Seventy Times Seven (20 page)

As he was backed in through the balcony doors Finn glanced down and saw that the bar stool where Marie had been sitting was empty: he hoped she wasn’t on her way up.

Suddenly Finn’s head snapped backwards. Danny had grabbed him by the hair and pulled him off balance. In the same movement he’d struck Finn hard on the side of his face with the stubby end of the Walther’s ridged handle. The sharp, stabbing pain made Finn’s legs give way underneath him and he collapsed backwards into the armchair. ‘Jesus!’ He folded his arms over his head to shield his face from any further blows . . . but for now the assault seemed to be over.

Finn could see that the Walther was no longer pointing at his forehead, but dangling limply by Danny McGuire’s side. If he lunged forward now he could easily grab it and twist it from his grasp.

Finn slowly lowered his arms and looked up. Danny was staring back at him, his face blank, lacking any expression whatsoever. It was as if he had suddenly been struck dumb. His breathing was short and laboured and the hand holding his gun had started to shake and tremble. The only sounds that could be heard inside the room were the palm fronds, brushing against each other in the gentle breeze outside, and the occasional incomprehensible murmur wafting up from the poolside bar.

Danny tried to speak, but the words seemed to catch in his throat, like they were too difficult. There was a question he wanted answered. It was the reason he’d made the journey to find O’Hanlon. It was the reason his hand was now shaking uncontrollably. But Danny could barely breathe. He had tears streaming down his face.

Sitting in front of him was the man who could give him the answer to the question that had plagued his every waking hour for the last eight years, but now, suddenly, there was no reason to ask it.

Danny recognised the man sitting in the chair, but his name was not Finn O’Hanlon.

Suddenly Finn bowed his head forward and mumbled quietly, ‘I’m sorry for everything I’ve done, Danny, but I had no choice.’ He paused for a few moments before slowly rising to his feet and taking a step forward. ‘I’m sorry, Wub.’

There were only two people in the world who called Danny by his nickname, and one of them – Lep McFarlane – was dead: the other was his brother, Sean McGuire, who now stood before Danny with his arms outstretched.

He was speaking again. ‘I have no right to ask, Wub, but I need all the forgiveness you have in you.’

‘Are you the Thevshi?’ asked Danny through his sobs.

Sean’s eyes were focused: staring straight back at him, letting him know that this was the truth.

‘No.’

Only then did Danny open his arms and accept his brother’s embrace. The only thought going through his mind at that moment was to hold on and never let go.

Marie had a recurring nightmare. She was a lawyer defending a major criminal. The judge would ask questions she didn’t know the answer to. When her client was in the dock, she couldn’t remember his name and constantly had to refer to her notes, but the pages in front of her were always blank. She’d been given the case by mistake, but there was no one to tell. When she woke up she was always left with the vague sense that she didn’t really know what the hell was going on in her life.

It was the same feeling she had now: only this wasn’t a dream.

Marie was frowning. She couldn’t figure out what was bothering her more: the rising body count and the fact that Vincent Lee Croll had found them so easily, or what had happened earlier in the motel room, when Finn had avoided making love to her.

He wanted her, no doubt about it, but something was holding him back. They’d started to kiss, the attraction and intensity definitely there, but suddenly Finn had pulled away, saying, ‘No, this is not what you want.’ She had to stop herself from shouting at him, ‘It is what I want, please just fuck me.’ Maybe she was reading too much into it all, not seeing the situation as it really was. But Marie was certain of one thing: she was falling in love with this man.

On the journey from Finn’s apartment he’d wanted to hear every detail of what happened with Croll and the other guy calling himself Mr Leonard. When she mentioned Lep’s name Finn’s whole demeanour suddenly changed. He had smiled and nodded to himself like somehow he’d been expecting this news. The idea had been to head for Cherokee Falls – lie low for a few days before crossing the state line – but straight away he’d asked her to turn the car round and head back to Tuscaloosa. He didn’t say why, in fact he didn’t say another word for the rest of the journey.

She’d tried to ask him what the hell was going on: why were they heading back? But it was like Finn disappeared right in front of her: no longer available, his mind switched on to something else. Eventually she’d given up.

He didn’t come alive again until they were sitting at the bar.

‘Just to let you know, we getting to last orders. You still got some in here.’ The barman was holding the silver shaker in his right hand and Marie’s glass in his left. ‘You want to finish it off and order another, or you all done?’

‘I’ll just finish what’s in there,’ she replied.

