Tony Black - Paying For It

‘Ah, now…’

‘Goodbye, Fitz. Oh and good luck with that promotion. Don’t forget who your friends are.’

I hung up.

Starting to walk again I felt the strength returning to my legs. I made it all the way to Broughton Street where I stepped into an Internet cafe.

Ordered a coffee and connected to the net.

In my webmail, I opened an email I’d sent myself earlier from Hod’s computer. Clicked on forward. Keyed in the e-address of my old boss at the paper. In the subject line I tapped in one word: Exclusive.

‘No one lies better than a hack, Cardownie,’ I said to myself, as I forwarded Billy’s footage to Rasher.

I sat back and sipped my coffee. From my window seat, the city went by, oblivious to the momentous events of a few streets away.

Inside ten minutes, police sirens began to wail.

I drained my cup, went outside.

On the street, I took out my mobile phone and dialled Debs.

It rang for an age, seemed like for ever, then: ‘Hello.’

‘Hello, Deborah… it’s me.’

‘Gus…’

‘Did you get the package I sent?’

‘What the hell is it, some kind of sick joke?’

‘No,’ I started to smile, it felt so good to hear her voice, ‘not at all. For once, I’m deadly serious. So, how about it?’

‘How about what?’

‘You and me. Do you fancy a trip to Ireland?’

‘ Ireland… what for?’

‘To lay a lost soul to rest.’