Fireproof (30 page)

"What's your question?" O'Brien's eyelids drooped. Mike needed to cut to the chase.

"Where can I find Kelly?"

"What's it worth?"

"You have two choices; a quicker death or I'll get you to the hospital. Live or die, the choice is yours."

"Put my toes on ice. I want to go to the hospital."

"I knew you were a survivor. Bad smells and boomerangs, just like you, they always come back. I think it might be a bit late for the toes, but it's a deal. Where is he?"

"He caught wind of a police operation to lift him. He went into hiding. He's renting a caravan off the gypsies on the Glen Road. You wouldn't get a cop in there for all the chicken chow mein in China."

Mike was quite impressed. An Irish Travellers' campsite. Probably the safest place in the world for a wanted man with enough money.

"Okay, Dave, I'm going to take out those nails. Brace yourself."

Before Mike did anything, he put the tea towel back in O'Brien's mouth. The tortured man seemed grateful to have something to bite down on.

Thursday night was one of the longest Cathy ever experienced. Mike was busy with O'Brien and Cathy had sworn off drink. Even though she wouldn't see Mike that night a deal was a deal. No more booze until after the thing with Cerberus. She sat in front of the television until the early hours. Images flickered on the screen as sitcom after sitcom played out in front of her, but she didn't take in one gag or even hear the canned applause. She spent her night cataloguing her time with Mike. She wanted to spend the time she'd been physically denied wallowing in mental reflection. Mental. Probably the key word to describe all that had happened since he'd strutted into her life.

She woke up on Friday morning with a pain in her neck and the television on. The comedy network had run out of programmes and an eighty minute advertisement for a treadmill assaulted her early morning senses. She found the remote on the arm of her brown leather sofa and hit the red button. The screen went black and the crackle of static was music to her ears. She checked her watch. In another hour her alarm clock would go off. She considered crawling up the stairs and climbing into her bed for an hour, but decided against it. She turned on her mobile phone instead. A text message from Mike asked her to call him ASAP.

"Mike, are you finished with O'Brien already?"

"Yes. I got Jim to drop him off at the hospital an hour ago."

"He's still alive?"

"I think so. He told me something very interesting, so I cut him some slack."

"Share it with me."

"Later. I can't think about it now. Cerberus is a more immediate problem."

"Cerberus won't be here until tomorrow. What are we going to do today?"

"We're going to have a day off."

"What?"

"You're going to spend the day in bed with me."

"Get over here now."

Cathy didn't feel one bit guilty about leaving a message on the office answering machine. She didn't want to divert her attention from Mike for an instant, even to phone the ladies in another couple of hours and let them know she was taking yet another day off. As she hung up, Mike rapped on the front door. He must have started walking as soon as he'd answered the phone to her. Cathy let her man in, locked the door and closed all the blinds in the house. For twenty-four hours they were each other's universe.

***

Cathy's alarm clock announced Saturday morning. They hadn't slept much, and had eaten less, but Cathy felt more awake and fulfilled than she ever had. Mike had no complaints either. A huge day lay ahead, but Cathy was ready for anything.

"The bakery should be open for business now," Cathy said.

"Let's get the dog a scone."

"That doesn't even rhyme if you say it right."

"It depends how you were brought up."

"Your family came from the West too!"

"But we were a bit further up the road than you lot. It was practically a suburb."

Cathy rolled her eyes and nipped Mike's arm.

"Just get up and get dressed, you fool. We have to get to work."

Mike sighed but did as he was told. It crushed Cathy to admit that their little diversion had to end, but they needed to prepare for the day. It might be a hopeless situation, but that was no reason not to try.

"Mike, was it not a bit dangerous to let O'Brien live? What if he comes looking for you or talks to the cops?"

"He's probably in a coma. If not, who's going to believe that I came back from the grave to torture him?"

"Touché."

Outside the bakery, a sign announced a special offer on honey cakes; three for two pounds fifty.

"That's kind of serendipitous," Mike said.

"Guess it's our lucky day. How many should we get?"

"All of them."

The bleary-eyed young girl behind the till didn't seem too happy in her work. Cathy could understand why. The smell of alcohol in an ill-timed yawn launched in her direction screamed vodka hangover. She decided not to tax the young girl with pleasantries.

"We'll take all of your honey cakes, please."

"You want a bag with that?"

Cathy held back a forked-tongue response.

"Yes please. There are quite a few."

The girl shrugged and filled two brown paper bags with a dozen cakes. Her packing skills were unscientific. She asked Cathy for ten pounds and Cathy handed her a fiver. The girl didn't notice and bade them farewell.

Back at Cathy's house they sat at the kitchen table with the honey cakes spread out in front of them. Mike had brought his abundance of tranquilisers and sleeping pills in his overnight bag the night before.

"So, should we just spread the medication out evenly amongst all the cakes or what?" Mike asked.

"Well, they look delicious. Maybe we could have one and fill up the other eleven."

"Deal."

They drank tea and chomped on the crumbly, sticky treat as they pushed a variety of pills into the other cakes with knitting needles. Mike assured Cathy that a beast the size of Cerberus would never notice the telltale holes the needles created.

"Do you know what time this meeting will happen at?" Cathy asked.

"It wasn't specified, but evil has a real capacity for the dramatic. I'd guess noon."

"And I take it you've picked a place where they'll find you."

"Indeed. For sentimental reasons I thought we'd wait for them at The Beehive. The upstairs dance floor is empty at that time of day and roomy enough."

"How will we get in?"

