“I don’t see him” said Fanning. “He didn’t come out of the house.” Cully was looking through the menus on his mobile.
“Take it easy,” he said. “He’ll show.”
Fanning was sure that Cully sensed that he was on the edge of panic. He tried to breathe through his mouth calmly. The rubber tang from the stick-ons was making him nauseous.
“He’s late,” Fanning said. “Call it off.”
Cully looked over.
“You need to be patient,” he said. “It’ll be fine.”
“This makeup stuff is the worst, I feel like puking from the smell.”
“Ain’t you been around that stuff though? Your books thing, films?”
Fanning ran his fingers around his cheekbones and his forehead again. The stuff felt like scabs.
“I wouldn’t know you now,” said Cully. “I swear.”
“That’s ironic.”
“Ironic?”
“Coming from you, I mean. I don’t know you, do I?”
“That’s funny,” said Cully. “I like that, yes. Funny.”
There was that English accent slipping in again, Fanning noted. He pulled the mirror open at the back of the visor. The interior light of the car was yellow.
“See?” said Cully. “You’re a natural. It’s aged you ten, twenty years.”
Fanning tilted his head to see if the grey had streaked or gathered in one spot. Cully reached between the seats and pulled a jean jacket from the floor.
“Look, enough,” Fanning said. “This is not working out.”
“No worries I said. He’ll be there.”
“Is he watching us? Does he know we’re parked here on his road?”
“No he doesn’t,” said Cully. “You have to change into these boots — and you’re using a hat, right?”
“And if he doesn’t show up?”
“He’ll show up. He does what he’s told.”
“Who’s telling him?”
“We’ll talk about that later. Use this.”
He dropped a watchman’s hat on the console.
“Do the boots outside, then we’ll go into the shop. Wear the glasses.”
“I don’t want to wear glasses.”
“These glasses have a tint to them. It shifts your eye colour a bit.”
“‘Shifts?’”
“I don’t know. Just wear them. Every little bit helps.”
Fanning closed the mirror and pushed the visor back. He watched the headlights on the cars passing up the road. When the roads were dry, the reflection of their lights flooded the surface of the tarmac with a dull shine.
“Is this a setup?” he asked Cully after a while.
“What?”
“I said, is this a setup.”
He couldn’t tell if Cully was angry or amused.
“A setup?”
“Right. Are you a Guard? Like some undercover type?”
Cully shook his head.
“And I’m some kind of bait?”
Cully eyed him.
“You want to call it off then,” he said in a flat voice. “Right?”
Fanning imagined himself stepping out into the damp night air, walking by the houses, their windows flaring and glowing with the televisions, and crossing the road to the shop.
“What does this guy look like?” he asked Cully.
“No idea,” said Cully. The abrupt shift to an almost pensive tone caught Fanning offguard.
“Young bloke I imagine. His dad’s in the business, or was.”
“Was?”
“He’s doing time somewhere. Why do you need to know? Oh, right. ‘Background?’”
“You’ve never seen this guy?”
“The dad?”
“No, the one who’s supposed to be at the shop.”
“No. Why would I. None of my business really, is it. I just made the call. Got told where to go. That’s how things work.”
“All to show me how I can get ahold of a gun in Dublin.”
“Right. How easy it is.”
Cully opened the door and left it slightly ajar. Fanning waited for him to look over.
“I’d feel a lot better about this,” he said to Cully, “or at least, I could get it straight in my head, if I knew what was in it for you.”
“What, for me?”
“Yes, for you.”
Cully seemed ready to smile.
“Well you’re going to pay me right? Like Murph. Whatever the going rate for him is.”
Shadows cast on Cully’s face, but the overhead light hit off his eyes.
“Something tells me that you mightn’t be in it just for the money.”
Cully leaned back against the door. Fanning was surprised to see a smile broke out on his face.
“Well I have to say this film business thing interests me a little.”
“I’m only doing research.”
“Have to start somewhere, right? But what I’m saying is, I was always interested in films.”
“Who isn’t,” said Fanning. “Pirates of the Caribbean, right?”
“War films actually.”
“Of course.”
“Why ‘of course’? Are they not good enough? Ever see The Thin Red Line?”
“Okay, so you want to be Colin Farrell. Fine.”
Cully let the quiet last.
“You’ve got stagefright,” he said at last.
“That’s what. Blathering away there. Trust me, you’re safe as a house. He’s not going to make you. And you don’t even have to say a word, do you. Just buy those fags, and let him hear you. Pay for them — we’re not doing robberies, remember. Then you meet him outside, you take the bag — and then it’s pip-pip, over and out.”
“If he wants to talk, or ask me questions?”
“He won’t.”
“Or asks me for money now?”
“Won’t happen.”
The draft of night air flowing into the car carried a faint smell of coal smoke.
“And yes,” said Cully. “I’ll be parked here. Where we said. Promise.”
“Well at least you’re enjoying yourself. Easy for you to sit here.”
Cully spoke in a quiet voice.
“Look. It’s no big thing. Just relax.”
“That’s Murph’s script too: just relax.”
“Really. Well let me tell you something. If Murph said ‘relax,’ then that’s when you should worry. Now when I say it, I mean it. You’re in good hands.”
“How do I know?”
“Murph would have dragged you into a lot of situations. I’m telling you.”
Fanning elected for silence. He tried to ignore the pungent scent of the glue working its way into his nostrils again for another assault on his patience.
“And the thing is,” Cully murmured, “you wouldn’t have known, would you. Until it was too late.”