The Going Rate (36 page)

Minogue raised an eyebrow. Mahon raised one back.

“Mr. Mahon, let me tell you something. I'd want you on my side, I really would. To be sure, people do the right thing for the wrong reason, and all the rest of it. I don't for a minute doubt what young ones – girls – can do, what they come up with.”

Minogue took a step back toward the doorway.

“So, on account of my admiration for what you're doing here tonight – and I am not joking one bit, now – here's what had been going through my mind. The two young ones set Mr. Klos up and then they told the two lads when they showed up. All part of a plan. Who's to say the two girls didn't even lend a hand? Or a boot, should I say. But that doesn't diminish what your client did. What I allege he did. Why I oppose bail.”

“You have forensic evidence to back all of this.”

It was unworthy of Mahon, Minogue believed, but he was tired and frustrated too, no doubt.

Mahon cast a glance again at the doorway.

“We'll have to leave it at that,” Minogue said.

Chapter 36

T
HE CAR CREAKED AS
C
ULLY STRETCHED AGAIN
. He sat back and closed his eyes.

“Well can I get out? Or open the window a bit?”

Cully looked at his watch.

“Wait a minute and I'll get out with you.”

Cully reached under his seat and pulled out the shopping bag that held the pistol. He unwrapped the nylon pouch, releasing an oily smell into the car, and he lifted out the pistol.

“Here you go,” he said. “Tell me what you're going to do first.”

“I'm going to put gloves on.”

“No, you're going to ask me to check it's safe. Safe is, it's empty, no rounds in it.”

“Okay.”

Cully remained still. Fanning knew he was staring at him.

“Can you do that then?” he asked Cully. “Please?”

Cully nodded slowly.

“Raring to go, aren't you?”

“Just want to get it done and get out of here,” said Fanning.

“Cully pulled the ammunition clip from the bag.

“Clip is out, okay? But you always assume there's one in the chamber. Ever see that?”

“On television.”

“Pull back the slide, empty. Here.”

“You want me to…?”

“Sure. You've got to see what it's like. Heavy, isn't it?”

Fanning held it on his palm and lowered it to his lap.

“Hold it, go on. The grip there.”

“The grip.”

“The handle you call it. Yeah, hold it.”

“Finger inside here?”

“Outside the guard.”

Fanning heard his own breath escaping through his nose.

“Breathe,” said Cully. “I'm not joking.”

Fanning let out his breath in small, controlled breaths through his mouth.

“So what do you think?”

“I don't know.”

“Sure you do. You just don't want to say it.”

“Okay. Whatever.”

“It's power,” said Cully, “right?”

“I suppose.”

“You suppose? You have one, the other guy doesn't. That's power. No one can hurt you. You can say what you like can't you? Pretty well do what you like. It's all up to you. Right?”

Fanning nodded. His heart rate wasn't slowing.

“Keep your head, show self-control and you're going to be able to do things. You see? But if you're an idiot, what you're holding there is only going to speed things up, until you crack. You have the gun, the gun doesn't have you. You know what that means?”

“I think so, yes.”

“Okay then. We're going out there to take a bit of a stroll. Not far. I'll bring the clip.”

Cold night air from the forest washed over Fanning's face. He felt his heels sink into the needles and he closed the car door. There was no door light in the car. It had probably been Cully's doing. He waited for Cully's dark form to come around the boot of the car.

“Christ,” said Cully, “dark enough.”

“I can't see anything out here.”

“Anything?”

“I can see a few patches of light in the sky there.”

Cully tapped the trunk with his knuckles before he made his way around.

“What is this thing anyway,” Fanning said. “What make is it, like, what type?”

“That's a good one,” said Cully. “Now's as good a time as any to tell you, I suppose. What you are holding is a replica.”

“You're joking.”

Cully was beside him now. He took something from his trouser pocket. A narrow beam of bluish light poked about the forest floor by their shoes.

“No, I'm not joking.”

“What's the point then, what are we doing here?”

“It's a replica that's been converted.”

“So it's real?”

“It's a real replica of a proper gun.”

“It's safe then?”

“If it was done right.”

“How will we know it was done right?”

“If you still have all your fingers when you fire off a round.”

“This is ridiculous.”

“No,” said Cully. “It's research, isn't it.”

“The innits were coming thick and fast now, Fanning reflected.

“Why didn't you say when you looked in the bag back then?”

“I knew already.”

“Why didn't you…?”

“Ah that'd spoil it,” Cully said. “There you were, your heart going bang bang with the adrenaline ready to break open your ribcage, you're all done up pro with a disguise – and I should have wrecked that experience for you? I don't think so.”

“But you've got bullets there. That clip of ammunition.”

“They're compressed air.”

“Air.”

“Here, I'll show you. Give me the gun.”

The flashlight beam gleamed dully on the blackened metal.

“See? See that nail there. That's the maker. There in England. Lots and lots of these around, and coppers really don't like them. They're trying to get a ban on them.”

