Faning’s eyes were itching from staring at the screen. Reflexively, his fingers tapped the Apple — S combination. Then he did a Save As to his memory stick before closing the file. He returned to Google Maps, and zoomed in on the lane where he had gone with Cully and West Ham. No, the image hadn’t changed. What did he expect, that a satellite had passed, taken a photo and it was on the server already? Complete with the five of them in the lane behind the pub? Magical thinking indeed. But that guy with the broken arm must have gone to some hospital or clinic: he’d be traceable.
He began to compose an email to Breen. Subject: Real Crime Story. While the cursor pulsed on, awaiting his words, he imagined Breen reading this cryptic email that he was about to start. But did Breen junk his email? Did he even check his email? For several moments, Fanning imagined Breen opening the email, but then rolling his eyes and deleting it. Fanning trying to generate some buzz. Fanning trying to show off. Fanning deluding himself.
Tomorrow for the email, he decided then.
He closed the lid of the laptop and waited for the sleep light to begin. Then he stood and stretched. He felt no real easing in the tightness at the small of his back, so he moved the chair to get to the rug. It smelled of food and mustiness when he tipped it with his nose, and did his first push-up. He tried to focus on his breathing and to ignore the yammering thoughts. That ache at the bottom of his chest was an adrenaline hangover. He still could not decide if this was from fear or excitement. He rested for a minute, staring up the table legs to the underside of the table, and the ceiling beyond. This Cully character didn’t just beat up people for kicks. And the guy with him…?
Fanning’s back was still tight. He rolled up and stood slowly, and he poised himself to do a bit of yoga. He focused on his breathing and started into a Greeting to the Sun, breathing loudly to try to still his mind better. It took him a minute or so to complete the routine, and he was soon back on the rug, as flat and still as he could. He listened to his blood coursing by, his own breath whistling slower in his nose. Calm settled on him then, and he could almost see in his mind’s eye the truth coming to rest like a leaf on a sunlit path. Cully was mocking him. He was also daring him. It was a test, Fanning saw, and that made it easy to decide.
Aisling groaned in her sleep. Fanning got up slowly and tiptoed to her room. She was inert, splayed out, with her mouth open. She swallowed and she frowned and she turned over. He lifted the edge of the blanket to her shoulder and watched her settle again. He parted the curtains on his way back to the kitchen. The white BMW was still there, far enough from the street lamp for its interior to remain dark. The hall door opened, and a key was pulled out of the lock. He stepped quickly out of Aisling’s room, glad to hear the familiar sound of Velcro being teased apart. Brid was panting. She pulled the safety vest over her head and sat heavily into a kitchen chair.
“God almighty,” she said, half-whispering. “I’m huffing and puffing tonight like an oul wan. Brutal.”
“It’s hard getting back into it.”
She glanced at him before she leaned down to get at her laces. Jogging was not his thing, never had been, he thought of saying.
“Well that’s it for me. A bath and bed. Feck marking for tonight.”
“Good. I want to borrow your phone.”
“Where’s yours?”
“Oh I have it but it might be on the blink. Just in case.”
She straightened up slowly.
With her flush cheeks and bright eyes, years had come off her.
“You’re going out?”
“Just for a while. A chance to meet with some people, research.”
“Fieldwork,” she said.
She was holding back, he knew. He felt bold.
“I’ll wake you up when I come home,” he said.
She raised her eyebrows, and seemed to weigh his words.
“Oh will you now,” she murmured.
He was able to hold her gaze, and even add a brazen touch to his own. She smiled cryptically.
“Only if I’m asleep,” she said.
He hadn’t expected that.
Murphy’s BMW smelled like an ashtray. Actually, it smelled more like the ashbin from years ago, the one Fanning’s grandmother had used. A hint of long used car-freshener only made things worse.
Cully waited for Fanning to pull the door closed. “Okay,” he said. “We’ll go for a little drive then, won’t we.”
“How about Murph?”
“Loaned it to me, he did.”
“So, it’s just us?”
“Isn’t that enough?”
“Not until I get some answers from you.”
Cully lowered his hand from the key in the ignition and he looked over.
“Let’s start with how you found my house,” Fanning asked.
“You’re pissed off, aren’t you.”
“I don’t like you talking about my family. About my wife. That’s out of order. Big time.”
“Big time?”
“I’m serious. That can’t happen again.”
“Or?”
