Seventy Times Seven (16 page)

The storm clouds had passed swiftly over the low-rise buildings of Cottondale, giving way to a bruised-blue evening sky and light drizzling rain.

Danny was parked in a side street across from Finn O’Hanlon’s apartment.

The three-storey red-brick building opposite had graffiti covering the walls of the ground floor, and the majority of the windows looked like they’d been boarded up for some time. The entire neighbourhood looked like it had been boarded up along with it.

A Victorian-style balcony ran the full length of the building on the first and second floors, with heavy glass panels acting as dividers between each of the apartments. The white paint on the balustrade had crackled and peeled in the humid atmosphere: the exposed wood underneath was grey and rotten.

Danny had planned to drive around for most of the day to familiarise himself with the area, but there wasn’t a lot to see: he was all done within less than an hour. Cottondale was not the sort of place you’d take a tour bus to: even after sundown, when the appearance of every other small town in America improved under the soft glow of orange sodium, it still looked bleak. If O’Hanlon
was
the Thevshi then he must have been really desperate not to be found, to put up with living here. It was a good place to hide, but a shit place to live.

Danny had been sitting in the car long enough to get himself noticed, but not long enough to know for certain if there was anyone inside O’Hanlon’s apartment. Aside from an old Mercedes that had circled the block two or three times – like the driver was lost – the street was deserted. However, even odd places have their own normality: a rhythm of life imperceptible to the casual passer-by. A guy sitting in a car on his own for most of the afternoon would be sure to attract attention: a beat out of time. It was time to make a move.

Danny pulled the MSG90’s scope from its soft leather pouch and sited it on O’Hanlon’s front room. The magnified image told him nothing that he didn’t already know: the flat was empty.

Situated directly opposite the shabby apartment block sat a small glass-fronted coffee shop with high stools facing out onto the street. From there he’d have a clear view of the first-floor balcony and the front door to the building: it would be easier to see who was entering and leaving. Maybe he’d go in and have a Coke, wait around for another twenty minutes or so to see if anyone showed up: or alternatively he could head into ‘Jo’s Bar’ on the far corner and get a beer. Or maybe he’d just walk across the street and ring the bloody doorbell: the chances of O’Hanlon still being around were nil.

Danny wanted to have a nose around, get a feel for who this guy was: hopefully find a photograph so that at the very least he would know what the guy looked like. He flipped the handle on the glove box and lifted out the Walther PPK to check it was loaded. He’d already checked it ten times, but it was something to do. Danny liked the feel of the PPK in his hand. It was a good weight; comfortable grip too. He tucked it in his belt, pulled on his leather jacket and got out of the car. Immediately Danny wished he’d worn his light cotton Harrington instead. This late at night – even with the light rainfall – the temperature was still in the eighties. Before he’d reached the other side of the street he was covered in sweat. The heat was fine; it was the humidity that made it unbearable. Danny never imagined he’d long for the cold grey Newry drizzle, but anything was better than this.

There was a light on in the apartment next to O’Hanlon’s. Whoever was in there was playing gospel music too loud for the time of night, but it sounded good echoing down the deserted street.

Of the twenty or so rectangular slots in the brass-framed plate screwed to the sidewall at the entrance, only three had names written in them. Flat B Four – O’Hanlon’s – was one of the blanks. The other names looked like they were Polish or Russian – something Eastern European.

Danny pressed the buzzer and waited.

Nothing.

Earlier on he’d driven down the alleyway at the rear of the building. It ran north to south along the back of the block. Danny decided to head round there and look for a way inside.

As he turned to walk away the lock on the main door suddenly buzzed and clicked open. The noise startled him. He hadn’t expected a response.

He peered from underneath the overhang to see if anyone was looking down at him from the balcony of O’Hanlon’s flat, but there was no one there.

Danny hadn’t really thought this through: he’d been so sure O’Hanlon was gone.

Reading off one of the other nameplates he leant forward and pressed O’Hanlon’s buzzer again. ‘Mr Slovensky, parcel for you. You want me to bring it up?’ Danny said‚ trying an American accent.

There was still no answer, but the lock buzzed again. The tall main door creaked and groaned loudly as Danny pushed against it, the sound reverberating down the hollow corridors. If O’Hanlon was upstairs waiting for him then he would know for certain that Danny was inside the building.

