The Going Rate (17 page)

“So where's this fella, this exciting pal of yours?”

“He's not actually a pal. He'll be here in a minute.”

“Is he someone I'd know?”

“I doubt it.”

Murph's eyes moved around the room. Fanning saw he was biting his lip.

“I'm not sitting around, waiting for anyone,” he said.

“Just listen to what he has to say, okay?”

“Get him to email me.”

“Don't try to be funny about it.”

“You're telling me what to say now?”

“Shut up,” said Murph suddenly. “Just shut up, will you. For once?”

A threshold crossed, Fanning knew. Murphy wouldn't meet his stare.

“Okay,” Murphy said then, and straightened up.

Fanning followed his stare. The man wore the same leather jacket, and even the same expression that Fanning had seen at the dog fight. He was light on his feet, loping gently more than walking. As he came closer Fanning saw that there were bags under his eyes and the beginnings of five o'clock shadow.

“Quit staring,” Murphy hissed.

Fanning watched the expression on Murphy's face turn into a manic smile. A waft of cologne came to him, and he almost sniggered. Hadn't everyone gone through that when he was fifteen or something?

“Cully, man” Murphy said, clearing his throat. “Great to see you.”

The man seemed to look to both sides of them. He drew to a stop, gave Fanning a quick look and nodded.

“Okay,” said Fanning. “Sure – yeah, thanks. Okay?”

Cully said nothing, but waited for Murph to go. Then he turned to Fanning.

“You're Dermot Fanning? Michael Cullen. Cully, people say.”

No handshake was offered. Fanning gave him a howiya.

“Buy you a drink there, Dermot?”

The lack of eye contact irked Fanning.

“Well I don't know,” he said. “I'm thinking of heading home.”

Cully nodded several times “It'd help you in your work, you know.”

Fanning couldn't place the accent at all yet. Cully gave him a glance, but quickly returned to his study of the mirrors behind the lines of bottles.

Maybe he was just painfully shy, Fanning thought. Shy more than crazy.

“Better than what you have now,” Cully added.

There was definitely a Dublin accent buried in there somewhere, Fanning decided.

The barman placed beer mats in front of them. Cully ordered a brandy and soda. Fanning shrugged, asked for a pint of Budweiser. Cully leaned his forearm on the counter, and turned to him.

“You're working on a project I hear.”

“It's at the research stage, yes.”

“Research stage,” said Cully, as if it pleased him. He scratched at his palm with his baby finger.

“Might come to nothing of course,” Fanning said. “But that's the way.”

Cully looked sideways at him.

“You put a proposal, don't you? A pitch?”

It was a Dublin accent all right, Fanning was sure.

“Or you get someone to do it for you. A connection in the business helps.”

“And then they…?”

“Well they see if it could have legs. They could shop it around for me.”

Cully nodded slowly. He looked down onto the counter where the barman was now placing Fanning's glass. Fanning took a long swallow.

“That business earlier on today,” Fanning said afterwards.

“Yes. Something else. What do you think?”

Wotcha, Fanning heard. He shrugged, and exchanged a look with Cully. There was an indifference in his expression, almost a blurriness, that seemed to echo the monotone in his way of speaking. It didn't come across as sarcasm, or even irony.

Impressions collided in Fanning's mind: well dressed, maybe even fastidious, and yet there was something careless and unfinished about the guy too. There was an air about him that suggested to Fanning that he didn't much enjoy, or even want, to be here.

“That was part of the research,” he said to Cully. “The visit to that place.”

“Right. Murph brought you.”

“He did. He's my ‘guide.'”

“He says you pay him. Like you employ him.”

Fanning bit back his irritation again.

“That's research for you,” he said. “I'd probably never get near the likes of that unless I know someone. And I don't.”

“First time? The dogs, I mean.”

“First, and last. Never again.”

“Bit rough, isn't it.”

Innit: Estuary English popping up clearly now. Fanning couldn't decide if Cully's tone carried some derision too.

“Left in a bit of a hurry, didn't you.”

“And you stayed for more?”

Cully didn't seem to take the remark as cheeky.

“Maybe I'm more used to it.”

“How does a person get used to it, to something like that?”

Fanning took a quick mouthful of beer. Cully had no answer to that one, apparently. He took his first sip of brandy.

“Now, I had a suggestion for Murph. What did you call him again, your…”

“Guide,” said Fanning. “I don't really mean that. I don't know what else to call it. Working for you isn't Murph's only line of work, you know. Obviously.”

Fanning nodded. It occurred to him then that Cully might well be high. He'd find a way to get a look at Cully's pupils.

“A good idea,” Cully said, pausing to take a sip. “To get someone proper?”

“Well I don't know about that,” Fanning said. “I'll think about it.”

“He's nothing but trouble,” Cully said. “Really.”

“But you don't mean that in a bad way, I suppose.”

The sarcasm went by him, it seemed.

“Why do you hire people like Murph? Can't you just make up a story?”

“That's not what I do.”

“Everyone else does.”