Fanning stared into the reflections of the street lamps in Cully’s eyes. His heart pounded harder.
“Leave my family out of this. Don’t hang around my place.”
Cully’s voice seemed tighter when he spoke now.
“Talking tough, are you. For a bookish type.”
“Where did that come from, ‘bookish type’?”
“You practising dialogue or something? Rehearsals already?”
“We need to be on the level here,” said Fanning. “This isn’t a game.”
Cully’s face creased in a grin. He rubbed his nose as he looked away.
“‘This isn’t a game,’ he tells me. Tells me.”
He turned back to Fanning.
“Are you the same fella I was with earlier on?”
“I’m not the one asked for your, whatever, services, am I?”
Cully didn’t answer. He turned the ignition instead, and gave the engine two short revs.
“How’d you know my place?”
“Whose car is this?” Cully asked.
“Murph? He told you?”
“It’s not hard to figure out. Phone directory? The Internet?”
He waited.
“Look,” he said to Fanning then. “We going or not?”
Fanning took a few moments before he put on his seat belt.
“Left, left again, then right for the Dundrum Road?”
“That’s it. Where are we going?”
“A sort of tour.”
“Where is ‘a sort of tour’?”
“Social, that’s all. Relaxing. R and R. No-one gets hurt.”
“R and R, why do you say that? I heard you say it before.”
“Just an expression, isn’t it.”
“Are you English? British?”
Cully smiled and he rubbed at his chin.
“This an interview?”
“Background.”
“Oh, I’m going to be a character in your thing?”
“You sound like a Dub but then you go Cockney a lot of the time.”
“Do I really? Do I?”
It was a perfect East End accent, Fanning had to admit.
“Watched too much Austin Powers,” said Cully. “Probably. Mis-spent youth and all that.”
“‘Youff,’” said Fanning. “That sort of thing.”
“You making fun of me?”
“What else did you do?”
“Cocky fella tonight, aren’t you. What are you on?”
“You don’t like questions, do you?”
“I don’t mind actually,” said Cully.
“So, what else did you do?”
“This and that.”
“What does that mean?”
“Means what I said. Here, let me give you a little tip on etiquette here. Save your questions, save them for later. Just er, observe. Is that the correct term?”
Fanning couldn’t tell how much was sarcasm now. Cully shifted to third but misjudged the clutch, and the car staggered.
“Shitbox,” he said with little feeling. “Give me Jap any day.”
“Nondescript,” said Fanning. “Is that a clue?”
“Non — de…?”
“Ordinary.”
“That sounds about right,” said Cully. “Nothing wrong with being ordinary, is there. I mean it’s okay to stand out, don’t get me wrong, but for a good cause, see? Princess Di, Bono — that sort of thing.”
“Princess Di? You actually believe that, what you just said?”
“No.”
Cully made the light at Milltown Road. Fanning took out his notebook.
“Notebook?” Cully asked. “Like a reporter?”
“It’s too easy to forget stuff.”
Cully nodded as if in appreciation of the idea.
“Keep it on you all the time, do you?”
“Pretty well.”
“Just one?”
“One at a time.”
“I should do that,” said Cully. “Don’t trust all the online stuff, I have to say. But does your stuff, your job, have a lot of detail? Appointments, all that?”
“Maybe not as much as yours,” said Fanning.
“Nice,” said Cully. “Nice way of asking.”
The excitement in Fanning’s chest had settled. He had expected Cully’s evasions. He wasn’t an iijit.
He began to jot down some notes, scribbling intentionally:
— no bling
— takes care (driving, appearance, etc.)
— not defensive.
He couldn’t imagine Cully sitting around a pub with a bunch of thugs. What could he have instead of Tony Soprano’s restaurant and bakery routine?
“What does a fella do for entertainment?” he asked Cully.
Cully turned to him with a half-amused expression. In the oncoming lights Fanning caught sight of a line of shiny skin that ran under Cully’s eyebrow.
“Not too shy about your questions tonight, are you.”
Fanning took this as praise.
“Part of the job,” he said to Cully. “If you want to tell me things, you will. If you don’t, well you won’t.”
“It’s a free country and all that, right?”
“So they say.”
“It’s free if you’ve got money,” said Cully. “I mean look at this place. Rathgar. One mill, two mill, for a house here? But not too free when you’re not on the winning side.”
“You mean poor?”
“You use that word, do you? I’ve only been hearing dictionary words myself, like, well — you probably know them better. Underprivileged?”
