tough cookie back in Ireland, but you’re not in Ireland. This is New York’
‘How old are you?’ Liam asked, the trace of a smile at his lips.
‘Twenty.’
‘That figures. I was twenty once.’
‘Say what?’
‘Forget it.’
‘So how old are you now Paddy?’
‘Twenty-eight.’
‘Jesus, you look a lot older than that. I thought you were at least thirty-five.’
‘Fuck you, Tommy.’
They rode along in silence for a few minutes, then Tommy asked, ‘So, we’re cool now?’
‘Yes, we’re cool.’
‘Then where do you need to go?’
‘Fucked if I know. I don’t even know where to start. Don’t suppose you’ve ever heard of a guy called Jimmy Mal?’
‘Yep. Never seen him though. Got a bit of a reputation as a hard case. He’s bad news too.’
‘I need to find out where he lives.’
‘Try the phone book.’
‘What?’ Liam looked at the lad. ‘Don’t be stupid. He wouldn’t be listed in the book.’
‘Why not? He’s all legit as far as I know, at least on the surface. It’s got to be worth a shot.’
‘Well then, let’s give it a go,’ Liam agreed. ‘Can’t hurt. It’s not as if I’ve anything else to go on.’
The car pulled up at the next public box and Liam jumped out and grabbed the dirty phone book hanging there. He flipped to the Bs and was immediately faced by hundreds of Brennans . Shite! Brennan, J – still loads of them. Brennan, James – still quite a few. Brennan, James Malcolm – just the one. Could it really be that easy? ‘Jimmy Mal, I think I’ve found you,’ Liam whispered. ‘You’re mine, you bastard.’ He ripped the page from the book and jumped back in the car. ‘Can you drop me in the Bronx?’ he asked Tommy.
‘Sure, let’s have a look at that address,’ replied the youth as he removed his distinctive leather jacket and, at the questioning glance, informed him, ‘The Bronx. Unfriendly territory, get my drift?’
8
The Bronx
The Thunderbird cruised slowly along Dyre Avenue to the offbeat tune of its muted exhaust and made a quick left turn before coming to a halt opposite a row of small, wood-clad houses. ‘That’s the address in the phone book,’ confirmed Tommy as he pointed over to one of the houses.
The sun was just setting and most of the homes had soft light coming from their windows, but the one Liam was interested in was in darkness. ‘I’ll check it out. You stay in the car,’ he told Tommy. This looked like a decent neighbourhood and didn’t scream “scary Bronx” as Liam would have expected. The little homes were neat and welcoming and Liam was deciding that this couldn’t be the home of the Jimmy Mal as he walked quietly up the drive. Then he stopped in his tracks. The tell-tale blink of a tiny light caught his attention. It was a sure sign that the house was alarmed, just like his in Derbyshire. Then he noted the thick bars at the windows. He peered at the houses either side. No bars there. Just this one house done up like a fortress. An innocuous little neighbourhood and a house with excessive security precautions - how very telling. ‘Oh, Jimmy Mal, I really have found you,’ he whispered.
He moved quietly to the front of the house but stopped as a small sound caught his attention. Then a hand grabbed him on the shoulder and he swung round in panic. ‘Jesus Tommy,’ he breathed with relief. ‘I told you to wait in the fuckin ’ car.’
Dreams of a French Girl
– Interrupted
At the house next door Jack knew he should be on guard, but he had sneaked a couple of hours off duty and was in the middle of a deep sleep. At one point something woke him but, as he strained his ears to catch any noise, there was nothing, so he went straight back to sleep with a contented snore and happily returned to his rather erotic dream.
‘Ah, Marie-Claire my love, you really do have beautiful legs and the most alluring walk. I can’t wait to s...’ The sound was back again. He lifted his head and yawned,
‘How old are you?’ Liam asked, the trace of a smile at his lips.
‘Twenty.’
‘That figures. I was twenty once.’
‘Say what?’
‘Forget it.’
‘So how old are you now Paddy?’
‘Twenty-eight.’
‘Jesus, you look a lot older than that. I thought you were at least thirty-five.’
‘Fuck you, Tommy.’
They rode along in silence for a few minutes, then Tommy asked, ‘So, we’re cool now?’
‘Yes, we’re cool.’
‘Then where do you need to go?’
‘Fucked if I know. I don’t even know where to start. Don’t suppose you’ve ever heard of a guy called Jimmy Mal?’
‘Yep. Never seen him though. Got a bit of a reputation as a hard case. He’s bad news too.’
‘I need to find out where he lives.’
‘Try the phone book.’
‘What?’ Liam looked at the lad. ‘Don’t be stupid. He wouldn’t be listed in the book.’
‘Why not? He’s all legit as far as I know, at least on the surface. It’s got to be worth a shot.’
‘Well then, let’s give it a go,’ Liam agreed. ‘Can’t hurt. It’s not as if I’ve anything else to go on.’
The car pulled up at the next public box and Liam jumped out and grabbed the dirty phone book hanging there. He flipped to the Bs and was immediately faced by hundreds of Brennans . Shite! Brennan, J – still loads of them. Brennan, James – still quite a few. Brennan, James Malcolm – just the one. Could it really be that easy? ‘Jimmy Mal, I think I’ve found you,’ Liam whispered. ‘You’re mine, you bastard.’ He ripped the page from the book and jumped back in the car. ‘Can you drop me in the Bronx?’ he asked Tommy.
‘Sure, let’s have a look at that address,’ replied the youth as he removed his distinctive leather jacket and, at the questioning glance, informed him, ‘The Bronx. Unfriendly territory, get my drift?’
8
The Bronx
The Thunderbird cruised slowly along Dyre Avenue to the offbeat tune of its muted exhaust and made a quick left turn before coming to a halt opposite a row of small, wood-clad houses. ‘That’s the address in the phone book,’ confirmed Tommy as he pointed over to one of the houses.
The sun was just setting and most of the homes had soft light coming from their windows, but the one Liam was interested in was in darkness. ‘I’ll check it out. You stay in the car,’ he told Tommy. This looked like a decent neighbourhood and didn’t scream “scary Bronx” as Liam would have expected. The little homes were neat and welcoming and Liam was deciding that this couldn’t be the home of the Jimmy Mal as he walked quietly up the drive. Then he stopped in his tracks. The tell-tale blink of a tiny light caught his attention. It was a sure sign that the house was alarmed, just like his in Derbyshire. Then he noted the thick bars at the windows. He peered at the houses either side. No bars there. Just this one house done up like a fortress. An innocuous little neighbourhood and a house with excessive security precautions - how very telling. ‘Oh, Jimmy Mal, I really have found you,’ he whispered.
He moved quietly to the front of the house but stopped as a small sound caught his attention. Then a hand grabbed him on the shoulder and he swung round in panic. ‘Jesus Tommy,’ he breathed with relief. ‘I told you to wait in the fuckin ’ car.’
Dreams of a French Girl
– Interrupted
At the house next door Jack knew he should be on guard, but he had sneaked a couple of hours off duty and was in the middle of a deep sleep. At one point something woke him but, as he strained his ears to catch any noise, there was nothing, so he went straight back to sleep with a contented snore and happily returned to his rather erotic dream.
‘Ah, Marie-Claire my love, you really do have beautiful legs and the most alluring walk. I can’t wait to s...’ The sound was back again. He lifted his head and yawned,
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