Wolf Tickets Page 16

  Cobb didn't talk. The plasters hung off his face in bloody strips. He drove with one hand, the other still pressed to his side.

  "You want to get that looked at."

  He looked at me. We both knew he wouldn't see a doctor any more than I'd see the Holy Mother's diaphragm. He looked back at the road. Then his good eye closed for a second and the car swerved violently. I punched his arm.

  "Stop pissing about," I said.

  He opened his eye. There was a twinkle, the ghost of a smile.

  Back at Cobb's flat, we divvied up Goose's cash. I was going to split it down the middle, and that was the way Cobb wanted it, but in the end I took enough for a week's expenses and left him the rest. Cobb went into the bathroom and didn't come out until the morning with his wound packed and bandaged. I wondered where he got the supplies from, but then realised that Cobb was the kind of bloke who'd been preparing to get shot for a long time.

  "How are you?"

  "Enh."

  "Does it hurt?"

  "Nah, I cacked it with fairy dusht. Coursh it fuckin' hurtsh." He made a motion to get up. "Howeh, you gotta go."

  "Huh?"

  Cobb put his hands out at his sides like a plane. "Gack to Ireland. Gefore the collish cung round."

  "I suppose." I got up, took off the leather and stuffed it into the bottom of my bag.

  Cobb jangled his car keys in one hand. He nodded at the cash.

  "That's for you," I said.

  He shook his head.

  "Don't start. I'm leaving it here. Do whatever you want to with it."

  He jangled the keys once more, then pocketed the cash with another nod.

  On the way to the airport, Cobb told me to get a ticket to London. The plan was, I should hang around down there for a bit, then move on. If the police were looking for me, they'd be looking for me in Newcastle and Galway, so it made sense to divert.

  "What about you?"

  He shrugged.

  "You'll be alright with the police?"

  He nodded.

  Cobb parked the car and we did the long, wary walk to the ticket desk. I spent way too much on a ticket to Heathrow. When I turned, Cobb was gone. I found him in the WH Smiths, leafing through a paperback with a picture of Jason Statham on the front of it.

  "Ready to go."

  "'Kay." He put the book in his pocket and left the shop. He'd been spotted, but nobody was about to challenge the shoplifter with the freakish face. We headed out of the airport and I handed him one of my last two Dunhills. Cobb patted his pockets like he'd lost his lighter somewhere. I sparked him up and we smoked for a while.

  "I'm sorry, Jimmy. About what happened to you."

  "Fuck it." Cobb blew smoke. He dabbed at his face, checked his fingers. "Itchy."

  "Means they're healing."

  "Aye."

  More smoke, more silence. I looked out at the flat, barren landscape that surrounded the airport. "You sure you want to handle the police?"

  "Uh-huh."

  They called my flight. I ditched the cigarette and Cobb followed me through to the security check. He slapped me on the back and said, "See ya later. Keeck in touch."

  "I will."

  He wasn't one for the long, drawn-out farewells. If anything, he looked happy to see me go. I didn't blame him. I joined the queue for security checks. A dumpy little girl pointed at me as I passed. Her mother slapped the hand down and backed off down the queue away from me. It was enough to make a guy paranoid. As I moved down the queue, I noticed other glances. I wondered if the police had called in, if McDonald was waiting for me up ahead. Be just my luck to get picked up on the way out. When I got to the front of the queue, my boots were off and I strode through the metal detector without setting it off. I grabbed my boots and was lacing them when a wide uniform with a mole on his cheek called me back.

  "I'm going to miss my plane," I said.

  "This won't take a moment."

  I looked around. People were staring now. I could make a scene, but they'd bring security down on me. I could run and they'd do the same. My hands got sweaty. I hadn't set off the alarm, so what was the deal here? "I don't understand. Is there a problem?"

  "I don't know," said the uniform. "Is there?"

  "You what?"

  "The question is, are you as advertised?"

  "I don't know what you're talking about."

  I had my boots on. I could sink a cap into this guy's sack and make a run for it. The uniform moved and I flinched as he plucked something from my back. I leaned on my back foot, ready to swing my bag. Then I saw the small, yellow piece of paper stuck to the uniform's hand. He held it up so I could read it.

  TERRORIST

  Oh, you bastard, Jimmy.

  COBB

  I bought myself a cheap portable CD player from the Dixons at the airport. I chucked it in the back seat of the Volvo then drove to the lake up Seaton Burn way. I parked the car and waited to see if there was anyone following, then I went and got the shotgun out of the boot. I couldn't leave it in the pub, and I couldn't keep it at mine, not with the door smashed in and the police on their way round. I flung it out into the middle of the lake. A splash and ripples. I leaned against the boot for a bit. Felt like I'd messed up some of the gauze. My side burned. I wasn't as sturdy as I used to be. When something hurt now, it hurt worse and for longer. I'd have to remember that.

  When I got back to the flat, there was this little gadgie in the middle of my living room, looking around the place like he'd been dropped there. He was blowing his nose when I came in. He turned and did a double-take. I was getting used to people doing that.

  "Mr Cobb, is it?"

  "Aye."

  He lifted a finger, pointed at us. "What happened to your face?"

  "What hackened to yoursh?"

  "Sorry?"

  I went past him into the kitchen. I dug around in the fridge and pulled out a stubby, held it up to show him. "Gottle o' geer?"

  "No thanks."

  I snapped the cap off the stubby and went back into the living room. I took a swig to clear the shite from my gob and stood there, looking him up and down. "Ngackgonald."

  "McDonald, yes," he said. "Mr Farrell mentioned me, then."

  "Aye."

  "Is he here?"

  Shook my head.

  "He said he was staying with you."

  "Uh-huh." I sat on the settee, stretched my legs out a bit. My knees clicked. I was glad I'd given the place a bit of a tidy before we set out for the airport, like, because I knew this copper'd had a nose. I could see stuff moved around.

  "Where is he?"

  I shrugged. "Dunno."

  He bristled like he didn't have time for this. Like his morning was so fuckin' full. "You know the name Frank O'Brien?"

  I shook my head.

  "You know him. You know his pub was burned down last night, too."

  "Which cug?"

  "The Claddagh."

  "Geshundheit."

  McDonald folded his arms and watched us. "You're quite a distinctive-looking fella, you know that?"

  "I crefer rugged."

  "And you were seen there last night. A bloke with plasters all over his face."

  "Washn't ngee."

  "With another man who matched the description of Mr Farrell."

  "Hah. What're the oddsh?"

  He looked down at the blood stain on the carpet. "When we turned up, we found Mr O'Brien with his legs broken, a dirty laceration on his face, maimed hands and a large brick of unstepped heroin under his jacket."

  "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 h
appened." 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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