they’ve to do is to hold people till the job is over? Nothing else?’
‘That’s it.’
‘And the money, it’d be …’
‘Made available twenty-four hours before the job commences.’
Seamus points towards the trees. ‘Your ball is in there.’
The two men go into the trees to search for Ructions’ ball. Ructions finds it and takes a club out of his golf bag.
Seamus walks up the fairway. His thoughts are like dodgem cars crashing into one another. We get paid before the move? But no percentage of the take? Old Panzer must be expecting some turn. Demand a percentage of the take. Hold on there, Seamus, ye boy ye. Ructions will walk if you do that. Maybe he won’t. He’ll get another team. He will. He won’t. He will.
Ructions chips his ball out of the trees. The mist has lifted, as Seamus had predicted. His ball is in the middle of the fairway, as he had also predicted. He takes out his five wood and drives the ball to the edge of the green.
‘Nice shot,’ Ructions says. ‘You should make your par.’ Ructions hits his ball up the centre of the fairway. They amble on.
‘If a man was to express an interest in this job,’ Seamus says haughtily, ‘what, ahh, what sort of wages might he expect to take home, like?’
‘One hundred and fifty large.’
Seamus’ arching eyebrows tell Ructions everything he needs to know. Realising immediately that he has made a serious faux pas, Seamus tries to sound non-committal. ‘Not bad. How many men?’
‘That’d be up to the controller, but it’s straightforward enough. I’d say three – four at the very most. And it’d be up to the controller how much he pays his workers. As long as the job gets done, that’s none of my business.’
‘I see.’ Seamus stops and turns to Ructions. ‘And how much money is there in the job?’
‘That’s none of your business.’
Seamus can’t shackle the greedy voice in his head: ask for a percentage of the take. ‘Ah, but it is my business. I’d like to think there’d be a percentage—’
‘Shh!’ Ructions says, as he zips up the top of his golf bag and unclips the button on his glove. ‘Be seeing you, Seamus.’ Ructions puts out his hand.
Astonished at the sudden turn of events, Seamus automatically takes Ructions’ hand, but his grip is weak.
‘This conversation,’ Ructions says, ‘never happened, okay?’
Seamus looks like a man who has pulled his house apart and still cannot find his winning lottery ticket. ‘Wow, Ructions, wow! We can talk about this, can’t we?’
Ructions looks at his watch. ‘I need to go. I’ve to be up the road for half-eleven.’
Seamus has no idea where ‘up the road’ might be, and he cares even less. Sensing that his stock is dwindling away, he decides to play the man-to-man card, chuckling and holding up his hands appealingly. ‘Come on now, Ructions, you’re not gonna blame me for having a rattle, are you?’
‘You declared your hand,’ Ructions says, ‘and I’ve moved on. That’s it.’
Seamus smiles and points a golf club at Ructions. ‘You’d have done exactly the same thing. Admit it.’
If Seamus finds the situation amusing, Ructions doesn’t. He rolls his head from one side to the other, as if evaluating his options.
‘I got greedy,’ Seamus says. ‘It won’t happen again.’
‘No more shit talk.’
‘Gotcha, buddy.’
No, I’ve got you, Seamybo – and by the cobblers too. ‘Okay. Now, if I was to give you this job, I’d expect the same protocols as before.’
‘I know – no forensic traces left behind, everything on a need-to-know basis.’
‘I’d want a clean, professional operation.’
‘Isn’t it always?’
‘As always, you’re the only one on your side who knows who I am, and I’m the only one on my side who knows who you are. We keep it that way – just you and me. We watch each other’s backs.’
‘Ructions, I’m the only person alive who knows the names of the volunteers who stiffed fourteen Brits and cops. I know how to keep my trap shut.’
‘I know you do, but what has to be said has to be said, and just when we’re on the subject of—’
‘You don’t have to—’
‘Listen to me—’
‘I’m telling you—’
‘Fuckin’ listen to me!’ Ructions snaps. You’re not an IRA commander now, Seamybo. I give the orders, and you take them. ‘My client would be really pissed off if the IRA turned up at his door—’
‘That won’t happen,’ Seamus says icily.
‘It’d better not.’
One shallow breath later, and Seamus’ irritation finds its voice.
Are you threatening me?’
‘I don’t do threats. I state the position on behalf of my client.’
‘Don’t talk to me like I’m a little boy.’
‘I’d never do that.’
‘It sounded very like it.’
‘If it did, then I apologise.’
Seamus swallows hard. ‘Okay. The IRA won’t find out about this from my end. You’ve my word of honour on that.’
Ructions puts on his glove again, unzips his golf bag and takes out a club. ‘I’ll finish this hole,’ he says. As he readies himself to take his shot, he turns to Seamus. ‘One last thing before we get down to the nitty-gritty …’
‘What?’
‘No regrets.’
‘I’m not with you.’
Ructions lets almost thirty seconds pass. ‘It’s simple: I don’t want you getting your greedy head on again after the job. I don’t want you whinging in my ear that you want more dough. The deal we do now is the only deal there is or will be. Are you with me?’
Seamus is aggrieved, almost to the point of distraction. ‘Are you trying to make an asshole out of me altogether?’
‘No. I’m stating—’
‘The position on behalf of your client. I know. I heard you the last time.’
Ructions puts out his hand again. ‘Do we have a deal?’
Seamus takes Ructions’ hand and this time his grip is firm. ‘We have a deal.’
TWO
Finbarr O’Hare’s face is as pallid as wet bonding plaster and his eyes are as black as the devil’s tongue. His father, Johnny ‘Panzer’ O’Hare, and Gerard ‘Geek’ O’Reilly – red-haired, red-faced and red-necked – watch Finbarr as he emerges from the farmhouse, which is affectionately known as the ‘Big House’. The 22-year-old strides purposefully across the farmyard towards the middle barn. Panzer rubs the grey stubble on his chin. There’s something on that gobshite’s mind, something nasty. Panzer’s suspicions are compounded when Finbarr lifts a pitchfork from the side of the barn and disappears through the barn door. ‘Go see what he’s up to,’ Panzer says to Geek.
In the middle barn, two mechanics, Rudy and ‘Apple’, are looking under the hood