too.’
‘Why would Noel—’
‘You coming with me?’
‘Of course I’m fucking coming with you.’ Liam looked down at his Israeli automatic. ‘How do you want to do this?’
12
Liam Delaney drove the Camry to the Glencara estate and parked two streets away from Albert Bannerman’s house. When they got out of the car, Liam took the far side of the street, trailing Vincent Naylor by about ten yards.
‘Tactics,’ Vincent explained. ‘If we stay together, we make a handy target. This way – you’ve got my back covered, and anyone comes for you they’re wide open to me.’
Liam thought this was a load of bollocks, but he didn’t say so. Vincent was like that sometimes, like when he said it didn’t matter what gun you took on a job. For Liam, a gun was a tool, and you don’t take a wrench to a carpentry job. Vincent not bothering to know that kind of stuff, that was one of his weaknesses. But he made up for it in other departments. Vincent had guts, he was loyal. They’d known each other since their teens – when they both worked for Mickey Kavanagh. They’d worked together on small jobs of their own and Liam reckoned it was the right time for Vincent to take things to another level. The Protectica job would do that. Vincent had the head for that kind of thing – and the balls to take it by the scruff.
Always assuming they walked away from this Bannerman shit.
Liam reckoned if this was a set-up, if someone wanted Vincent popped, it wouldn’t happen close to Bannerman’s home – Albert wouldn’t want to piss on his own doorstep. Most likely, it would happen afterwards. They’d get some bullshit from Bannerman, then it would happen on the way back to the car. Or not.
There was an edge to this kind of thing – not like doing a job, where it’s all about preparing and about following the plan. Tonight, Liam found himself stepping lightly, arms loose, every nerve alert. He was surprised by the feeling, by the lack of fear – it was a kind of high.
Albert Bannerman’s place was a corner house, at the end of the street. It was pretty much the average corner house on a council-built estate, except it had a large extension attached to the side. The council had sold off the houses decades back and most of them were tarted up one way or another, but Albert Bannerman’s had almost doubled in size.
Alone among the houses on the street, all the visible windows were alive with light. Bannerman himself was standing at the open front door, wearing a leather jacket, his hands in his pockets.
Bannerman was in his late thirties. He’d shaved his head as soon as his hair began to thin. Along with his thick neck and barrel chest, it gave him the look of a man who wasn’t often told things he didn’t want to hear. He ran a solid operation – stolen cars and smuggled cigarettes, mostly, with a sideline in protection. He and a friend from Dundrum were the money behind four Southside brothels.
Liam Delaney stopped across the road, stood there with the Israeli automatic in his hand, held down by his thigh. Vincent stopped a couple of yards from Bannerman’s garden gate. Stood there with his gun hand in his pocket.
Albert took his hands out of his pockets and walked slowly down the front path, to stand by the metal gate.
‘I’ve got two of my people inside – no weapons, none of us. Noel’s around the back, in the garden shed. He’s stopped making a racket.’ Bannerman jerked his head, indicating the house behind him, ‘Let’s talk inside.’
Vincent Naylor stood where he was. ‘What’s this about?’
‘Like I said, Noel’s quietened down. Could be, though, that some of the neighbours got upset about the noise – could be someone called the cops.’
‘You locked up my brother.’
‘All I’m saying – it’s possible the cops will send a car to nose around. You or your mate, you don’t want to be caught out here carrying something you shouldn’t be.’
‘I’m going nowhere
‘Why would Noel—’
‘You coming with me?’
‘Of course I’m fucking coming with you.’ Liam looked down at his Israeli automatic. ‘How do you want to do this?’
12
Liam Delaney drove the Camry to the Glencara estate and parked two streets away from Albert Bannerman’s house. When they got out of the car, Liam took the far side of the street, trailing Vincent Naylor by about ten yards.
‘Tactics,’ Vincent explained. ‘If we stay together, we make a handy target. This way – you’ve got my back covered, and anyone comes for you they’re wide open to me.’
Liam thought this was a load of bollocks, but he didn’t say so. Vincent was like that sometimes, like when he said it didn’t matter what gun you took on a job. For Liam, a gun was a tool, and you don’t take a wrench to a carpentry job. Vincent not bothering to know that kind of stuff, that was one of his weaknesses. But he made up for it in other departments. Vincent had guts, he was loyal. They’d known each other since their teens – when they both worked for Mickey Kavanagh. They’d worked together on small jobs of their own and Liam reckoned it was the right time for Vincent to take things to another level. The Protectica job would do that. Vincent had the head for that kind of thing – and the balls to take it by the scruff.
Always assuming they walked away from this Bannerman shit.
Liam reckoned if this was a set-up, if someone wanted Vincent popped, it wouldn’t happen close to Bannerman’s home – Albert wouldn’t want to piss on his own doorstep. Most likely, it would happen afterwards. They’d get some bullshit from Bannerman, then it would happen on the way back to the car. Or not.
There was an edge to this kind of thing – not like doing a job, where it’s all about preparing and about following the plan. Tonight, Liam found himself stepping lightly, arms loose, every nerve alert. He was surprised by the feeling, by the lack of fear – it was a kind of high.
Albert Bannerman’s place was a corner house, at the end of the street. It was pretty much the average corner house on a council-built estate, except it had a large extension attached to the side. The council had sold off the houses decades back and most of them were tarted up one way or another, but Albert Bannerman’s had almost doubled in size.
Alone among the houses on the street, all the visible windows were alive with light. Bannerman himself was standing at the open front door, wearing a leather jacket, his hands in his pockets.
Bannerman was in his late thirties. He’d shaved his head as soon as his hair began to thin. Along with his thick neck and barrel chest, it gave him the look of a man who wasn’t often told things he didn’t want to hear. He ran a solid operation – stolen cars and smuggled cigarettes, mostly, with a sideline in protection. He and a friend from Dundrum were the money behind four Southside brothels.
Liam Delaney stopped across the road, stood there with the Israeli automatic in his hand, held down by his thigh. Vincent stopped a couple of yards from Bannerman’s garden gate. Stood there with his gun hand in his pocket.
Albert took his hands out of his pockets and walked slowly down the front path, to stand by the metal gate.
‘I’ve got two of my people inside – no weapons, none of us. Noel’s around the back, in the garden shed. He’s stopped making a racket.’ Bannerman jerked his head, indicating the house behind him, ‘Let’s talk inside.’
Vincent Naylor stood where he was. ‘What’s this about?’
‘Like I said, Noel’s quietened down. Could be, though, that some of the neighbours got upset about the noise – could be someone called the cops.’
‘You locked up my brother.’
‘All I’m saying – it’s possible the cops will send a car to nose around. You or your mate, you don’t want to be caught out here carrying something you shouldn’t be.’
‘I’m going nowhere
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