The last thing Mackendrick said before they left the warehouse was, ‘We know everything the police know. We know everything about your life – there’s no stroke you can pull that we won’t know about. We’re replacing Walter, and we can replace you just as easily.’
‘I’ve agreed to do what you want.’
‘The first thing I want you to do is nick a car. You’ve done it before.’
‘That was when I was a kid.’
‘Walter was good at that kind of thing. If I left it to these two, they’d smash the car window, then wreck the wiring trying to get the fucking thing started. I expect you to do a professional job. New plates, the whole thing shipshape.’
‘What kind of car?’
‘First time out – something roomy, newish, with a bit of power. I want you to do that tomorrow afternoon and I want you to bring it to the shopping centre at Dunmanlow. The car park. I’ll give you the details before you go.’
‘What’s this for?’
‘You heard me say
no questions asked
, right?’
‘And that’s all you want?’
‘That’s the kind of thing I want from you – I’ll be in touch from time to time.’
‘Tools, the reg plates – I’ll need money.’
‘No problem.’
When Karl pulled off the hood they were driving through Phibsboro. He used a knife to cut the plastic tie. Callaghan rubbed his wrists.
‘This’ll do,’ Karl said, and Robbie slowed down, pulled in and stopped with two wheels on the pavement.
‘I’m not near home,’ Callaghan said.
‘This isn’t a fucking taxi. Get out.’ He handed Callaghan his mobile.
Standing on the pavement, watching the car drive away, Callaghan powered up his phone. There were texts from Novak, all demanding that Danny call him.
‘Christ sake, where’ve you been?’
‘I’m sorry, something happened.’
‘The Mater had a conniption – I had to pull someone off another job to make that delivery. Then you had—’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Jesus, Danny.’
‘I’ll explain later.’
‘You okay? What happened?’
‘I’ll explain later.’ Callaghan ended the call.
The street was empty, a long, straight valley of middle-class houses, with pavements decorated with trees. Lots of greenery in the front gardens to protect the residents’ privacy. That kind of street, once you went into the driveway you were close to invisible. It was late afternoon, already getting dark,
This looks like a possible
.
Neat garden. Everything in its place.
There was a maroon Toyota 4×4 in the driveway. The burglar alarm high on the wall above the door was a cheapie, strictly ring-a-ding, without remote monitoring. If the house was empty, Danny Callaghan had a possible target.
He’d thought of telling Novak about Mackendrick, but he didn’t want to drag his friend into this. He had the card the police had given him – Detective Sergeant Michael Wyndham – but Wyndham’s instincts first and last would be to make an arrest. Besides, Lar Mackendrick probably wasn’t bluffing – ‘
We know everything the police know
.’ The consequences of crossing him would be deadly for Callaghan, and perhaps for Hannah, maybe for Leon and for Alex.
Best to do what Mackendrick asked – steal a car for him. If it ended there, Callaghan could swallow it.
If all that was needed was wheels, the simplest thing would be to take a car from a quiet street – and there were a few ways of doing that. If the demand was for a new model, which might have the latest immobilising gadgets, the most reliable option was to get hold of the keys.
Sometimes you could tell a lot just by the way a house looked – which lights were on, the way the curtains or the blinds were arranged. The best way to check if anyone was home was to ring the doorbell.
Walking up the driveway, Callaghan resisted the urge to glance around. Best to make like Mr Innocent, calling at the house on business. It was people with something to hide who checked out their surroundings. Callaghan involuntarily tapped his jacket’s left pocket, although he knew the set of bump keys was there.
‘It’s all about the basic skills,’ Jacob Nash used to say. ‘Once you’ve got the basic skills and the tools – open a lock, climb a wall, find a weak point – you’ll never go hungry.’
Nash got out of Mountjoy four years before Callaghan, after doing almost two years for a series of breaking and entering jobs. A few hours after receiving his orders from Lar Mackendrick, Callaghan drove out to Nash’s house in Skerries with enough money to buy what he needed. He found Nash up a ladder at the side of the house, fixing a leaky gutter.
Nash came down from the ladder. ‘What do you need?’
‘Slim jim, jiggler set, bump keys and a shim – and I need some plates.’
‘You’re going into business, then?’
‘Just keeping my hand in.’
The house with the Toyota 4×4 was the fourth one that Callaghan had tried in this area in the last forty minutes. At each of the other promising targets he rang the bell and a woman answered. Callaghan said he was from the cable television company and when the woman said there must be a mistake he asked if this wasn’t the Riordan household.
No
.
Oh, sorry – I’d better check they’ve given me the right address
.
Fourth time lucky.
He pressed the bell and waited.
After a minute he pressed again and after another minute passed Callaghan took out a keyring with half a dozen bump keys on it. He chose one, much like an ordinary front-door key except that the teeth were filed into a series of five regularly spaced triangles. When he inserted it in the lock, Callaghan used a thumb to apply minimum sideways pressure to the key. He took a small block of wood from an inside pocket and hit the key with it, like a hammer hitting a nail. The force should have caused the triangular teeth to jerk forward, jolting the pins out of place, the sideways pressure of his thumb forcing the cylinder to turn.
The lock stayed locked.
It was the timing that mattered, twisting the key – not too soon, not too late – in the fraction of a second after the whack of the bump key’s teeth bounced the pins upward. The trick was to get it turning before the pins fell back into place. Too soon or too late, nothing happened. He did it three more times and got the same result. The fifth time, the key turned, the lock opened and Callaghan stepped inside and shut the door behind him.
