what he said was true, it would take only a short journey to prove it beyond doubt.

‘Okay, that’s us. We’re done.’

I slipped sideways off his chest as his entire body sagged with relief. The good eye closed again, although it snapped open when I wrenched off his shoe, tugged his sock free.

‘What’re you-’ he began but then I dropped an elbow into his groin. He oooofed and gagged, his mouth dropping open. I jammed the sock in his mouth, saddled up on his chest again. Picked up the paper-knife.

A muffled croak came from behind the sock as he strained his head away. I seized him by the throat, held his head steady, my knuckle throbbing all the way up into my shoulder. Then I dug in again.

It took some time. He gurgled and squawked and squealed behind the sock all the while, a Philip Glass overture, Agony in C Minor. Blood seeping down to pool in the empty socket and blind his good eye. But the naked eyeball, singed as it was, saw all.

I found a bathroom down the hall, washed off the blood as best I could. Then I went to retrieve my latest swag. The birth cert, the pale blue envelope addressed in Finn’s hand, the twenty large in loose notes. Gillick had toppled over onto his side, lying snuffling like a beached elephant seal, badly gored and dying slow. Low moans coming muffled from behind the sock.

I still was picking up hundred-euro notes, leaving behind the ones spattered with blood, when he developed the power of ventriloquism. Amazing stuff. Projecting his voice behind me, and not so much as a wobble from the sock, when he said, ‘Put the tool down, Rigby.’

He stood in the double doorway with a hand on Maria’s shoulder, the Beretta nuzzling her ribs. Blood drying on the side of his neck.

Maria looked to be on the point of vomiting, a faint bulge to her eyes.

‘Arthur,’ Toto said without taking his eyes off mine. ‘Arthur?’

Gillick gave a sock-muffled groan, turned his head towards the sound like some light-dazzled mole dug out of a burrow.

‘First you lose my coke,’ Toto said, ‘and then you batter my brother-in-law. Now you’re hammering my solicitor.’ A bleak smile. ‘I was the paranoid type, I might start thinking you’ve some kind of vendetta going on.’

He was generous enough not to mention my assault on his dignity with a crutch. Or maybe he was trying to pretend it had never happened.

‘Nothing personal,’ I said.

He made a clicking sound, regretful. ‘Put the gun down on the ground,’ he said, ‘slide it over here.’

I shook my head.

He raised his right hand, tapped the Beretta against Maria’s stomach. She closed her eyes. ‘Don’t think I won’t do it,’ he said.

‘Seriously?’ I said. ‘You’re going to blow her away, you don’t even know who she is, for this piece of shit?’ This last being directed in Gillick’s direction. ‘Think about it,’ I said, lifting the.38, pointing it at his face. ‘Because it’ll be the last fucking thing you’ll ever do.’

Toto took it all under consideration. ‘So where are we now?’ he said.

‘I was just leaving,’ I said. ‘Taking her with me.’

His grin was a cold slash. ‘Just like that.’

‘Something like it, anyway.’

‘You know that’s not going to happen.’

‘That’ll be Ted’s call.’

‘Ted?’

‘There’s something he should probably know. About Gillick here, what he just told me.’

‘Tell me.’

‘I’ll tell Ted.’

He thought about that, his eyes on mine, not the gun. ‘You want us all to arrive at Ted’s,’ he said, ‘a three-ring fucking circus.’

‘Ring him.’

That put him in a bind. To ring Ted he’d have to let Maria go or put the Beretta away.

‘Okay,’ he said. He released Maria, put a hand in the small of her back, urging her towards the nearest seat. So she was still in his theoretical field of fire. ‘Sorry, love,’ he said. ‘No harm meant.’

Still looking at me, waiting for the quid pro quo. I gave it a beat, lowered the.38.

‘So go ahead and ring Ted,’ Toto said, nodding at the phone on the floor beside the desk.

Which would have been hilarious, me hunkering down to dial some number Toto was calling out, getting a kick in the side of the head for my troubles.

‘Gillick’s phone,’ I said, ‘is on the table.’

He thought it through, then backed away to the table. Still facing me. Scrabbled through the detritus of Gillick’s meal.

Once he found the phone, though, it was relatively straightforward. Coming forward again, stabbing a couple of buttons. Gillick with Ted McConnell, former INLA killer turned post-Peace Process Robin Hood, on speed-dial. The boys back at Blackhall would surely have been proud.

Toto’s eyes never left mine.

The call connected. ‘Ted?’ he said. ‘It’s me.’

He was sharp, was Toto. It took him about thirty seconds to sketch it all out, this including a number of his own yeahs and uh-huhs. Then he pressed the speaker button, held out the phone. ‘You’re up,’ he said.

‘Ted?’ I said.

‘This Rigby?’ A faint metallic hum charged with feedback.

‘Yeah.’

‘Go.’

‘Your boy Gillick just mentioned that my kid’s in hospital.’

‘Yeah?’

‘My kid was in a coma.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Now he’s dead.’

‘So?’

‘So the only person who knew my kid was in hospital, in a coma, was a guy called Tohill.’

‘And?’

‘This Tohill being Detective Sergeant Tohill.’

Silence. Then, ‘Oh yeah?’

‘You mightn’t have heard of him yet. He’s been seconded here from CAB.’

‘CAB?’

‘The Criminal Assets-’

‘I fucking know what CAB is, Rigby.’

‘Right.’

A metallic click, a faint echo of feedback, and the phone went dead. Toto and I made eyes at one another some more to a soundtrack of a sandpaper symphony of Gillick choking something back behind the sock.

Maria sitting rigid on the chair, hands clasped between her knees.

The phone rang again.

Toto took the call. ‘Ted?’

More yeahs and uh-huhs, the cold grey eyes drifting away down to Gillick. A final, definitive nod. He tossed me the phone.

‘What do you know about Gillick and this Tohill?’ Without the tinny effect of the speaker-phone, Ted McConnell had a surprisingly mellow baritone.

‘Someone told Gillick about my kid. Tohill’s the only one who knew.’

‘They’re in bed?’

‘I’m telling you what I know.’

‘Yeah.’ Silence. Then, ‘I’m thinking I should probably have a chat with Gillick.’

‘He’s all yours.’

‘Then I’ll be wanting to talk to you.’

‘That’s doable, yeah. Just not right now.’

‘You don’t tell me when-’

‘Ted,’ I said, ‘I’ve given you Gillick.’ Toto wincing at my interrupting Ted. ‘And let’s be crystal fucking clear on this. I’m walking out of here now. Anyone gets in my way, I’m putting him down. End of story.’

A long silence this time. ‘Can’t say I like your attitude, Rigby,’ he said finally. ‘Can’t say I like what was done to Jimmy, either. Gillick’s one thing. Jimmy’s family.’

‘Fuck you and what you think about my attitude,’ I said. ‘Jimmy, okay, I can say there’s ten grand in it for him.’