Alex Palmer - The Labyrinth of Drowning

‘What about her?’

‘Newell killed her.’ Eddie finished his beer and pushed the empty glass away. ‘That’s what he told Griffin anyway. His brains were fried, I know that. Fucking didn’t know what planet he was on half the time. But he knew enough. From what he said, he did it all right.’

‘Are you telling me Tony senior was responsible for that shoot-out on Oxford Street?’

‘You bet he was. He wanted Newell. Griffin was supposed to get him off and out of gaol and then Tony could get him. He wanted to do it himself, you see. But Newell just kept digging the hole he was in. In the end, Tony says, fuck it, I’m not waiting any longer. I’m going to go in and get him. And he did. Is that worth protection?’

‘I don’t know yet, mate,’ Harrigan said. ‘You know a lot about what went on. If my old work mates go in, what’s the family going to tell them about you?’

‘I work for ’em, mate. What was I supposed to do?’

‘What did you do?’

‘I rang Newell. Told him the day it was going down. I said, you act up in court about eleven in the morning. Get yourself hauled out of there. He thought he was being sprung.’

The Judas kiss. It didn’t look as if it had kept Eddie awake at night. But Newell was dead, and that meant Grace was free of him.

‘I’ve got it all,’ Eddie went on. ‘Names, who did the shooting, everything. Tell you who was driving the van. Joe Ponticelli. He’s his granddad’s man. Mad like him. Okay? Let’s do a deal.’

‘You’ve got more information in there besides that, haven’t you?’

Eddie shook his head. ‘What else is there?’

‘Tony senior talking about Bianca. Anyone else’s name come up? Like mine? You want your protection. You fucking tell me now.’

‘You want to know? He hates your guts.’

‘I know that. And?’

‘That’s enough, isn’t it? Look…’ Eddie glanced around. ‘Tony junior, he just wants to move on. He didn’t want this mess. He’s going to tell you he had nothing to do with it. He said if Newell goes back to gaol, so what? Do it there. What does it matter who does it? Tony senior, he set that whole fucking thing up. What’s he got to lose? He’s mad and he’s dying.’ There was a twist of contempt in Eddie’s face. ‘The family’s not what it used to be. He doesn’t like that. He still wants to prove he’s king shit.’

‘It’s not enough, mate. There’s more, right?’

Eddie picked up his glass. ‘I need another beer.’

Harrigan grabbed his arm. ‘No, mate. You’re not going anywhere. What else is there?’

‘Fucking let go of me, Harrigan. Don’t you touch me!’

Eddie yanked his arm away, looking towards the door with a sick expression on his face.

‘Who are you expecting? Have you set me up? You have, haven’t you?’

Harrigan was on his feet, his gun out, getting out of the line of the doorway to where he could fire.

‘No, I wouldn’t-’

The door was kicked open but the two gunmen who stood there didn’t come inside. One shot from the doorway directly at Eddie. Eddie, on his feet, took the bullets with a gasp, no scream. ‘You fucking-’ he said, then staggered forwards to the floor. The other gunman, apparently expecting to find Harrigan also at the table, jerked his head in shock toward where Harrigan stood with his own gun out. ‘Drop your fucking gun,’ he shouted but it was too late. Harrigan had already fired twice from close range immediately the first gunman had shot at Eddie. His bullets cracked into the second gunman’s shoulder almost as he spoke, breaking the bone. The gunman staggered back, then tried to turn and leg it, crashing out the back door into the beer garden. In those brief moments, Harrigan recognised Mick Brasi. There were shouts from outside in the beer garden. The first gunman didn’t wait. He turned and ran out through the front of the hotel. Seconds later, two men were running after him shouting, ‘Police. Stop.’

Harrigan went to Eddie’s aid, kneeling down to feel his pulse. He was still alive but bleeding heavily, his breathing painful. His eyes opened. He stared at Harrigan but didn’t speak.

‘I’m getting you an ambulance, mate,’ Harrigan said. ‘You were spinning me a line, weren’t you? Keeping me talking.’

‘Fuck you, Harrigan,’ Eddie said. ‘It was all true. I still want my protection.’

He passed out.

The barman appeared in the doorway, ashen-faced. ‘ Fuck! ’

‘I’m calling an ambulance,’ Harrigan said. ‘He’s still alive.’

The two men who had chased the other gunman out through the hotel reappeared behind the barman. Both were armed.

‘No, you’re not,’ one of them said. ‘We’ll call an ambulance. Put your phone away.’

‘What the fuck’s going on?’ the barman asked in a panicky voice.

‘You’re closed for the day. As of now, no one leaves. Keep everyone out of this back room and don’t let anyone in the beer garden. Come on, we’ll close up together. And in regard to what’s happened in here, you saw nothing and you say nothing. Is that clear?’

Silenced, the barman was led away back to the bar. The second man had been speaking on the phone. He hung up and turned to Harrigan.

‘Ambulance is on its way. Outside now.’

‘What about Eddie?’

‘You can’t do anything for him. Out.’

Harrigan walked out. A third unknown man was holding a gun over Mick Brasi who was lying face down in the beer garden. Blood was pouring out onto the cement and he was gasping in pain.

‘We couldn’t shoot to stop the other one,’ said the man accompanying Harrigan. ‘Too many people in the bar. He got away.’

‘You were a bit late getting here, boys,’ Harrigan said. ‘Have you got any ID?’

‘Have you?’ the man with the gun asked.

‘I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,’ Harrigan replied dryly, one eye on Mick Brasi on the concrete. He was caught by the cold-bloodedness of this conversation while the man lay there in agony.

‘We don’t have to show ID.’

‘You’re from Orion,’ Harrigan said. ‘My partner’s got a standard-issue firearm just like that one.’

‘Did you shoot this man?’

‘I did. It was self-defence. If Eddie Grippo ever wakes up, he’ll tell you that.’

‘Was he going to kill you?’

‘My belief at the time was that he was,’ Harrigan replied. ‘They have motive and I can’t think of any other reason why they’d go to all this trouble.’

‘You’d better take a seat,’ the third man said, the one pointing the gun. ‘We’ve got someone who wants to talk to you.’

Two ambulances arrived seconds ahead of the authorities. Harrigan watched Brasi being stretchered out under police guard, followed by Eddie. It wasn’t just the police who arrived. In the phalanx of plain-clothes and uniformed officers that swarmed over the Royal Exchange, Harrigan saw Clive coming towards him.

‘What are you doing here?’ he asked Harrigan.

‘Maybe I should ask you the same thing.’

‘Were you able to get any information from Eddie Grippo before he was shot?’

‘Yes, quite a lot. I was going to pass it on to the police.’

‘We’ll do that jointly.’

Harrigan glanced around. ‘Where’s my wife?’

‘Your partner’s working,’ Clive replied. ‘Let’s hear what you’ve got to say.’

They sat in the hotel’s dirty kitchen. It took time, giving his statement, working through all the information Eddie had given him. He knew one of the two police officers interviewing him. He started by calling him boss but quickly went to Mr Harrigan. The meeting was strangely subdued. Both Clive and the third gunman were present. From time to time, the police officers glanced in their direction. Making sure they were doing what they were supposed to do.