Wolf Tickets (23 page)

"Oof. Shong-one had a shitty night."

"Because Mr O'Brien happens to be on licence at the moment, he'll be going back to prison once he's healed up." McDonald chewed the inside of his cheek and shook his head. "Thing is, though, it doesn't make sense that he'd be caught like that."

"Got carelesh."

"Or maybe he got stomped."

"Or that."

"He's in hospital at the moment. He seems pretty keen on telling us what happened." He nodded at us. "Your name came up. So did Mr Farrell's. No doubt we'll get a full statement out of him in due course. The gist of it so far is that he was set up."

"Huh," I said.

"You surprised?" He smiled. "Mr O'Brien really doesn't want to go back to prison. Not without taking someone else with him, anyway. And it looks as if you and Mr Farrell are his favourites."

I shook my head.

"You don't think so?"

"Won't hacken."

"Why's that?"

I took a drink from the stubby. "You're a shnart lad. You work it out."

"You're too kind. But how about you fill in the blanks?"

"You're looking for the gloke who checked in with the dead woman, yesh? The gloke who shaid he wash Farrell when he washn't. You show the shtaff a kickture of O'Grien, she what hackens. Can't get hing on the heroin, you can get hing on killing the woman. Which he did. And then kerhacks you can find it in your heart to forget about thish other shite, yesh?"

McDonald thought about it. "I think I got most of that."

"Good, 'caush I can't shay it again. Faysh wrecksh now."

"I bet it does. What happened? Anyone I know?"

"Oh, aye."

He nodded and looked around the room. "I take it Mr Farrell is no longer around?"

"Uh-huh."

"Well, I suppose that means it's all on you now, Mr Cobb. And if this lead of yours doesn't pan out, or if I have any more questions, I don't suppose you'll be going anywhere, will you?"

"Nah, I like it here."

"Good." He walked to the door. "You might want to see about getting this fixed. It's a beacon for burglars. And see a doctor, will you? I'm sure some of those need stitches."

"I will."

He left. I waited until I was positive he was gone, then I propped the door back up. I raised the stubby in a toast to the lingering smell of bacon. Then I got out my new CD player, hooked it up, and had a look to see if the thieving bastards had left us my Locke CD. I found it under the settee and slapped it into the player.

A harp started. Then violins. I sat back on the settee, closed my eyes and hummed along. I felt the beer working its way through us, my gravity get stronger. I'd had about three hours' sleep and I reckoned I'd remedy that just as soon as I tanned this beer. My bandages would hold for another day yet.

I raised the stubby to my mate Farrell, who was on his way to London, and then hopefully well out of my fuckin' life.

There was a rumble in my guts. I remembered: time for that almighty crap I'd been looking forward to for the last three days. Must be ready by now.

But I didn't move. I needed to savour the moment, build up to it, because I knew this was going to be the most exciting thing that happened to me this week.

And I raised the stubby to that an' all, because after the week I'd had, there was nowt like mundanity.

***

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