“Marginalized.”
“That’s one. First time I heard it I thought margarine. Is that what poor people have to eat? What’s so bad about that?”
Fanning scribbled the word “margarine” in his notebook.
“Are you going to use that? I don’t want to look stupid.”
“No. It’s just a remark, for atmosphere. Ambiance.”
“See, you left me right there, with words like that. That’s something I could never do, I could never remember all those words.”
“Was it hard-going for you at school, when you were a kid?”
“That’s a weird question. Did you ask Murph questions like that too?”
“Sure, I did.”
“And what did he come up with?”
“Not much, to be honest.”
“What a surprise there. Anything he did tell you was fantasy. Whatever he thought he could get away with. You know?”
“Possibly.”
“Oh, I guarantee it. Yes, I do.”
Cully geared down for a light in the middle of Rathgar. He looked around at the parked cars, the pubs, and the restaurants.
“Lambo,” he murmured, “over there. Lamborghini, a Diablo. AMG Mercedes a few down, see by that gate? Uh-oh a yellow Porsche. The killer one. Let me see if I can spot one ordinary car around here.”
“You know a lot about cars?”
“I like them, is all.”
“Are those ones easy to boost?”
Cully made a long blink and he looked over.
“‘To boost?’“
“To rob. To steal.”
“Well, listen to you,” said Cully. “Cheeky.”
“Well? Are they hard to steal?”
“How would I know that?”
Cully drove through the green light onto Terenure Road.
“Where are we going?” Fanning asked. “You said on the phone that you’d be stopping off at a few places.”
“Do you know Kimmage at all?”
“Not much. Do you?”
This time, Fanning sensed annoyance in Cully’s glance. Several seconds passed. It was long enough for Fanning’s glow of pride at surprising Cully to subside.
“Cashel Road,” said Cully then. “A road off that. I have to meet a man. Give him a message, collect something.”
“Is it anything like the message you gave those two this afternoon?”
“Those two drug dealers? The pair from Siberia?”
“Siberia?”
“Well how do I know?”
“Eastern Europe?”
“Something like that I suppose.”
“Were you paid to do what you did?”
“I do what I have to do,” he said.
To Fanning, it was as though Cully had expected the question sooner.
He seemed to know the area well enough, steering the BMW with ease by the bends and the parked cars.
“This is Murph’s playground here,” he said in an almost cheerful voice then. “Kimmage. Did you know that?”
“Well, he grew up here.”
“So he’d be wised up, you could say.”
“I suppose.”
“So he wised you up then. Not to shower people with questions.”
“He did mention to mind my manners. Words to that effect.”
“Too bad he doesn’t practise what he preaches himself.”
He drove on, each turn of the wheel and gearstick fluid and expert now, it seemed. His eyes went to all the mirrors often, expertly, easily. He coasted to the lights at Fortfield Road, and put on his indicator. It was a long traffic light.
“What did you mean about Murph?” Fanning said.
“‘Practise what you preach’ stuff? Or about him and his rubbish ideas?”
“Both. Either.”
Cully looked over.
“Bet you’re wondering about Murph, aren’t you.”
“Sort of.”
“You know he was a complete spoof, right?”
“I let him just run with it. Took some of what he said with a grain of salt.”
“Okay. I mean how could you check on anything he told you anyway, right?”
“That’s about it.”
“I mean can you see yourself sitting across the table from some cop?”
“Why would I do that?”
“I’m not saying you would. But it’s common sense, isn’t it? How would you know what Murphy said is true, any of it?”
“Well it’s fiction I’m aiming for.”
“Right, of course.”
Fanning wasn’t sure if Cully was baiting him again.
“Either way, you’ll get nothing good off of him,” Cully said. He accelerated quickly to get through the junction ahead of an oncoming van.
“Murph’s out of this line of work. My suggestion.” “But he loaned you his car.”
“Yes he did.”
“And his phone.”
“Yup.”
“Very generous of him. I didn’t think he loaned out his car.”
“Well he did the right thing. I mean, he’s not a complete prat. A person needs to make amends, you know.”
“Amends for…?”
“It’s a few things. Carelessness.”
“For talking to me as well?”
Cully paused between gear shifts.
“Was that frowned on, him talking to me?” Fanning asked.
“Could be.”
“Whatever that means. ‘Could be.’”
“Let’s just say certain people thought Murph was out of order. Okay, we’re coming up to this place.”