He had probably twenty seconds before the alarm went off. He glanced around – saw a key box on the wall, black with a colourful butterfly picture on the front. He opened it. Three keys, none of them a car key.
There was a hall table with a lace runner and some pieces of paper held down by a glass paperweight with a 3-D image of the World Trade Center. At the far side of the table, a shallow dark blue bowl with hair clips, safety pins, a small roll of Sellotape and a car key.
Just as he took the key the alarm went off.
No panic
.
No problem
.
Not yet
.
Mostly, neighbours assumed that a ringing alarm meant a false alarm. Only when the noise had had time to become a nuisance
did they look out of their windows to see if there was something wrong. Lots of time to start the engine, back out and be gone.
Callaghan forced himself to stay well within the speed limit for the ten minutes it took him to drive to the Dunmanlow shopping centre. He stopped in the corner of the car park furthest from the shopping-centre entrance. The false number plates were in a deep inside pocket of his overcoat and it took him just a couple of minutes to swap them for the originals.
He walked away from the Toyota, towards the O’Brien’s sandwich bar that looked out onto the car park. He bought a coffee and sat near the window. He’d been there ten minutes when Karl Prowse and his sidekick came in and sat down across from him.
‘Maroon Toyota, four by four,’ Callaghan said. He passed over the keys.
Karl said, ‘Well done, Junior.’
Callaghan didn’t reply. He stood up and left the cafe.
‘We’ve waited long enough,’ Robbie said. They’d been sitting by the window of the sandwich bar for almost an hour and Karl too was impatient. But he didn’t want Robbie making decisions, so he said, ‘Another few minutes, just to be sure.’
Not a hint of any cop activity around the shopping centre. The car park was filling up. A van had parked beside the Toyota, blocking their view, but the driver went into the shopping centre and was back out within minutes and drove away.
After a while, Karl said, ‘Let’s go.’ He gave the keys to Robbie and outside the sandwich bar they split up. Karl went to his Toledo and sat behind the wheel, Robbie left the car park and crossed the road to a nearby estate. He came back twenty minutes later and sat in the car.
‘How much?’ Karl said.
‘Fifty euro each. Two of them. Half now, half later.’
After a few minutes, two boys, late teens, both wearing Reebok clothes, crossed the road and headed across the car park. Robbie said, ‘That’s them.’ Karl started the engine.
When the kids started up the Toyota they took the long way towards the car park entrance, then around the roundabout and towards the main road. Ten minutes later Karl was driving behind them up the Malahide Road, then across towards Swords. He stayed a couple of cars behind the Toyota, alert for any sign that the 4×4 was being followed. Nothing suspicious. At the Swords Pavilions shopping centre they followed the Toyota past the open car park, into the indoor parking garage and up to the third floor. After sitting there for five minutes, Robbie said, ‘Looks like that’s okay.’
There was still a possibility that Callaghan had ratted them out and the cops were waiting for the Toyota to leave the car park, but Karl was hopeful. After a while the Toyota moved again and this time they followed it to the Airside retail estate. After parking for ten minutes there, Karl said, ‘Waste of money, giving them the second fifty.’
Robbie said, ‘A deal’s a deal.’ He got out and walked to the Toyota. After he paid the money, the kids drove away.
When Robbie got back to the Toledo, Karl was tapping out a number.
Lar Mackendrick put down the phone. Now that Callaghan had passed the test, he should be a reliable source for wheels in the days to come. The Walter blip was sorted.
He went back to his fireside chair and sat down. He’d left
The Art of War
open and face down on the arm of the chair. He picked it up, closed it and studied the dark leather cover.
Worth the wait
.
Without the book, he knew, he’d have gone at this whole thing bull-headed, gun in hand. And he’d have gone down in flames.
He stood up and went into the kitchen. He watched May place a slice of lemon on a salmon fillet, wrap the foil around it and slip it into the oven. In the two years since Lar’d had his health scare, May had been a star. She’d cooked whatever Lar’s nutritionist decreed, abandoned all her old heavy sauces, and steamed or baked where once she’d fried. If it hadn’t been for Lar’s determination and May’s care, he’d no doubt that he’d be dead by now.
‘We’re back on track. Like Walter never happened.’
May said, ‘You’re ready?’
He told her that Callaghan had passed the test, didn’t rat them out.
May took him in her arms and held him, her warm face next to his. She whispered, ‘Time to show the fuckers what we’re made of.’
In the 24 hours since he’d stolen the maroon Toyota, Danny Callaghan had spent most of the time at home. He turned off his mobile and kept the radio on, tuned to 98FM, and let the mindless music crowd out thought.
It was getting on for early evening and he was hungry. Lunch had been coffee and a slice of cheese between two pieces of brown bread. He put on his jacket and on his way down the stairs he switched on his phone and found he had eight voicemails. He’d reached the ground floor when the phone rang. He waited a moment, looking at Novak’s name on the screen, then he answered.
Novak sounded pissed off. ‘I’ve been calling you.’
‘Sorry, my phone was off.’
‘All day?’
‘Sorry.’
‘You didn’t get my messages?’
‘Novak—’
‘You said you’d explain later, Danny. It’s later.’
‘I said I’m sorry, it was—’
‘You’re my best driver, the most reliable – for seven months – then suddenly you disappear and leave two customers hanging. Reliability, Danny, that’s what this business depends on.’
‘Look—’
‘What’s wrong? What’s happened?’
‘Nothing, I just got held up.’
Novak’s tone was deliberately cold. ‘Fuck you, Danny. Talk to me.’
Callaghan said nothing.
Novak said, ‘There’s something wrong.’
‘I have to deal with this myself.’
‘Deal with what?’