‘You live in Tuscaloosa?’

‘I think so. I’m not sure any more.’

‘You want me to call your mommy: get her to come pick you up? You’re looking like you is lost.’

Marie smiled. ‘You’re very perceptive, but I’m fine, thank you.’

‘You here on a visit?’

‘Sort of.’

‘What you work at?’

‘I used to be a barmaid.’

‘No kidding.’

The guy was short and heavy-set with dark shiny hair and a moustache: his accent was either Mexican or Spanish. The way he pronounced ‘kidding’ like ‘keeding’ gave Marie a kick.

‘If I was kidding I’d come up with a better vocation than barmaid. No offence,’ said Marie.

‘Ees okay,’ replied the barman. ‘I trained as an accountant, but for some reason no one in America wants a Mexican looking after their money.’

Marie didn’t feel much like talking, but the guy seemed okay and she knew herself how tedious serving drinks could be.

‘I didn’t think you were from Montgomery,’ said Marie, giving the guy an opening.

‘Lived there from when I was thirteen. I’m from Chimalhuacán in Mexico originally: right bang in the middle. It’s so hot there in the summer you climb into the oven to cool off. Your husband looks like he got something big weighing him down. Making his head sag.’

‘He’s not my husband,’ said Marie.

‘Your boyfriend?’

‘I don’t know how you would describe him. I don’t think there’s a category for what he is.’

‘So long as he treats you okay, ees the main thing.’

‘You still got the accent pretty strong.’

‘My wife’s from there too. We speak Spanish to each other every day is probably why.’

‘That where you learned to mix such great sours?’ she said.

‘Thank you! It’s the egg-white finishes them off. My grandma showed me how to do it. She used to travel to the coast every day and make them on the beach for the tourists.’

‘What did she do with the yolk?’

‘You’re the first person’s ever asked me that. Hangover cure: very popular. In Chimalhuacán everybody likes to drink: round here’s the same, but
here
everyone pretends they don’t.’

‘So you punish them with egg-yolks?’

‘Mix a shot of brandy, some honey and a couple of egg-yolks in the blender for ten seconds, with a little tomato juice and hot paprika. My grandma called it a “Bloody Headache” . . . Actually it’s not so bad.’

Marie screwed her face up. ‘Sounds disgusting.’

‘It works. Guaranteed. Twenty minutes later you’re all set to start boozing again.’

‘How much of it you supposed to drink?’

‘You don’t drink it. It’s a chest-rub. Ees only in Alabama they drink it.’

Marie stared at the barman.

‘No, I is just keeding with you.’

Marie laughed out loud, then noticed the barman glance over her shoulder towards the reception area. Next thing he was leaning in towards her – a bit too close – his face suddenly serious. ‘Listen, I don’t want to get caught up in any trouble or nothing,’ he said under his breath. ‘Seems to me like you’re a nice lady, but there are cops in the lobby and I’m pretty sure they ain’t here to check in. Don’t turn round, cause they’re looking this way right now,’ he continued, keeping his face straight like they were discussing the weather.

Marie felt a sudden rush of anxiety and had to fight to stop herself from pushing back and running.

‘I just remember where I know you from. You’re the barmaid from McHales right? You been on the news.’

Marie couldn’t hide the look of shock: she didn’t know what to say.

The barman stopped whispering and started talking in his normal voice: answering a question she hadn’t asked.

‘The ladies’ restroom: sure. It’s over the other side of the pool in the far corner. If you head for the red exit sign you can’t miss it.’

A guy she didn’t even know was telling her where the exit was, sticking his neck out for her. Marie pulled a fifty from her purse and put down on the counter.

‘Thank you,’ she said.

‘Hey lady, the drinks have already been paid for.’ He picked the fifty-dollar note up and handed it back to her. ‘Thank you, but I don’t want your money. Seems to me like you going to need it more than me. And just so you know: it wasn’t me who called the cops.’

He reached to wipe his cloth over the bar.

Marie made her way round the pool towards the exit sign. She looked up and saw Finn standing on the balcony with his head bowed forward like he was staring at something on the floor below his feet. Marie was praying he’d look towards her – see her leaving so she could signal to him that something was wrong – but if she waved up at him it would draw attention.

It was difficult to tell because of the foliage obscuring her view, but the way Finn was standing, something about his posture‚ didn’t look right.

