The Color of Blood by Declan Hughes

Author:Declan Hughes [Hughes, Declan]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2011-11-18T00:22:20+00:00

Fifteen

WE FOLLOWED THE BLUE MERC UP TOWARD WOODPARK, but then they swung right and drove toward the city for a while. I called Shane Howard and told him we were on their trail.

“Fair enough. Little skanger in a hoodie it was.”

“We know who it was. Are you all right? Where are you?”

“I’m still here.”

“You should go home.”

“With all those jackals outside the house? No way.”

“What if Emily wants to come home?”

“Emily’s fine. She called me, said she’s with friends. Last thing she needs is to be splashed all over the newspapers.”

“Don’t go missing now, Shane.”

“I’ll tell you where I’m going. For the next half hour. To mass.”

He ended the call. The Reillys had changed direction again; they crossed the N11 and were heading south and west into the mountains. Tommy took the Sig and offered it to me.

“Here. Make me nervous, fucking things.”

I put the gun in my coat pocket.

“Thanks. You did well tonight, Tommy.”

He looked at himself in the rearview mirror.

“I look like a fucking looper.”

“That was what you were supposed to look like. So you got it right. You made up for fucking up. What more can anyone do?”

I nodded at Tommy, and he nodded back, and that was almost that.

We followed the Mercedes through industrial estates, then climbed through dense pine forests and along narrow roads thicketed with bramble and fern; finally, a road stretched out along foothills of granite and shallow bog, low clumps of heather and marsh grass. It ran about a mile at a slow incline; I thought about pulling in in case we were spotted, but I had no idea whether the Reillys were meeting someone at an outdoor rendezvous or calling at a house, or whether they’d just taken it into their heads to bowl out for an evening spin and count their money. I kept them in our sights, and then lost them as the Merc crested the incline; when we made it to the top, I saw the road drop and cut right against the side of the mountain; far below us the city lay, an irregular blur of lights in the mist and cloud. There was a lay-by halfway along, used as a viewing point; the Reillys, having slowed down near the lay-by, picked up speed again and then turned off to the right about half a mile further on. I kept the car moving slowly, wary of running into them if they were doubling back, wary of blundering about in the dark.

“I know where they are,” said Tommy. “Pull into the lay-by.”

I did as he said. There was a grass verge with picnic tables and purple Hebe and St.-John’s-wort and a framed guide to the flora and fauna and a wooden gate across a rutted lane that led up into a forest of pines. Tommy hopped out and opened the gate, and we ran the car up and off the side of the lane.

“Used to bring a girl up here. There’s a quarry about half a mile along. That’s where they turned in.

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