came out of the box for cleaning. His fingertip found the trigger curled inside the guard.
The boy waited in the doorway.
Fegan got to his feet and followed him to the stairs. The boy descended, the lean grace of his body seemingly untouched by the light below.
Fegan began the slow climb downward. An adrenal surge stirred dark memories, voices long silenced, faces like bloodstains. The others came behind, sharing glances with one another. As he reached the bottom, he saw McKenna’s back. The politician studied the old photograph of Fegan’s mother, the one that showed her young and pretty in a doorway.
The boy crossed the room and again played out the execution of the man who had taken him apart with a claw hammer more than twenty years ago.
Fegan’s heart thundered, his lungs heaved. Surely McKenna would hear.
The boy looked to Fegan and smiled.
Fegan asked, “If I do it, will you leave me alone?”
The boy nodded.
“What?” McKenna put the framed picture down. He turned to the voice and froze when he saw the gun aimed at his forehead.
“I can’t do it here.”
The boy’s smile faltered.
“Not in my house. Somewhere else.”
The smile returned.
“Jesus, Gerry.” McKenna gave a short, nervous laugh as he held his hands up. “What’re you at?”
“I’m sorry, Michael. I have to.”
McKenna’s smile fell away. “I don’t get it, Gerry. We’re friends.”
“We’re going to get into your car.” The clarity crackled in Fegan’s head. For the first time in months his hand did not shake.
McKenna’s mouth twisted. “Like fuck we are.”
“We’re going to get into your car,” Fegan repeated. “You in the front, me in the back.”
“Gerry, your head’s away. Put the gun down before you do something you’ll regret.”
Fegan stepped closer. “The car.”
McKenna reached out. “Now, come on, Gerry. Let’s just calm down a second, here, all right? Why don’t you give that to me, and I’ll put it away. Then we’ll have a drink.”
“I won’t say it again.”
“No messing, Gerry, let me have it.”
McKenna went to grab the gun, but Fegan pulled his hand away. He brought it back to aim at the center of McKenna’s forehead.
“You always were a mad cunt.” McKenna kept his eyes on him as he went to the door. He opened it and stepped out onto the street. He looked left and right, right and left, searching for a witness. When his shoulders slumped, Fegan knew there was no one. This was not the kind of street where curtains twitched.
The Merc’s locking system sensed the key was in range, whirring and clunking as McKenna approached.
“Open the back door,” Fegan said.
McKenna did as he was told.
“Now get in the front and leave the door open till I’m inside.” Fegan kept the Walther trained on McKenna’s head until he was seated at the steering wheel.
Fegan slid into the back, careful not to touch the leather upholstery with his bare hands. He used a handkerchief to pull the door closed. Tom had seen him leave with the politician, so his prints around the front passenger seat didn’t matter. McKenna sat quite still with his hands on the wheel.
“Now close the door and go.”
The Merc’s big engine rumbled into life, and McKenna pulled away. Fegan took one glance from the back window and saw the twelve watching from the pavement. The boy stepped out onto the road and waved.
Fegan lay down flat in the cloaking shadows. He pressed the gun’s muzzle against the back of the driver’s seat, exactly where McKenna’s heart would be, if he’d ever had one.
2
Fegan knew the streets around the docks would be deserted. The Merc’s engine ticked as it cooled, punctuating the occasional rumble of
The boy waited in the doorway.
Fegan got to his feet and followed him to the stairs. The boy descended, the lean grace of his body seemingly untouched by the light below.
Fegan began the slow climb downward. An adrenal surge stirred dark memories, voices long silenced, faces like bloodstains. The others came behind, sharing glances with one another. As he reached the bottom, he saw McKenna’s back. The politician studied the old photograph of Fegan’s mother, the one that showed her young and pretty in a doorway.
The boy crossed the room and again played out the execution of the man who had taken him apart with a claw hammer more than twenty years ago.
Fegan’s heart thundered, his lungs heaved. Surely McKenna would hear.
The boy looked to Fegan and smiled.
Fegan asked, “If I do it, will you leave me alone?”
The boy nodded.
“What?” McKenna put the framed picture down. He turned to the voice and froze when he saw the gun aimed at his forehead.
“I can’t do it here.”
The boy’s smile faltered.
“Not in my house. Somewhere else.”
The smile returned.
“Jesus, Gerry.” McKenna gave a short, nervous laugh as he held his hands up. “What’re you at?”
“I’m sorry, Michael. I have to.”
McKenna’s smile fell away. “I don’t get it, Gerry. We’re friends.”
“We’re going to get into your car.” The clarity crackled in Fegan’s head. For the first time in months his hand did not shake.
McKenna’s mouth twisted. “Like fuck we are.”
“We’re going to get into your car,” Fegan repeated. “You in the front, me in the back.”
“Gerry, your head’s away. Put the gun down before you do something you’ll regret.”
Fegan stepped closer. “The car.”
McKenna reached out. “Now, come on, Gerry. Let’s just calm down a second, here, all right? Why don’t you give that to me, and I’ll put it away. Then we’ll have a drink.”
“I won’t say it again.”
“No messing, Gerry, let me have it.”
McKenna went to grab the gun, but Fegan pulled his hand away. He brought it back to aim at the center of McKenna’s forehead.
“You always were a mad cunt.” McKenna kept his eyes on him as he went to the door. He opened it and stepped out onto the street. He looked left and right, right and left, searching for a witness. When his shoulders slumped, Fegan knew there was no one. This was not the kind of street where curtains twitched.
The Merc’s locking system sensed the key was in range, whirring and clunking as McKenna approached.
“Open the back door,” Fegan said.
McKenna did as he was told.
“Now get in the front and leave the door open till I’m inside.” Fegan kept the Walther trained on McKenna’s head until he was seated at the steering wheel.
Fegan slid into the back, careful not to touch the leather upholstery with his bare hands. He used a handkerchief to pull the door closed. Tom had seen him leave with the politician, so his prints around the front passenger seat didn’t matter. McKenna sat quite still with his hands on the wheel.
“Now close the door and go.”
The Merc’s big engine rumbled into life, and McKenna pulled away. Fegan took one glance from the back window and saw the twelve watching from the pavement. The boy stepped out onto the road and waved.
Fegan lay down flat in the cloaking shadows. He pressed the gun’s muzzle against the back of the driver’s seat, exactly where McKenna’s heart would be, if he’d ever had one.
2
Fegan knew the streets around the docks would be deserted. The Merc’s engine ticked as it cooled, punctuating the occasional rumble of
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