74

The woman and that creepy kid huddled silent in the back seat as the Traveller drove. He had gone north then west from Carrickfergus, rather than cutting through Belfast, then south from Templepatrick. He would avoid the motorway until he was across the border, and stay out of the bigger towns like Banbridge or Newry. A lost hour was a price worth paying to escape notice.

He wondered if the woman would make it that far. Now and again he heard her chest rattle before she coughed. He had given her wounds a quick look before they left. She had a couple of pellets embedded in her cheekbone, and more in her right shoulder. But it was the cluster above her breast she had to worry about. The Traveller reckoned some had punctured her ribcage, and maybe even her lung. He had patched her up with a towel as best he could, but she was probably bleeding inside. A hospital could fix it, he was sure. But they weren’t going to a hospital. Maybe she’d make it to Drogheda, maybe she wouldn’t. His only worries were how the kid would react if her mother died as they held each other, and how the Bull would react when he brought the two of them to his doorstep.

Maybe he should have done them in the apartment. Probably should. But there was something about the kid, the way she looked at him, like she knew all his secrets. Even the things he kept hidden from himself. Whatever it was, it stopped him from snapping the child’s neck. He’d let the Bull deal with them.

The woman and child had served their purpose. They’d got Gerry Fegan to show himself. Let the Bull decide the next move. Maybe he’d let the cops have Fegan. He’d be easier dealt with if he was locked up. But where was the fun in that? Either way, the Bull could do what he wanted so long as he paid up.

The car was approaching the roundabout at Moira when the woman asked ‘Where are you taking us?’ Her voice was small but strong. Maybe she wasn’t as bad as he’d thought. He glanced at her reflection in the rear-view mirror and saw her reading a road sign.

‘To see a man,’ he said.

‘What man?’

‘You’ll see when we get there,’ he said. He steered onto the long straight section of the roundabout. ‘Now be quiet, love, there’s a good girl.’

‘Is it O’Kane?’

‘I said be quiet.’

‘The last man who brought us to him is dead now.’

As he exited the roundabout, the Traveller switched his attention between the village of Moira ahead and Marie McKenna’s reflection in the mirror. ‘That right?’

‘Gerry Fegan killed him.’

The Traveller’s tongue slicked his upper lip. ‘Did he, now?’

‘He’ll kill you too.’

He watched the mirror as the little girl covered her ears and buried her face in her mother’s bosom. Marie winced at the pain but did not push the child away.

‘You think so?’ the Traveller asked.

‘I know so.’

The Traveller smiled at the mirror. He would have winked if he could’ve managed it. ‘Well, I wouldn’t be so sure about that.’

The lights of the main street slipped past for a minute or two and then faded behind them.

Marie laughed, then coughed, then laughed again.

‘What’s so funny?’ he asked.

She produced a tissue and coughed into it. Her face went blank. ‘What’s so funny? Earlier today I told someone I didn’t want to wind up a fucking damsel in distress again.’

The little girl took a hand away from her ear and placed it over her mother’s mouth. You said a bad word,’ she whispered.

‘I know, darling,’ Marie said against the child’s fingers. ‘I’m sorry.’

The girl, placated, covered her ears and buried her face again.

‘Tell me about Gerry Fegan,’ the Traveller said as they approached another village, smaller this time. Magheralin, he thought it was called, but he couldn’t be sure seeing as he couldn’t read the sign.

‘He’s a good man,’ Marie said, ‘despite what he’s done.’

‘A good man,’ the Traveller repeated, turning the words in his mouth, testing their weight. ‘And I’m not?’

Marie coughed, groaned at the pain. When she caught her breath, she asked, ‘What are you talking about?’

‘From what I hear, he’s an animal. A killer.’ He watched her face as the lights of the village caused shadows to flow across it. ‘Just like me. What makes him a good man? What makes me a bad man?’

The light disappeared from her face, leaving only the glint of her eyes in a silhouette. ‘You have me and my child as hostages, and you have to ask that question?’

More village lights ahead, and beyond them, the town of Lurgan with its knotted streets and traffic lights and cops. He took a left down a narrow country road to avoid them. The world darkened.

‘I’ve been looking forward to meeting Mr Gerry Fegan,’ the Traveller said. He grinned at the mirror, even though he could no longer see the woman or the girl in the blackness. ‘Might not happen now. Pity if it doesn’t. It’d be fun, seeing what he’s made of. From what I hear, it wouldn’t be easy. He’d put up a good fight.’

He waited for a response. None came save for the rattle of Marie’s chest.

‘I’d enjoy that,’ he said. ‘He might be a mad bastard, but so am I. I never met a man I couldn’t take, and I like a challenge, you know?’

The Traveller searched the mirror, found nothing. He couldn’t even hear the woman’s laboured breathing now.

‘You can be sure of one thing, though. Your friend Gerry is going to suffer for his sins. Whether it’s me or the cops do it, it’ll be bad for him. He’ll be hurting when he goes. He’s pissed off too many people to get off easy. Only question is, how ba—’

Fiery pain tore at his scalp as small hands jerked his head back. A high scream pierced his left ear as the hands twisted and pulled. He reached back with his left hand, but the strapping wouldn’t let his fingers find anything but strands of hair as the girl shouted and thrashed. The car bounced as it hit the verge, the steering wheel bucking in his good hand. The woman cried out, and the girl was thrown to the side, but she kept her grip and now the Traveller was screaming as his scalp ripped. His right hand left the wheel and darted behind him, desperate to swat the shrieking child away, and then the seat belt grabbed his chest, his head whipped forward and back again, and everything was black and still and silent, apart from an insistent chiming as a cold breeze blew in from somewhere far behind him.