The Going Rate (30 page)

“This an interview?”

“Background.”

“Oh, I'm going to be a character in your thing?”

“You sound like a Dub but then you go Cockney a lot of the time.”

“Do I really? Do I?”

It was a perfect East End accent, Fanning had to admit.

“Watched too much Austin Powers,” said Cully. “Probably. Mis-spent youth and all that.”

“‘Youff,'” said Fanning. “That sort of thing.”

“You making fun of me?”

“What else did you do?”

“Cocky fella tonight, aren't you. What are you on?”

“You don't like questions, do you?”

“I don't mind actually,” said Cully.

“So, what else did you do?”

“This and that.”

“What does that mean?”

“Means what I said. Here, let me give you a little tip on etiquette here. Save your questions, save them for later. Just er, observe. Is that the correct term?”

Fanning couldn't tell how much was sarcasm now. Cully shifted to third but misjudged the clutch, and the car staggered.

“Shitbox,” he said with little feeling. “Give me Jap any day.”

“Nondescript,” said Fanning. “Is that a clue?”

“Non – de…?”

“Ordinary.”

“That sounds about right,” said Cully. “Nothing wrong with being ordinary, is there. I mean it's okay to stand out, don't get me wrong, but for a good cause, see? Princess Di, Bono – that sort of thing.”

“Princess Di? You actually believe that, what you just said?”

“No.”

Cully made the light at Milltown Road. Fanning took out his notebook.

“Notebook?” Cully asked. “Like a reporter?”

“It's too easy to forget stuff.”

Cully nodded as if in appreciation of the idea.

“Keep it on you all the time, do you?”

“Pretty well.”

“Just one?”

“One at a time.”

“I should do that,” said Cully. “Don't trust all the online stuff, I have to say. But does your stuff, your job, have a lot of detail? Appointments, all that?”

“Maybe not as much as yours,” said Fanning.

“Nice,” said Cully. “Nice way of asking.”

The excitement in Fanning's chest had settled. He had expected Cully's evasions. He wasn't an iijit.

He began to jot down some notes, scribbling intentionally:

– no bling

– takes care (driving, appearance, etc.)

– not defensive.

He couldn't imagine Cully sitting around a pub with a bunch of thugs. What could he have instead of Tony Soprano's restaurant and bakery routine?

“What does a fella do for entertainment?” he asked Cully.

Cully turned to him with a half-amused expression. In the oncoming lights Fanning caught sight of a line of shiny skin that ran under Cully's eyebrow.

“Not too shy about your questions tonight, are you.”

Fanning took this as praise.

“Part of the job,” he said to Cully. “If you want to tell me things, you will. If you don't, well you won't.”

“It's a free country and all that, right?”

“So they say.”

“It's free if you've got money,” said Cully. “I mean look at this place. Rathgar. One mill, two mill, for a house here? But not too free when you're not on the winning side.”

“You mean poor?”

“You use that word, do you? I've only been hearing dictionary words myself, like, well – you probably know them better. Underprivileged?”

“Marginalized.”

“That's one. First time I heard it I thought margarine. Is that what poor people have to eat? What's so bad about that?”

Fanning scribbled the word “margarine” in his notebook.

“Are you going to use that? I don't want to look stupid.”

“No. It's just a remark, for atmosphere. Ambiance.”

“See, you left me right there, with words like that. That's something I could never do, I could never remember all those words.”

“Was it hard-going for you at school, when you were a kid?”

“That's a weird question.Did you ask Murph questions like that too?”

“Sure, I did.”

“And what did he come up with?”

“Not much, to be honest.”

“What a surprise there. Anything he did tell you was fantasy. Whatever he thought he could get away with. You know?”

“Possibly.”

“Oh, I guarantee it. Yes, I do.”

Cully geared down for a light in the middle of Rathgar. He looked around at the parked cars, the pubs, and the restaurants.

“Lambo,” he murmured, “over there. Lamborghini, a Diablo. AMG Mercedes a few down, see by that gate? Uh-oh a yellow Porsche. The killer one. Let me see if I can spot one ordinary car around here.”

“You know a lot about cars?”

“I like them, is all.”

“Are those ones easy to boost?”

Cully made a long blink and he looked over.

“‘To boost?'“

“To rob. To steal.”

“Well, listen to you,” said Cully. “Cheeky.”

“Well? Are they hard to steal?”

“How would I know that?”

Cully drove through the green light onto Terenure Road.

“Where are we going?” Fanning asked. “You said on the phone that you'd be stopping off at a few places.”

“Do you know Kimmage at all?”

“Not much. Do you?”

This time, Fanning sensed annoyance in Cully's glance. Several seconds passed. It was long enough for Fanning's glow of pride at surprising Cully to subside.

“Cashel Road,” said Cully then. “A road off that. I have to meet a man. Give him a message, collect something.”

“Is it anything like the message you gave those two this afternoon?”

“Those two drug dealers? The pair from Siberia?”

