Himself(90)

Jack turns.

Mahony surprises himself.

Really and truly he does. He wouldn’t have known he had it in him.

All right, so he’d always known he could be a handy little bastard with a few jars in him, but this is another horse entirely.

Here he is, palming the head of the nymph, pulling her up off the ground and raising her up to knock the murdering head off Sergeant Jack Brophy.

It’s as if he’d rehearsed it all his life.

Jack falls down to his knees as if he’s seen the light. And the dead dog leaps around him howling.

And Mahony is off, barrelling back to the Eldorado. He has the car swung round and out of the gate in seconds.

After a minute on the road Mahony casts his eye over the fuel gauge. He even taps it like they do in the films but the needle is still on the red. He has another quick pray. Please God let there be enough juice to get me the f*ck out of here.

God answers with a pothole that has him bouncing off the ceiling and which focuses Mahony’s mind back on avoiding the worst bits of the road. His arse slithers up and down the polished leather seat. There is no purchase to be had at all other than holding tight onto the wheel.

And he’s doing a grand job with all of that when a movement in his rear-view mirror catches his eye.

Mahony knows that if he could let go of the wheel he’d be blessing himself right now.

A car chase is one thing.

A car chase on a road bolloxed by craters with a guard’s car a foot off your bumper is another thing. The Eldorado has no chance. She is too long and low and heavy. Mahony takes the corners badly. Branches and brambles score. His only thought now is to get back down into town where there will be witnesses. Where he is less likely to be whacked and put in a hole. He congratulates himself for staying an optimist there.

It’s as if Jack’s read his mind.

The first bump is not even a warning. The second runs Mahony off the road and into a ditch. Jack rams the cop car hard into the side of the Eldorado, scraping all down the flank so that the passenger door bows in and the wing mirror smashes off.

Mahony is up, out and across the field to the cover of the forest beyond, running like bejaysus before Jack has even climbed across into the passenger seat to get out of his car.

Jack watches Mahony run into the trees before he moves around to the back of his car, opens the boot and slowly takes out a knife, a sack and a shovel.





Chapter 56


May 1976


Michael Hopper pulls the priest’s car over when he sees the smash up ahead on the Castleross road.

Bridget has her hand on the door handle. ‘Stay here, the lot of you. Keep your heads down.’

The others watch Bridget approach the cars with the gun trained along on her forearm.

‘It’s just like in the films,’ murmurs Michael in astonishment.

Bridget keeps her body low, moving with surprising speed and grace.

Mrs Cauley smiles. ‘She’s the dark horse, isn’t she?’

Bridget crosses over and scans the field beyond, then walks back to the car. ‘They went into the forest; there’s clear prints. Mahony must have run for cover.’ She puts the safety catch on her gun. ‘I’m going after them.’

Michael Hopper sinks down in his seat and offers up a prayer.

Shauna gets out of the car. ‘I’m coming with you. You stay here with Michael, Mrs Cauley.’

Mrs Cauley rears up. ‘I will not. I’ll bring up the rear. Michael, unload me.’

Shauna looks as if she wants to say something. Instead she leans in through the window and kisses the old woman on the cheek.

Mrs Cauley smiles. ‘Watch yourself, Shauna. And keep an eye on Annie Oakley there.’

Shauna nods and follows Bridget across the wall.





Chapter 57


May 1976


Mahony keeps running. He’s covered some ground but has no idea where he’s been or where he’s heading. He’s like a shagged-out horse in a western: lathered white and beaded with sweat, with a mad hunted look in his eyes. He slows himself, for the forest is thickening, drawing in, and it’s getting harder to gallop. His fags have fallen out of his pocket but it’s no matter, he hasn’t the breath left to smoke one. He’ll think of packing them in now, in the time he has left to him.

He must have put some space between himself and Jack. He leans his palms up against the trunk of a tree and thinks.

All he has to do is to keep the head, find his way through the forest and get help. If he can avoid being found by Jack that’d be great.

And if he is found, he’ll have to properly knock the man’s head off this time.

In the meantime he’ll need a bit of stealth. He looks down at himself; his trousers are OK but his white shirt, laundered by Shauna, has a gleam you could see from the moon. He strips off the shirt and bundles it into a bush. Then he picks up handfuls of dirt from the ground and rubs it over his chest, arms and face and as much of his back as he can reach. Feeling half eejit and half wild man he looks around him for a weapon and takes up a stout stick with a splintered end.

‘If he comes near me I’ll be ramming you right up his hole,’ he says to the stick.

The wheelchair is wedged between two saplings.

Michael shakes his head. ‘I’ve misjudged the clearance there, Mrs Cauley.’