“That's why they're crap then.”

“Ah.”

“I would think you'd agree with me.”

Cully shrugged. “Tell me, what do you care about this stuff. This crime stuff.”

“It's not crime for its own sake. It's like a window on life, generally.”

“I think I get that. Society, like? That kind of thing?”

“Yes. But I'm not out to give a message. No moralizing. I just want to show what goes on. Be objective.”

“Very interesting. Yes, very interesting.”

“You think so?”

“I do. But tell me something to think about. This the kind of research you do? You know, whatever you pick up could be very valuable to some people.”

“You mean the Guards.”

Cully didn't react to the bluntness.

“They'd be the ones I was thinking of,” he said. “Yes.”

“I'm not telling the Guards anything. Why would I?”

Cully stretched his neck a little, and began to rub at it.

“That's what Murph says. ‘Why would he do that?'”

“Well, what can I tell you.”

Cully stopped massaging his neck.

“You could tell me a lot, I think.”

“For instance?”

“Well, for instance this. Is there going to be a film here?”

Fanning let his gaze roam the pub with a calculated vagueness.

“If you're actually paying to do this research,” he heard Cully continue. “And this film thing you want done so badly, this film goes belly-up…?”

Fanning had decided. He'd finish his pint, no hurry, tuck the stool under the counter and leave. No retorts, no arguments.

“I'll burn that bridge when I get to it.”

“I don't get that. That bridge thing.”

“I'll deal with it,” said Fanning.

“Murph's a floater,” said Cully then. “You know what a floater is? A shaper. A dickhead. Hasn't a clue. So you're wasting your money on him.”

“So what I need,” Fanning said, “is real expertise, I suppose you're going to tell me. The opposite of a dickhead. That should be easy enough.”

Cully seemed to savour this particular sip of brandy.

“But by definition,” he said, “that person won't go near you.”

“Well I won't take that personally.”

Cully was still immune to the sarcasm.

“The thing is, this crime business, as they say in the news, this crime business is like an iceberg. Not a good comparison, but you get the idea.”

“An iceberg.”

“Such a person,” Cully went on, “they could tell you, for example, that the cops are way behind, the Guards. That they only get lucky now and then.”

“You can back that statement up of course.”

For the first time Cully seemed to focus his attention on Fanning.

“Such a person,” Cully said, slowly, “would have no reason to talk to you, no need to. You see? I mean if your work is to fade into the background, the fly on the wall routine, you don't go having a fit like we saw back at the, the event.”

“I couldn't take it. It was too much.”

“Ah.”

“Is that a character defect or something, in your opinion?”

“I'm only making observations,” said Cully. “Offering a bit of advice.”

“It's only losers need lots of advice I suppose.”

“Now there's another thing with you.”

“What is?”

“Sarcasm. I didn't come here to call you a loser, or run you down.”

“Fooled me.”

“Back to the point here. Giving Murph the heave-ho is proper order.”

“I haven't given him any heave-ho.”

“Well do you see him here?”

“What does that mean?”

“He doesn't do it anymore. He got out of the research business.”

“Says…?”

“He'd wreck your project. He talks, and he talks. It's all he does.”

“I'm okay with that. The talking.”

“Except when he's smoking crack.”

“Who told you that?”

“Come on now. How much of what he told you is bullshit, would you say?”

“Some days ninety percent,” said Fanning. “Other days, maybe ten.”

“You'll never know, will you.”

“Well it's like you said, I can make it up then, can't I?”

Cully pushed away slowly from the bar. He shoved his hands into his trouser pockets, and looked down at his shoes for several moments.

“There's a man over there,” Fanning said. “A man who was at the, the event, earlier. Friend of yours.”

Cully raised his eyebrows.

“Is that a coincidence he's here?” Fanning asked.

Cully turned, picked up his glass.

“A mate of yours. Right?”

“In a manner of speaking,” said Cully.

Fanning waited until Cully had finished his brandy.

“Likes a certain football club. Reputation for crazy fans?”

“Pretty observant bloke,” said Cully.

“Well thank you. Just so's I'm clear on this before I go.”

Cully nodded.

“You wanted to meet me to…?”

“Advice. Like I said.”

“And to tell me Murph is a useless iijit. To give him the sack.”

“Right. Better off without him.”

“And that this project will go nowhere.”

“Did I say that?”

Cully reached into his jacket pocket, and flipped open his mobile.

“Remember what I said about people who know,” he said

“Sort of. I suppose. What did you say?”

“They're the ones who wouldn't want anything to do with your research.”

“Very encouraging.”

“Unless,” said Cully, eyeing the display. “Unless it's something they want.”

“I don't get this. What am I missing, again?”

“Say you had this,” said Cully. He held the mobile toward Fanning.

The sound on the video was little better than static. The camera had moved unsteadily when it panned. But there was Murph on his tiptoes, staring at the fight, and Dermot Fanning. He heard the yelping of the dog in the static.

“People notice things,” Cully said. “I mean I did, didn't I?”