“Siberia?”

“Well how do I know?”

“Eastern Europe?”

“Something like that I suppose.”

“Were you paid to do what you did?”

“I do what I have to do,” he said.

To Fanning, it was as though Cully had expected the question sooner.

He seemed to know the area well enough, steering the BMW with ease by the bends and the parked cars.

“This is Murph's playground here,” he said in an almost cheerful voice then. “Kimmage. Did you know that?”

“Well, he grew up here.”

“So he'd be wised up, you could say.”

“I suppose.”

“So he wised you up then. Not to shower people with questions.”

“He did mention to mind my manners. Words to that effect.”

“Too bad he doesn't practise what he preaches himself.”

He drove on, each turn of the wheel and gearstick fluid and expert now, it seemed. His eyes went to all the mirrors often, expertly, easily. He coasted to the lights at Fortfield Road, and put on his indicator. It was a long traffic light.

“What did you mean about Murph?” Fanning said.

“‘Practise what you preach' stuff? Or about him and his rubbish ideas?”

“Both. Either.”

Cully looked over.

“Bet you're wondering about Murph, aren't you.”

“Sort of.”

“You know he was a complete spoof, right?”

“I let him just run with it. Took some of what he said with a grain of salt.”

“Okay. I mean how could you check on anything he told you anyway, right?”

“That's about it.”

“I mean can you see yourself sitting across the table from some cop?”

“Why would I do that?”

“I'm not saying you would. But it's common sense, isn't it? How would you know what Murphy said is true, any of it?”

“Well it's fiction I'm aiming for.”

“Right, of course.”

Fanning wasn't sure if Cully was baiting him again.

“Either way, you'll get nothing good off of him,” Cully said. He accelerated quickly to get through the junction ahead of an oncoming van.

“Murph's out of this line of work. My suggestion.” “But he loaned you his car.”

“Yes he did.”

“And his phone.”

“Yup.”

“Very generous of him. I didn't think he loaned out his car.”

“Well he did the right thing. I mean, he's not a complete prat. A person needs to make amends, you know.”

“Amends for…?”

“It's a few things. Carelessness.”

“For talking to me as well?”

Cully paused between gear shifts.

“Was that frowned on, him talking to me?” Fanning asked.

“Could be.”

“Whatever that means. ‘Could be.'”

“Let's just say certain people thought Murph was out of order. Okay, we're coming up to this place.”

Chapter 30

C
ULLY PULLED IN BEHIND
a parked van and he shut off the engine. He left the keys in the ignition and placed his hands on the rim of the steering wheel, his fingers stretched out. A bus passed, almost empty. Cully seemed to be concentrating on something.

“Okay,” he said and tapped his fingers on the wheel. “What were we talking about again? Murph?”

“Yes we were.”

“All right. Murph's in Marbella. That's the deal.”

“Marbella?”

“Ever been?”

“No.”

“Good for you. It's full of crims and blackguards, and their fat, tarty wives lying around on the beach, like bloody whales.”

“‘Blackguards? My grandmother used to use that word.”

“Really. Well write it down. Blags, blackguards. Thieves and suchlike.”

“That's English.”

“That's what we're speaking, isn't it.”

“You're telling me Murph's in Spain.”

“Right. It's a good enough place to do some thinking, some penance for his sins, clean up his act, get advice.”

“It wasn't the visit from Mr. Black-and-Decker then?”

For several moments Fanning thought he had gone too far.

“Where did you hear that kind of talk?” Cully asked quietly. “Murphy?”

“He said–”

“–there's an example of what I'm talking about. Hasn't a clue.”

“Well he said they used nail guns to kneecap those two fellas before Christmas, in Skerries.”

Cully shook his head and sighed.

“Let's change the subject. You're doing research. So you want background.”

“Right.”

“And you want it real, you say. Gritty. Okay, tonight's your night. I set something up for you.”

“I'm not getting involved in stuff. I'm just observing.”

“That's right. Here's how it goes. Ever wondered how easy it is to get ahold of a gun here in Dublin?”

“Sometimes. A lot of it goes on, they say. ‘Rent a gun'?”

“You're on the ball, I see. So you think anyone can just do it?”

“I have no idea,” said Fanning.

“You have to be in the know. Obviously. Have someone vouch for you. Like ‘Johnny told me to get in touch.' Johnny being known to the bloke.”

“Johnny who?”

“That's not funny. Johnny is the comeback if anything goes sideways. Insurance, in a way.”

“Johnny knows everything then. The go-to.”

“A phone call has been made, a certain person phoned and said there'd be a visitor who wanted something. This is where it gets done. Do you get it?”

“I think so.”

“The goods have been sent out to an address, with a person who will actually do the business, arm's length, they say, don't they?”

Fanning nodded.

“Make sense?”

“I suppose,” said Fanning. “Is it an organized thing, or just people doing their own thing?”

“Bit of both.”

“Does it go wrong?”