The place looked derelict. The only evidence that anything had ever lived there was the overpowering smell of piss and dog shit. And the temperature inside was worse than outside.

Halfway along the unlit corridor sat two doors‚ adjacent to one another; wooden battens were nailed across their frames, barring entry. At the far end was a stairwell leading to the upper floors.

Danny wiped the sweat from his forehead and stood for a moment, taking in his surroundings. The foul smell made him want to retch.

It struck Danny that this was a suitable place for a tout to live: hiding out in a shithole like a fucking rat. Served O’Hanlon right.

He turned back towards the entrance and took a big gulp of fresh air, then quickly made his way to the other end of the hallway. When he reached the stairwell he checked there was no one looking down on him before silently climbing the stairs to the first floor.

Danny was soon standing outside the door to O’Hanlon’s apartment: listening for any signs of movement. But it was difficult to hear anything over the din of the gospel music.

He stood for two or three minutes before creeping back along the corridor towards the stairwell and up to the next floor. As he suspected, the apartment directly above also had a piece of two-by-two nailed across the doorframe. In a matter of seconds he had ripped the timber off, and – using his Wiggler Rakes and a heavy shoulder – managed to force open the door.

The air inside the apartment was dry and musty, and particles of dust, disturbed by Danny’s intrusion, swirled in front of him, catching what little light there was spilling in through the windows.

In the middle of the room sat the carcass of an old sofa and next to it the remains of an upright piano. It looked as if the previous occupants had tried to strip it down in order to transport it elsewhere, then given up.

Danny tried the doors leading to the balcony and was surprised to find that they weren’t locked. He stepped out into the warm night air and peered over the edge of the wooden balustrade. Beneath him he could see the irregular pulse of Cathode-ray blue illuminating the balcony adjacent to O’Hanlon’s and he could hear the soaring voices of the gospel choir as their song reached its hallowed conclusion. Danny didn’t mind the music, but he wished they’d turn the volume down.

The drop to the balcony below looked no more than six or seven feet. After checking that the street was still empty, Danny climbed over the railings and started to lower himself down.

He realised too late that he’d underestimated: even at full stretch he couldn’t feel the top rail of the balustrade below. The only option he had was to drop lower and hold on to the concrete lip that ran around the bottom edge of the balcony, but there was no way of pulling himself back up.

The palms of his hands were covered in sweat and he could feel his grip starting to slip. If O’Hanlon looked out of his lounge window right now, it would be all over for Danny.

‘You breaking in or breaking out?’

The voice startled Danny so much that his right hand lost its grip on the wooden balustrade, leaving only his left to take his weight. As he scrambled desperately to regain a hold, the voice came again.

‘There ain’t nothing to steal round here so I’m guessing you musta forgot your keys or something.’

Danny managed to grab on and twist his head round. His instinct was to reach for his gun, but there was no way he could do that without falling thirty feet onto the sidewalk.

A small, skinny black kid was leaning out over the balcony next to O’Hanlon’s. He had a joint the size of an Esplendido hanging from his bottom lip.

‘Hey, is that you Mr O? Can’t see for shit in this light. Your face looks all bust up. And you’ve had the fuzz shaved off, too. You okay? Ardel an me’s been in session all day; not quite on the moon yet, but we is on a rocket ship heading in that direction. We’re so out of it, we is listening to goddamn gospel music . . . and it’s soundin good! Ardel says to me, “Okay Hud, the lyrics is white-supremacist Christian, but the music is all black.” And the way the sisters sing it‚ man, specially the Mississippi Mass Choir. Man, those bitches can soar. It’s got the hairs on my neck tingling like I’m plugged into the mains.’

Hud turned and shouted over his shoulder.

‘Hey, Ardel, turn the goddamn music down, man, I’m talking to Mr O . . . Come see. He’s hangin from the upstairs balcony like Batman. Where you been, Mr O, we ain’t heard you bangin around for a few days now? You been away getting yourself shaved?’

Before Danny could answer, Ardel joined Hud at the railings.

‘Mr O, where you been?’ asked Ardel. ‘What you doin hangin off the balcony? You should’ve taken the stairs. They smell of shit, but they’s much more convenient.’

