The Hiding Place(91)

“Well, look what the cat dragged in.”

I put my beer down on the table. He stands and holds open his arms. We hug. He cannot see my face.

Finally, we sit. Brendan raises his glass of orange juice. “Glad to have you back, and in one piece.”

I take a sip of my pint. “Thanks.”

“Now, are you going to tell me what the feck happened?”

“The blond woman won’t be a problem anymore.”

“No?”

“She’s dead. An accident.”

I watch him. But he’s good.

“And what about your debt?”

“I think that will be written off very soon.”

“Well, you know what my dear old mammy would say?”

“What’s that?”

“A wise man never counts his chickens until he’s killed the last fox.”

“Meaning?”

“You might have taken care of the woman, but do you really think that’s the end of it?”

I open the packet of crisps and offer it to Brendan. He pats his stomach and shakes his head. “Diet, remember?”

“Ah. Of course. You used to be a lot bigger, didn’t you? When you drank.”

He grins. “Not like the Adonis I am now.”

“So you’d say you were fat back then?”

The grin fades. “What is this, Joe?”

“Something Gloria said, before she died. It was quick, if you’re wondering. I know you two were close.”

“Close? I have no bloody idea what you’re talking about. I’m your friend. The one who has always been there for you. The one who visited you for weeks in the hospital.”

“You visited me twice. But I guess you were too busy running your businesses. Gambling, extortion, murder.”

“Businesses? This is Brendan you’re talking to!”

“No. This is the Fatman I’m talking to.”

We stare at each other. I see him realize it’s no good. All the cards have been played. He holds out his arms.

“Fuck. You got me. Always were sharp. That’s why I like you.”

The thick Irish brogue has fallen away, like a snake shedding its skin.

“That’s why you got Gloria to cripple me?” I say.

“Business is business. Friendship is friendship.”

“What do you know about friendship?”

“You’re still breathing. I’d call that friendship.”

“Why? Why pretend to be my friend at all? Why let me share your apartment?”

“I was trying to help you. Give you a chance to pay. But you kept getting yourself in deeper. Also, God’s honest truth, I enjoy your company. In my position, you don’t have many close friends.”

“Tend to have a lot of accidents, do they?”

He chuckles. “Sometimes it’s necessary.”

Necessary. Of course.

He leans back in his chair. “So, tell me—what did Gloria say?”

“Hope you’re wearing your boogie shoes. It didn’t register at the time, what with her pointing a gun at my head. But later, I remembered.”

He shakes his scruffy head. “Should have known my words of wisdom would come back to haunt me one day.”

“It wasn’t just that. I could almost have dismissed what Gloria said—”

And I wanted to. I so badly wanted to. But there was something else.

“It was the car,” I say.

“Car?”

“I saw a black Ford Focus with child seats parked at the B&B before you said you drove down to bring me the bag. It was familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it. Then I remembered. I’d seen the same Ford Focus outside the apartment once before. You told me it was your sister’s car that you’d borrowed.”

“Ah.”

“Is it?”

“Actually, no. Always hide in plain sight, my friend. Half the people in this pub have heard of the Fatman. Not one knows he’s in here most nights. No one looks twice at Brendan, reformed drunkster, harmless Irish buffoon.

“Same with the car. Nobody notices another kiddie carrier. Something bad happens, you need to get out fast, the police won’t stop the scruffy-looking dad trundling along in his Ford Focus to pick up the kids. Perfect disguise.”

“Or maybe not.”

“Well, we all make mistakes. Yours was coming back here. Because now I have a dilemma. You still owe me money. My girlfriend is dead. What am I supposed to do with you, Joe?”

“Let me walk out of here.”

He laughs. “I could do that. But it would only be delaying the inevitable.”

“You’re not going to kill me.”

“And why is that?”

“Tell me two things first—why did you tell me to go to the police?”

“Because I knew you wouldn’t. Reverse psychology.”

“And was everything lies? Everything else you told me?”

He considers. “Well, let’s see. My mammy is Irish, but not so dear. I did used to be fat. I’m a recovering alcoholic. Oh, and I have a sister—”

“With two kids—Daisy and Theo.”

He stares at me. A nerve twitches by his eye.