Wolf Tickets (17 page)

"He didn't shoot you, though."

"He did. Just the bullets were snide, weren't they? I almost fuckin'
died
."

"What do you want me to say, Jimmy? I'm sorry."

I took a nip of whiskey and sat back. "Sorry don't cut it."

"You think I haven't lost anything?"

"Aye, you lost stuff. Lost your mind. Lost a lying, cheating bitch."

Looked like he wanted to hit us, then. I was like, fuckin' howeh, big lad. Bring it.

"You're opening up your cuts," he said.

"I know." I put a hand up to my face. I felt raw. "Where were you?"

"Police got me at the hotel."

"How bad?"

Farrell shook his head. "They didn't charge me, but this Sergeant, he's a bastard. And he'll be by here soon enough."

"So they found her."

Farrell nodded. "Baz phoned. Left a message. Him, Goose and Orville."

I could guess what Goose wanted, and he could get fucked. The other message, mind ... "What'd Orville say?"

"He said you had to bring him a bottle of the good stuff."

"Then he's got something."

"Yeah, a fucking thirst."

I stretched out a bit on the settee. It was good to be out of that fuckin' bath. "He'll have something." I closed my eyes. "We'll see him first thing the morra."

"We can't stay here."

"Aye, we fuckin' can." The worst had already happened. "If Orville's got something good, then we're going to be busy. So make yourself useful and buy us a bottle of the good stuff."

I thought I heard Farrell ask what the good stuff was. And I thought I might've told him, but soon I was lost to a darkness that was way more comfortable than consciousness.

"Oh aye, I like this better than the Red, like. This is smoother."

We were down the Quayside. Orville was attached to a bottle of Smirnoff Black. I'd managed to get to the off-licence in time to pick it up along with two packs of ibuprofen for Cobb, who was sleeping intermittently thanks to the cuts on his face. The rest of the night I spent smoking and thinking. Something had broken between us. I knew it, even if Cobb wouldn't admit it, and I didn't know if it could be fixed.

"Sho what'sh the shcore?" said Cobb. He'd taken to talking through his teeth to stop his cuts from opening. His lips were still bleeding every now and then – he couldn't stop moving them – and O'Brien had even done a number on the inside of his mouth. It wasn't pleasant, watching him talk. Wasn't pleasant looking at him at all, truth be told. The man was patchwork above the collar. He drew double-takes from people as we passed; they weren't sure if the walking freakshow was real.

Orville had a stronger stomach. He looked Cobb right in the eye. "Your mate O'Brien has a fuckin' pure psycho rep, man."

"We know." I lit a cigarette. I leaned against the railing and watched the river.

"He do that, did he?"

Cobb nodded.

"Fuckin' hell, man."

"You want to tell us something we don't already know, Orville?" I nodded at the Smirnoff. "Maybe earn that bottle?"

"I'm just saying." Orville shook his head at Cobb. "I mean, he did a fuckin' job on you, son." He sucked another drink, then put the bottle down on the bench next to him. "So I did some nosing about. This lad's just out of Frankland, right?"

"Aye," said Cobb.

"Fuckin' drug dealer or something. Can't be doing with that mesel', don't like owt I have to stick in a fuckin' needle. Might as well be down the hospital. You still see Goose, Jimmy?"

"Nah."

"You cut them ties?"

"Aye."

"Good for you. Hate to say it, you being a mate an' all, but you was a mean bastard when you were on the charlie. I preferred you mortal."

"Frank O'Brien," I said. "Drug dealer, just out of prison. We know this."

Orville's left eye twitched. "Your marra's jumpy, isn't he?"

"Impatient."

"I didn't lift no fuckin' stones for you. You want information, you'll have to pay for it like everyone else."

"Who d'you think bought you the fucking bottle?"

"Just tell ush what you got."

Orville knotted his mouth, then looked at Cobb. "You know this O'Brien's a hard lad. But just 'cause he's a hard lad, doesn't mean he can organise a piss-up in a brewery. And this hard lad had plenty of places up here before he went inside. Now he's out, not so much. Just the one place left."

"What kind of place?" I said.

"Restaurant. Wey, actually, it's more of a pub. You'll like it. It's Irish."

"Let me guess. Called O'Brien's, is it?"

Orville liked that. At least I think he did. It was that or he'd been struck by a sudden asthma attack. He slapped a knee. "Nah, man, it's not O'Brien's. He's not selling sandwiches, is he? Place is called The Claddack."

"
Claddagh
," I said.

Cobb looked at me. "What do they sherve in an Irish reshtaurant?"

"Corned beef and cabbage. You sure you got your facts right?"

"Got more than that. I got a fuckin' location. It's out on the coast. Near the Priory."

Cobb nodded as if he already knew the place.

"I thought you people got pissed in town."

"Nogoddy drinksh in the toon anyngore. Gigg Market'sh for charvash."

"O'Brien's been seen at this place, has he?"

"I don't know. All I know is that it's the only place still making him money. And he's got to collect that money somehow." Orville reached for the bottle and hugged it to his chest. "Reckon that's good enough?"

Cobb nodded and slapped my arm. "Aye. Howeh."

I watched Cobb head back up the steps to the car. When he was out of earshot, I said, "You know more than you let on."

"Always, son."

"You know about me and O'Brien?"

"Oh aye. And the woman."

I blew smoke in Orville's direction. A gust of wind broke the cloud before it reached him. The air smelled too fresh, felt like it was about to rain. "She died."

"My condolences."

"O'Brien killed her."

"I don't need to know."

"Yeah, you do. You know if O'Brien finds out you told us all this, you'll be on his list."

"Like I give a fuck."

"You should."

"Take a good look at us." He took a gulp from the Smirnoff. "There's nowt this bloke can do to us hasn't been done already."