Hud started laughing hard. ‘Convenient. Where’d you learn a word like “convenient”, man? You crack me up, Ardel.’

‘Convenient as in “convenient store”,’ replied Ardel‚ laughing too.

‘It’s “convenience store”. You’s Grade A‚ man. “A” for asshole. Convenience is wid an “S” not a “T”, man.’

Danny’s strength was starting to give.

‘Any chance you boys could give me a hand here?’

‘You fine, Mr O. If you fall there ain’t nothing on the sidewalk you gonna hit, but the sidewalk itself.’

‘Seriously Mr O,’ said Hud. ‘You fine. Drop your feet another inch and you’re there.’

The overhang was obstructing Danny’s view. He had to trust that Hud was right, but if they were stoned enough to think that he was O’Hanlon, they were stoned enough to misjudge the distance between his feet and the top of the railings. But Danny’s arms were aching; he wouldn’t be able to hold on much longer.

Danny closed his eyes and let his hands slip from the wooden railings. Almost immediately he found himself balancing on top of the handrail below. He quickly steadied himself by bracing both arms on the underside of the overhang, then jumped down to the safety of O’Hanlon’s balcony.

‘You hidin from that big black dude’s been round lookin for you? That why you’re all shaved . . . you trying to look like you is someone else?’ asked Ardel from behind the dividing screen. ‘That explain why you’s pushing our buzzer and asking for Mr Slovensky? It cracked us up. I said to Hud it’s like a code or something. “You want me to bring the parcel up?”’ continued Ardel, mimicking Danny’s tone. ‘Man, we were on the floor.’

Ardel started laughing again, but Hud stayed serious. ‘What happened to your face, Mr O? That lopsided motherfucker caught up with you already? Consolation is, your face is going to get better: his face, there ain’t no cure for. Asshole gave us fifty bucks, said there was another fifty if we call him soon as you show up.’

‘Yeah, he’s been hangin out over at Jo’s,’ said Ardel. ‘Drinkin margaritas and tryin to look mean. Jo’s upset cause the dude don’t eat nothing. Just drinks fancy cocktails and sits there arguing with his reflection in the window. Ah says to Jo, you don’t want to upset him by makin him eat your food, but Jo don’t get the joke . . . She thinks she’s pretty good in the kitchen, but she ain’t. Big, ugly motherfucker don’t look too well either . . . Him I mean, not Jo. Looks kinda pale for a black man. Says he has some business wid you, but if you ask me he’s not the kind you want to be doin business with, Mr O. Had a big nine-mil. stickin out his coat, was the only business he had about him. You know what I mean. What he don’t know is, Jo’s keeping a check on him for us. She don’t like the look of him either and she got an eye for that kind of thing.’

‘We goin back to the choir now, Mr O, catch you later,’ continued Hud as though he’d just remembered the music was still playing. ‘We see that big motherfucker hangin round we’ll bang on the wall; give you some warning. Won’t cost you fifty dollars either, for you it’s free . . . Say amen‚ somebody.’

Ardel was laughing again. ‘“Say amen.” Man you crack me up.’

The two of them had been talking from behind the opaque glass screen separating the two balconies.

Just as Danny turned away Ardel’s face appeared round the edge of the glass. ‘We’ll throw you over a bag, Mr O. It’s mellow enough, but don’t smoke it all at once – it can sneak up and fuck you in the ass. Catch you later.’

Danny shouted after him. ‘Ardel.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Did the guy give a name?’

‘Yeah. Vincent.’

‘Thanks.’

Danny shouted after him again.

‘Ardel.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Turn the fuckin music down‚ would ye?’

There was another burst of laughter.

Danny turned to face the sliding glass doors. He checked to see if they were unlocked before pressing his face against the glass to look inside. That’s when he heard the scream.

Suddenly the balcony was flooded with light. There was a woman inside, standing in the corner of the lounge, holding a Snub Nose. One hand on the light switch, the other pointing the gun straight at him. All of a sudden the balcony was plunged back into darkness.

Danny didn’t have time to jump out of the way before there was a flash and the first bullet exploded through the balcony door. Long slivers of glass hurtled out over the railings and down onto the street below. The woman fired a second and third shot in quick succession, both bullets fizzing past close to Danny’s head.