“There's no way I'm paying a hundred and fifty Euro for twelve hours with this piece of crap.”

“You wouldn't have known if I hadn't told you.”

“But you let it happen anyway.”

“It's not a big deal. Think about it.”

“I have. It sucks. It's stupid.”

“What do you know about the likes of this? It feels the same. It sounds the same. It will get you what you want most of the time. You stick this in someone's face, are they going to say hold on a minute let me check if that's the real thing?”

“So the guy knew back there in the shop, the guy who gave it to me.”

“He did, he didn't. I don't know. He just hands things over. He's like a go-for. The one who runs the show, he's not out delivering is he.”

“But it's just a colossal rip-off.”

“Are you going to do this or not?” Cully asked.

The beam from the flashlight carried far but was narrow. Fanning's eye followed it over pine needles glistening with raindrops and down the trunks where roots showed from the carpet of dead needles. The ground was soft and springy, and the sharp twigs and branches Fanning had expected would block their path through the trees had been cleared. The ground sloped and dipped, revealing the odd boulder.

Cully was whistling quietly under his tongue and moving the flashlight beam up from their feet to the darkness ahead in a routine arc.

“Here is good,” he said.

He slowed to let the light play on the tree trunks ahead. He stopped when he found the plastic shopping bag attached to a tree. He took the clip from his jacket and held out his hand for the pistol.

“There's banks here that will catch the noise. Hold my torch will you.”

“We're going to fire the thing here?”

“Yes,” said Cully. “Here. Better here than O'Connell Bridge, I say.”

Fanning tried to hold the light steady on Cully's hands but it kept wavering. A small glint came back up to him from the edge of the light spilling out onto the undergrowth. Cully shoved the clip home with a sharp click, followed by another.

“There are footprints here,” said Fanning. “They're new.”

“Are they.”

“See how the heels are dug in, the little pools of water from the rain? They're recent.”

“Could be, I suppose.”

“You don't care?”

“No,” said Cully. “Now, you're ready. Give me the torch, I want to show you something. The details on this are spot on, they have a working safety switch here. See it? Watch my thumb.”

“Do I have to fire the thing?”

Cully stopped.

“We're all the way up here, on a crappy wet night and you're backing out?”

“What's the point, I'm thinking. It's not a proper gun. It's just a waste of time.”

“You get everything except the lead flying.”

“Well you go ahead then.”

“Me? I don't need to. I don't want to.”

“Really.”

“I'll fire one off then you. Okay?”

When he got no reply from Fanning, Cully walked over to where the bag had been pinned to the trunk. He yanked it and tore it open and unfolded a piece of paper.

“Orienteering,” he said. “Some club. Geo caching. Ever hear of it?”

“No. Maybe.”

“GPS?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, I'm gonna put this bag over here. Watch. I'm gonna aim at it and shoot. Take my word for it. It's easy at ten feet. You shine the light on it. It won't budge. Air. See? But it will make the same bang. Ready?”

“Okay.”

Fanning let the torch play on the tree trunk. Cully spread the bag against the trunk and he stepped back.

“Two hands,” he said. “Shine it on me for a second. Look. You see? One over the other, fingers like this. It'll pull up if you don't and you'll miss.”

“Miss what? There's nothing coming out, you told me.”

“If it was a real one, I'm saying. You ready?”

This pistol bucked immediately. Fanning felt like he had been smacked with a newspaper on both ears. He could almost see the shock-waves of air around him. The beam jerked but he could see that the plastic bag hadn't moved.

“Loud, isn't it?”

“That's for damn sure. Let's go.”

“Give it one. Come on. It's your turn.”

Fanning watched as Cully readied the pistol, moving the safety forward and back twice. He handed over the torch.

The grip was warm. The weight of the pistol seemed to pull it forward and down.

“No,” he heard Cully say as his heart sped up again. “Really grab hold of it. The left over the right. Straighten your arms. Keep it pointing down there.”

“I can't see anything out there.”

“Too right you can't. Not until I see you're set up. You can feel the catch there by your thumb, the safety.”

“Yes.”

“Pull it toward you. Got it?”

“I think so.”

“It's not going to fire unless you do. Be sure.”

“Okay I have it.”

“Okay. I'm going to put the light on where you shoot, okay? See it? Two hands, remember. Bend your knees like you're going to spring. Where's your forefinger now?”

“My first finger?”

“What you're going to shoot with.”

Fanning steadied himself for the noise and the recoil. He stared intently at the bag lit by the torch. Somehow, his forefinger wouldn't squeeze. He tightened it more. Just when he committed, he heard a noise.

“Listen,” he said to Cully.

“Listen to what.”

“Somebody's out there.”

Cully said nothing, but he stood still listening.

“Maybe somebody's trying to get into the car,” Fanning whispered.

“A long way to come to rob a car.”

He switched off the torch and began walking. He paused once or twice as though to get his direction.

Fanning followed him, trying to separate the sounds of their footsteps from any others. Cully stopped and listened again.

“They must have heard us again,” Fanning whispered. “The shot.”