Once In, Never Out by Dan Mahoney

Author:Dan Mahoney
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 1998-08-16T04:00:00+00:00

Twenty-One

McKenna offered his apologies to Ryer, explaining that something had come up and he needed to leave. However, further explanations weren’t necessary. Ryer had seen McKenna talking to Kevin and he wasn’t stupid. “Something to do with my uncle?”

“Indirectly.”

“Then be careful. They’ll seem pleasant enough and they’ll be sure to fill your head with blarney. But remember, they’re killers.”

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”

Kevin and McKenna left together and waited on the corner, down the block from the funeral home. McKenna had many questions, but Kevin didn’t appear to be in a talkative mood. Rather than risk rebuff, McKenna kept his silence and spent an uncomfortable fifteen minutes with Kevin before his transport arrived.

It was a black British-made taxi, the type seen on the streets of London. There were two men inside, the driver in front and a passenger in the rear who swung the door open as the taxi stopped.

“Give my regards to Martin,” Kevin said as McKenna climbed into the rear seat of the cab. The driver took off before McKenna could reply.

One look around the interior of the cab disturbed McKenna. The young man sitting next to him in the backseat looked like a skinny Indiana Jones, complete with the brown leather jacket, the wide-brimmed hat, and the revolver in his hand. The only thing missing was the whip. He seemed indifferent to McKenna’s presence and barely gave him a glance. His total attention was on the RUC transmissions coming over the police scanner on his lap.

Then there was the driver, another problem. McKenna put him at sixteen years old—certainly not one of the experienced IRA hard men he had been expecting. He was whistling a tune McKenna had never heard before, keeping beat with his own music by drumming the steering wheel as he drove. In under a minute McKenna was absolutely certain that he loathed the song, whatever it was.

Complicating matters were the wires hanging from the steering column and the screwdriver jammed into the ignition. Further eroding McKenna’s faith in the two was the fact that although there were two supposed fare-paying passengers in the taxi, the driver hadn’t thought to turn on the meter. It was a mistake that would arouse the curiosity of any competent cop they might pass.

Then a police transmission caused Indy some consternation. “Where’s their Post Forty-two?” he asked the driver with anxiety in his voice.

“You got me,” the driver answered, unconcerned.

“Then don’t you think you should check the list?”

“Why?”

“Because the peelers are setting up a checkpoint there, that’s why.” To emphasize his point, Indy rapped the driver on the back of his head with his gun barrel.

The driver muttered some protest under his breath and rubbed the back of his head. But he got the point and pulled the cab to the curb. He put on the overhead light, took a folded piece of paper from his pocket, and opened it. Then he unsettled McKenna even more when he reached into his pocket and put on his glasses to read the list.

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