[Dan Starkey 07] • Belfast Confidential by Bateman Colin

Author:Bateman, Colin [Bateman, Colin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FIC022000, Humour, Mystery
ISBN: 9780755309276
Goodreads: 2485265
Publisher: Headline
Published: 2005-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Concrete was leading me back through the cellar when he stopped suddenly and yanked open one of the cardboard boxes. As he reached inside he said, 'Have you seen the new Spielberg?'

I shook my head.

He produced a DVD. 'I know you haven't – neither has anyone else!' He pushed it into my hands. 'Plenty more where that came from. Howse about a suit?'

'Don't wear them,' I said.

'Ah, an artist, just like me.'

'Just like you,' I agreed.

He offered me half a dozen other counterfeit items as we crossed the cellar floor. I rejected them all, because I can't be bought, but held onto the Spielberg as it was supposed to be a real return to form. He began to shout as we moved up the stairs. 'Delores! For fuck sake!' He put one hand on the door to pull it open. 'How many fucking hours does it take to—' and then he stopped so quickly that my head banged into his rear end just above me on the stairs.

From the kitchen someone snapped: 'Put your hands on your fucking head!'

Concrete slowly raised them. I couldn't see around him, couldn't identify the source.

'Slowly – come out fucking slowly!'

Concrete took a step forward. 'Now boys,' he said calmly, 'sure you could have just knocked the door and I would have let youse in and made youse a cup of tea.'

'Shut your fucking mouth, Concrete – now where is he?!'

'Who?'

'You know! Where the fuck is he?'

'Fraid you've lost me, boys.'

'Where's Starkey? What have you done with him?'

Concrete, his hands still raised, glanced back at me. 'Dan, mate – someone's looking for you.' He moved a little to the side, so that I could see: a cop with a gun.

The cop shouted: 'Whoever you are, come out with your hands up!'

I moved forward into the light, with my hands raised. There were four cops in body armour and flak jackets, each with their guns drawn and pointed at Concrete, and now covering me as well. Two more cops were on the other side of the kitchen, with their weapons trained on Delores and the driver, who lay on the floor with their hands clasped behind their heads.

'What's going on?' I asked.

'We ask the fucking questions!' They were nervous. Nervous and angry. 'Who the fuck are you?'

'I'm Starkey.'

'Dan Starkey?'

'Last time I checked.'

'ID, show me some fucking ID!'

I made a move for my back pocket and my wallet but one of the other cops rushed forward, screaming, 'Leave it!' I left it. He fished the wallet out of my pocket and flipped it open. My press card was there. It wasn't a great picture, but it was me. He nodded back at his comrades. 'It's him.'

'Are you all right?'

'Yes.'

'You're being held against your will?'

'No.'

'You were kidnapped earlier this evening in Belfast?'

'No.'

'No . . . really.'

'Then what are you doing here with Concrete Corcoran?'

'He was showing me his etchings.'

'What's going on?'

'I'm telling you the truth.'

'Do you wish to press charges?'

'No.'

'You're not being held against your will?'

'No.'

'Nor any of your family?'

'No!'

The cops exchanged glances.

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