Seventy Times Seven Read Free

bone-handled shaver to his face and scraping it over his dry skin in slow deliberate movements. When the blade reached his hairline Danny didn’t stop. He continued until all the hair on his head was lying in soft tufts – and short, matted clumps – at his feet.
    After filling the sink with warm water he submerged his head and repeated the process until his face and scalp were completely smooth and free of hair.
    Danny knew that each tiny follicle had the potential to turn informer were it to be collected as evidence at the scene of a crime.
    The phone started ringing.
    Danny stood in the doorway of the messy bathroom and listened.
    After four rings the caller rang off, then the phone started ringing again. This time Danny made his way along the narrow hallway and picked up the receiver.
    ‘Órlaith?’
    ‘What about ye‚ Danny, everything all right?’
    ‘Fine.’
    ‘Sorry to call so late, yer ma’s just been on the phone. There’s something wrong with the lights in her kitchen. She wants to get an electrician in tomorrow.’
    ‘Did you try the fuse box?’ asked Danny.
    Órlaith laughed. ‘I wouldn’t know what a fuse looked like if it crawled up my leg and bit me on the arse, never mind finding the box they’re kept in.’
    ‘Did you tell her I’d fix it?’
    ‘No point! I’m taking her shopping for a few hours tomorrow afternoon. Why don’t you nip round while she’s out? If we finish early I’ll ring the house and you can do a runner.’
    ‘Aye‚ fine.’
    ‘If you’ve no other plans why don’t you head over here afterwards and I‘ll cook you your tea.’
    ‘What’s on the menu?’ asked Danny.
    ‘Whatever you’re given,’ replied Órlaith. ‘You bring the alcohol, and your pyjamas if you’re going to stay.’
    ‘Aye, grand,’ replied Danny.
    ‘Are you all right? You sound a bit flat,’ asked Órlaith.
    ‘I just had Lep McFarlane on the phone.’
    ‘Lep McFarlane! Jesus Christ, you are joking! I was convinced the little fucker must be dead,’ said Órlaith. ‘What the hell did the wee shite want?’
    ‘He wants to meet.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Did Sean ever mention anyone called Finn O’Hanlon to you?’ asked Danny.
    Órlaith thought for a moment before answering. ‘No, never heard of him.’
    ‘Lep reckons this guy knows who killed our Sean.’
    Órlaith was silent for a long time before she spoke again. ‘You be careful now, you hear.’

Chapter 3
Tuscaloosa‚ Maundy Thursday‚ McHales Bar‚ lunchtime
    Even sheltering in the shade of the bar there was little relief from the stifling humidity outside. Finn O’Hanlon drew a hand across his brow as he made his way through the white shafts of sunlight that cut the lazy clouds of drifting cigarette smoke floating in front of him.
    He was heading for a table next to the emergency exit at the far end of the tar-blackened, oak-panelled bar.
    Finn sat with his back to the wall making sure he had a clear view of the entrance: force of habit from years of making quick getaways.
    Two things to know: who’s coming in and the quickest way out.
    He scratched at his beard and involuntarily licked his lips in anticipation of a cold beer.
    The waitress headed over.
    She was attractive; looked a little out of place serving in a local joint like McHales.
    ‘Hi, my name’s Marie. You wanna order from me or at the bar?’
    ‘Who’s serving at the bar?’ asked Finn.
    ‘Me,’ she replied, ‘but I make more on tips if I serve you at your table.’
    ‘I’ll get you at the bar then,’ said Finn, making to stand up.
    ‘Okay, sit down smart-ass. But be warned, “no tip, no hurry”. It’s an ancient Chinese proverb,’ she said with a genuine smile that told Finn she hadn’t been completely screwed over by life yet. ‘What can I get you?’
    ‘The coldest beer you have in your fridge and a razor please.’
    ‘Is the razor for your face or your wrists?’
    ‘My legs,’ he replied.
    Marie smiled again.
    ‘Any preference of