"You saw what he did to Jimmy."

"Aye, I did."

"Well, then."

"Farrell," said Cobb. He was waiting by the car.

"Look after yourself, Orville."

"I'll certainly fuckin' try."

I joined Cobb at the car. He jerked his head at Orville like, what was all that about?

"Just discussing the future, Jimmy."

Cobb snorted and got into the car.

Farrell had turned into a right liar, and not a very good one, either. Discussing the future, my arse. Probably just pissing Orville off a bit more so he wouldn't want to do any more work for us, because that was what Farrell was all about – ruining everything good I had set up.

I stuck Jim Croce into the CD so I didn't have to listen to Farrell. Conversation wasn't a fuckin' option anymore. Even when I gritted my teeth, I could feel the cuts opening up again. Best plan of action was to stay mute until I got a chance to heal properly. Like the wise man once said, you shut your hole and listen for once, you might learn something.

But Farrell couldn't keep quiet. "You know where this place is?"

I nodded. I didn't know exactly where it was, but if it was near the Priory, then I'd find it quick enough. It was a small enough place. They had a good chippy down there, a decent curry house and a Chinese that could make a dead man's gut gurgle. Mostly, though, it was a couple of streets nudged up against the sea and a row of pubs and bars that got hammered every weekend. The Claddagh would be a piece of piss to find.

Croce launched into "One Less Set Of Footsteps". Farrell sniffed. I thought he was going to start bubbling, but then he rubbed his nose like he had a coke itch.

"Listen, Jimmy. I have to say something." He sighed, rolled the words around his gob a bit before he spat it out. "Before, when I found you? I thought you were dead."

That was understandable.

"Even when you opened your eye. And when you moved." He cleared his throat. "I ... I've had problems, Jimmy. Can't exactly trust what I'm seeing at the moment. It's like I'm going fucking nuts, you want the truth of it." He laughed. "Did I tell you that Nora's been talking to me?"

I stared at the road.

"Yeah, I know, I'm going simple, but you really can't blame me, can you?" He rubbed his nose again. "I'm surprised you're so calm. Mind you, you're as good as mute, so I suppose you've just internalised. And who's crazier, eh? The mute, or the man talking to the mute expecting a response?"

I looked at him. He laughed again. I lashed out with the back of my hand and caught him across the face. He jerked and twisted in his seat, face like an arse. Wasn't fuckin' laughing now, was he?

Good. Because this wasn't a laughing matter.

"Get your fuckin' head shorted," I said.

And then dabbed at the open cuts around my gob. He sat there steaming at us in silence. Even better. Meant I could get on with the job in hand.

Tynemouth was buzzing by the time we got out there. I pulled in at the top of Front Street. Rain spotted the windscreen, but it hadn't stopped the usual weekend crowd. Kids in pushchairs, spotty mothers behind them. Old people, arm in arm and under golf umbrellas. A couple of old ladies passed the car. They were prim, slim and identical.

On the face of it, the place hadn't changed that much from when I was a bairn, playing soldiers down by the beach, ack-ack-acking the Fockers out of the sky. There were more bars now, right enough. Too many. A load of lads in toon strips stumbled out of a place that looked expensive, but couldn't have been if they'd been getting tanked in it. They talked loud, punching each other in various places, then started kicking off about the drizzle before they jogged as a unit to a pub on the other side of the road.

The Claddagh was down at the end of Front Street. A huge, white-walled pub overlooking the cove, the name of the place in large Celtic lettering. Farrell saw it and breathed out. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph, it's a nightmare."

I put a hand on the door. When Farrell made a move, I shook my head. We'd hit The Claddagh in a minute; I needed to take care of something first. I got out of the car just as a woman passed with her bairn in tow. He was a chunky little lad in a hand-knitted Elmo which made the furry little bastard look like it had that disease that made your skull all fuckin' huge an' that. The kid took one look at us and started bawling. His mam dragged him away. She gave us evils like it was my fault my face was fucked up.

"It's okay, Jimmy," said Farrell from the car. "You were never an oil painting."

I crossed the road, went into the Co-Op. The doors swished open. I caught a fresh chill from the air-conditioning even though it was freezing outside, and walked in there waiting for the first comment. People wanted to treat us like a monster, they'd get a monster. I picked up a pack of Post-Its and a set of black biros from a column by the tills, then pushed in front of a skinhead with a basket full of women's mags, Super Noodles and a four-pack of LCL.

"Hey," he said. His accent was posh. But that was all he said. I mad-dogged the fucker until he backed off. Took about two seconds.

The woman behind the counter stared at us. She was oldish, looked like an eighties' dyke and had two lazy eyes. She wasn't frightened, or she didn't look it so much as fuckin' surprised there was someone in the world uglier than her. I dropped the pads and pens on the counter, dug a damp fiver out my pocket and chucked it after. I didn't wait for my change, didn't have a spare couple of millenia. I ripped the plastic off the Post-Its as I left, flicked the top off one of the pens. Farrell saw us and got out of the car.

I wrote
TWAT
on a Post-It.

"Jimmy, we don't have time—"

I slapped the note against Farrell's forehead, then started towards The Claddagh.

Whoever had been in charge of The Claddagh's interior design must've detonated a bag of leprechauns and called it a fucking day. You couldn't move for Celtic-script references to
craic
, green ribbons and vintage advertisements for Guinness. There was a hurley above the bar, but I knew that none of the staff in here knew what it was for. Up against one side of the bar was a cartoon leprechaun advertising something called The Blarney Hour:
WHEN A ROUND WON'T COST YA A POT O' GOLD!
In the background, I heard something that sounded like the Celtic "C" compilation – Corrs, Clannad, Chieftains and Cranberries.