Adrian McKinty - The Dead Yard

She leans in and kisses me on the cheek.

“Back in five minutes,” she says.

She leaves the room and I hear her go downstairs. There’s a conversation and then she comes back with Touched. His hair is wet, he’s wrapped in a towel and dressing gown and wearing flip-flops.

“What’s the matter, Sean? I thought you were ok with me keeping an eye on you for a day or two,” he says.

“I am. I just need a wee walk, you can handcuff me if you want. But I’m dying of cramps here, I only have one good leg anyway and the circulation is being cut off in the other. Half an hour, forty-five minutes, just a wee stretch.”

Touched shrugs. “Ugh, I don’t see why not. Kit, go get my trousers from downstairs, will ya?”

Kit leaves.

“So, how’s everything going?” I ask him.

“It’s going well.”

“Did you make your call?”

“I did. I told them they had forty-eight hours to release the Newark Three, or the kid dies.”

“What do you think they’ll do?”

“I think they’ll release them. Those boys are not important and the Irish community has been lobbying Clinton to let them go. Win for everybody. Clinton looks compassionate, the Newark Three get out, and we establish ourselves overnight as players.”

Kit comes back with Touched’s pants. He takes out a set of keys and hands them to her.

“Ok, Kit. Take that cuff off his ankle, let him stretch, pull his pants up, put his shoes on, and then cuff his hands in front of him. You can take him for a walk. Don’t get out of sight of the house, and remember he’s under observation, so if he does any funny stuff you give a holler and we’ll come running.”

Touched takes the 9mm from his dressing gown pocket and holds it while Kit uncuffs me and lets me put my shoes on.

Touched examines the gun for a moment and then begins to unscrew the silencer. I can tell what he’s thinking. There’s no one for miles. If he has to kill me or Peter, he can do it without fear of being overheard.

When she’s cuffed me, he checks to see that she’s done a good job.

He gives me a wink.

“You know how it is, mate. When this wee task is over and we get the all clear from over the water, it’ll be different. We’ll forget the fuckups. I’ll take you for a big session as an apology. I can tell, Sean, that you are going to be our right-hand man.”

He gives me a friendly dig on the shoulder.

“I hope so.”

Kit leads me out of the room and helps me downstairs.

The “cabin” is even bigger than I’d thought. It’s a huge edifice, with a large central room, almost an interior courtyard, and six or seven bedrooms arranged around the inner space on the second floor. The style is that of a Swiss chalet rather than that of an old Kentucky home. A large stone fireplace made from irregular local rocks, a kitchen, and the big open-plan living area and dining room. You’d need to burn half the surrounding forest to heat this place in winter, but in summer, with the windows open and the breezes off the mountain, it would be quite temperate.

And they’re not living the simple life either.

A big-screen television, a stereo, and a speaker system that would give Aerosmith’s roadies a hard time.

Jackie and Sonia are tucking into breakfast at an enormous pine table. Jackie’s hair is also wet and he’s wearing swim trunks. Maybe they have a pool or there’s a lake nearby.

“Morning, all,” I say.

Jackie nods. “You sleep ok, mate?” he asks, noticing me and trying to ignore the handcuffs on my wrists.

“Slept fine.”

“Did Kit bring you breakfast?” Sonia asks.

“Yeah, it was delicious, thanks,” I tell her.

“The maple syrup is from here,” Sonia adds.

“Yeah, Kit told me, it was fantastic… Where’s the big guy?”

“He’s still sleeping. He sleeps so well up here,” Sonia says and gives me a little grin of domestic bliss.

Keep that smile, love, it’s going to be a happy fucking tapestry when that poor kid, Peter, is screaming for his life.

“Gerry design this place himself?” I ask.

“Oh yes, this has been his labor of love,” Sonia says.

“And do you own part of the forest, too?” I inquire.

“Twelve acres,” she says.

“Must be a big tax bill on that?” I ask.

“I have no idea,” Sonia says.

Kit looks at me.

“Well, do you want to gab away, or do you want me to show you outside?” she asks.

“Don’t get out of sight of the house,” Touched says, putting his 9mm on the table and tucking into the rest of his breakfast.

“I know,” Kit assures him.

I can see that Jackie has only started his food, so it will be ok to ask him.

“Jack, you wanna come along for a wee walk in the woods?”

“Nah, I’ve just started breaky,” he says.

Good.

We walk outside.

The Mercedes, the van, a few outbuildings. The woods beginning thirty feet from the house.

The sky is grayer and it’s a little colder than I’m expecting.

“It’s getting chilly,” I say to Kit.

“Yeah, Sonia heard on the radio that there’s a storm front coming down from Canada.”

“Funny, I was just thinking it would be tricky heating this place in cold weather,” I say.

“Yeah, despite what Sonia said on PI, it could even dip into the forties tonight. Touched said we might have to chop some wood and get the fire going. But don’t worry. It’ll be fun.”

“Will Peter be warm enough?” I ask.

Kit sighs, as if I’ve spoiled a nice conversation by bringing up an awkward subject.

“He’s in the smokehouse, it’s pretty warm there.”

I look at the three single-story log structures scattered around the clearing. They are all inverted V shapes. A steep slope from the ground to the top of the roof. One of these must be the smokehouse.

“Can we see him?”

“See who?”

“Peter.”

Kit shakes her head.

“Touched would definitely not allow that.”

“Ok,” I say, not wanting to make a big deal out of it.

“So, Sean, what do you want to see first? Do you want to go to the back of the cabin or do you want to go on the little trail to the pond?”

“The pond sounds fun.”

“It’s not really in sight of the house, but, like, what exactly are you supposed to do to me with handcuffs on?” she says, laughing.

Oh, I’ll do plenty, love.

“I’ll be helpless,” I agree.

We walk into the trees and follow a lightly worn trail as it curves downhill away from the house.

“It’s so peaceful here. Are there any neighbors nearby?” I ask.

“Nah, the nearest is in the next valley and he’s a German and I don’t think he comes here much,” Kit says.

“And Belfast town is ten miles away?”

“As the crow flies, but it’s a little longer by road.”

“Fifteen minutes, twenty minutes in the car?”

“Yeah. Something like that. But it is so quiet here, such a contrast to Plum Island on a weekend when all the dregs of- Ah, here we are at the pond.”

The trail stops at a small lake about a hundred yards across that is choked with pond scum, leaves, tree branches, probably hundreds of drowned animals, and maybe the odd former associate who got on Touched’s bad side.

“Yeah, I know, it’s not very nice, but Daddy’s going to get it cleaned out and someday we can go swimming or even kayaking,” Kit says.

“I think Jackie already took a dip.”

“Did he? Well, he’s braver than me.”

“Let’s go over here,” I say. I walk to a little rise away from the trail and sit down on a fallen tree. It’s a good spot. That way I can hear and see anyone coming from the house.

“Sit next to me,” I tell her.