"I phoned earlier in the week and booked it. Told them it was for a business meeting. The barman will let me in at quarter to twelve. Jim and Cadbury will meet me there."

"Nice work, Mike."

"So, we've a couple of hours to spare. What do you think we should do?"

Cathy laughed as Mike pointed his eyes to the ceiling and jerked his head towards the foot of the stairs. To make sure that there was no confusion he gave her a lecherous wink.

"How can I refuse such a subtle and romantic suggestion?"

Cathy stood up and bolted to the stairs in such a hurry that she knocked over her chair. Mike was on her heels in an instant. They dived onto the bed in a giggling, groping heap and enjoyed the stolen moment. There was no better way to keep their thoughts off the oncoming confrontation.

At half past eleven Cathy and Mike met Cadbury and Jim outside the pub. They were about to go in when an inhuman shriek caused them to turn on their heels as one. They fastened their attention on a teenager in filthy hospital pyjamas on the other side of the Falls Road, his face and head severely damaged. It was Tony, and he was waving a small handgun in their direction.

"I'll get all of you fuckers now." Tony's voice cracked as he yelled his threat. "You're all fucking dead."

Cathy looked to Mike for a solution. The muscles in his jaw flexed.

"That little pistol won't hit us from all the way over there, Tony." Mike's voice was clear and easily heard over the late morning traffic. "It looks like you got your hands on a converted CO2 pistol. Is it one of the Russian ones? A Makarov, maybe? They're only accurate up to about ten feet, you spud. You'd have been better off with a catapult. And at least there's no risk of backfire with a catapult."

"Well then, I'll just get a little closer, you wanker."

"That's not a good idea, Tony. I think you should just leave it."

"Mike, he's got a gun," Cathy said.

"I know," Mike said. "Maybe he can't shoot for shit, though?"

Cathy didn't like the uncertainty in his expression.

Tony stormed across the four lane road. In the heat of the moment, lost in anger and frustration, Mike's former right-hand man forgot to stop, look and listen. A car ploughed into him and flipped him into the air. There were screams from passing pedestrians and tyres screeched as cars braked to avoid a collision with the car in front. Tony lay sprawled out on the road, his limbs at impossible angles. If he managed to survive, he was unlikely to bother anyone for a long time.

"He'll live," Cadbury said, as if reading Cathy's thoughts, which he probably was.

"That's good," Mike said. "He's a harmless wee fucker really. I hope they get him some help when he recovers."

Jim mumbled something so low that Cathy almost missed it. "I'm sorry, mate. Wish I could have helped." Cathy had a sudden urge to cry for the stupid wee Hood. But she pulled herself together.

"I suppose we should go inside," Cathy said.

***

Jim pointed out that they had time for a quick drink. They each had a non-alcoholic beverage at the downstairs bar. A clouded mind could only be a hindrance. They went upstairs at ten to twelve and stood at the edge of the dance floor, facing the DJ box. The honey cakes rested on a table behind them. They were out of their paper bags and waiting for Cerberus. Nobody spoke. Cathy counted the illegal cigarette butts missed by the cleaners on the dance floor. When she had accounted for all of those she counted the grey lumps of chewing gum stuck to the cheap laminate flooring.

"Mike, you've brought some friends."

She had been so caught up in scanning the floor for new material to count she hadn't noticed the three-headed dog taking up half of the dance floor. The middle head continued to talk.

"Are you sure you want them to see this?"

"I needed their help to carry all of these honey cakes," Mike said.

"Honey cakes, eh?" said the right head.

"It's kind of a bribe."

"How'd you know we like honey cakes, Mike?" The voice from the left head was laced with suspicion.

"Read it on the internet."

Mike's voice sounded calm but Cathy could barely breathe. Cerberus was on to them. The dog knew what they were up to. They had been too obvious.

"Have they been soaked in drugged wine, Mike?" the middle head asked.

"I can honestly say they haven't."

"Let me taste one."

Mike reached behind himself and scooped a cake from the table. He lobbed it across the room and the middle head snatched it out of the air. The other two heads watched powerful jaws maul the cake in anticipation.

"What are the crunchy bits, Mike?"

"Almonds."

"These aren't bad. Can't taste any wine. Chuck a couple more this way."

Mike threw two more cakes. The heads on the left and right snatched one each. They grunted in ecstasy as they ate. Cathy began to breathe normally again. A few more cakes and a little more stalling and they just might get through this.

"What about me, Mike? You got nothing for me?"

Cathy recognised the voice. She'd never heard the screechy, torturous tone outside of that one dream, but it was unmistakeable. She looked towards the source and saw the imp. It sat astride the neck of Cerberus's middle head, now visible because the head was bowed in an attempt to lick stray crumbs from the floor. The little snot looked different; two dimensional, almost. The green flesh also had a char-grilled crisscross pattern running through it. She hoped for the opportunity to inflict more damage on the little bastard.

Jim spoke, "I guess the big, fucking three-headed dog is Cerberus, but is the little green thing the imp?"

"You can see it?" Mike asked.

Jim nodded.

"I can see it too," Cathy said.

"I'm not here as a personal messenger today, Mike," the imp said. "I'm just here to watch you die. No need to hide myself from your pals. Your time's up and that's that."

"I'd rather not see you, so if it's less effort, hide away," Cathy said.

"Hmm. Yes, very funny, miss. So, anyway, Mike, you think this offering of baked goods is going to buy you a reprieve? You're just whetting the beast's appetite."

Mike tossed another triplet of cakes at the dog. The imp held on tight as the heads shot out in three directions.