Suddenly his head tipped forward violently as though he’d been struck from behind. She wanted to call up to him, check he was okay, but two sheriff’s deputies were marching towards the bar followed closely by another couple of guys she recognised as Kneller and his sidekick Evelyn. That’s when she noticed ‘Mr Leonard’ standing behind Finn holding a gun to his head.

Until now it had all seemed like a bit of fun, an exciting, weird, distraction from her mundane life, but as Marie scrambled up the stairs to the second floor she couldn’t decide if it was the sours or the situation, or both, but something was making her feel like throwing up.

The corridor in front of her swept round in a long dark curve. Marie focused on the ever-decreasing door numbers as she ran past: odds to her right, evens to her left. 267, 265, 263, 261.

For the first time in her life she didn’t need someone to tell her what to do. Without hesitating she stepped backwards, then lunged at the door with the full weight of her body.

The door slammed back on its hinges and crashed against the wall.

 She’d been certain she was going to find Finn lying in a pool of blood, with Mr Leonard standing over him and smoke trailing out of his gun. But the scene that greeted her was very different.

The two men were standing holding each other, locked in a tight embrace.

She could see glints of light reflected off the steady stream of tears trickling down Finn’s face.

As Marie edged further into the room Finn lifted his head and stared at her, but said nothing. She was suddenly aware that she was intruding on an intensely private moment.

It was Marie who broke the silence. She had no choice. In a hushed but urgent tone she said, ‘There are cops everywhere. We’ve got to get the hell out of here, right now. They’re in the lobby.’

The ‘Leonard’ guy suddenly pulled away from Finn and bent down to pick up his gun.

Joe Evelyn was waiting patiently at the top of the main stairwell for Jeff Kneller to come up in the elevator. Kneller’s lungs were so shot through with tar he couldn’t make it up a flight of stairs without having to rest. The last two years he’d only just made it through the annual medical, and he’d been warned to quit or face an early retirement notice.

The only way to get Kneller to quit smoking would be to shoot him in the heart. His family doctor had done just that, according to Kneller. He’d told him he had terminal cancer. Kneller had known the guy from school: asked him not to share the information with anyone. Begged the guy not to write it up, and to pretend that Kneller hadn’t made it to the appointment. The doctor had agreed, but only if he quit smoking and applied for early retirement.

The lift doors chimed open and Kneller emerged through a swirl of grey-blue smoke.

‘You ain’t supposed to be smoking in the elevator,’ said Evelyn.

‘Says who?’ replied Kneller.

‘The sign there says “no smoking”.’

‘That’s for the guests. I’m just passing through.’

‘So are the guests,’ said Evelyn, unclipping his standard-issue Walther from its holster and checking it was good to go. ‘You ain’t supposed to be smoking at all.’

‘We really should get married, you and me,’ said Kneller, doing the same with his gun. ‘Formalise the nagging.’

The two deputies Kneller had sent up the back stairwell were waiting patiently outside room 261. One either side of the door: both with their weapons drawn.

Kneller and Evelyn lowered their voices as they approached.

‘We got a game plan?’ asked Evelyn.

‘Sure,’ replied Kneller, stepping up to the door and kicking it open. ‘
FBI. Nobody fucking move.
’

The two deputies jumped in behind Kneller and took up firing positions. Evelyn edged in beside them with his arms outstretched, clutching his weapon, finger on the trigger, sweeping the room.

‘You sure it was 261?’ asked Kneller, lowering his gun.

‘S’what the girl on reception said,’ replied Evelyn.

‘So where the fuck is everyone?’

In the pale green glow from the dashboard, Danny’s face looked tense and drawn. He felt like he was drowning and didn’t know which way was up: didn’t know what direction to swim in to break the surface.

The blue shield on the overhead gantry said ‘Route 82: Greenwood, Tupelo’, and ‘Route 20/59: Birmingham’. The nearest state was Mississippi, just west of Tuscaloosa on the 82, but Danny turned right, heading north-east to the state of Georgia – which was much further. He’d travel through Birmingham as far as Anniston then leave the highway in favour of the smaller, less obvious back roads: hopefully cross the state line before daybreak then head straight for Atlanta. He needed a town big enough to disappear in for a few days, while he figured out what to do.

There wasn’t much traffic on the freeway. It meant he could make better time, but the drawback was that the Cadillac would be easier to spot.

 The car surged forward as Danny pressed his foot against the soft, yielding accelerator pedal. He was anxious to put some distance between himself and Tuscaloosa.

The first thing he had to do was find somewhere quiet and get Finn and Marie out of the boot.