Whenever possible Lynch preferred to make love to his girlfriends on their turf, so that he could slip away afterwards, a quick kiss on the cheek and then a cab home. Maggie lived with her parents, however, so he had no alternative but to take her home with him to his small terraced house. She murmured in her sleep and pushed back against him. Her naked flesh was warm against his thighs but Lynch moved away, putting distance between them. Sex was for the night, something to be done in darkness. Maggie’s hand slid behind her and reached between his legs and he realised that she wasn’t asleep. She took him in her hand and squeezed softly, encouraging him, wanting him, but Lynch wasn’t aroused in the least. He slid out of bed and padded to the bathroom.
‘Dermott. Come here,’ moaned Maggie.
Lynch pretended that he hadn’t heard and closed the bathroom door. He leant over the washbasin and stared at his reflection in the mirror. His eyes were bloodshot, the result of a heavy night’s drinking, and there were crumbs in his beard. He’d eaten a bag of salt and vinegar crisps before going to bed. He grinned wolfishly. God alone knew why Maggie wanted to touch him first thing in the morning. He looked like shit. He cupped his hand around his mouth, breathed out, and then sniffed. Yeah, he smelled rough, too.
He ran a bath as he cleaned his teeth. As he spat foam into the sink, his front doorbell rang. He wrapped a towel around his waist and went back into the bedroom. Maggie was sprawled across the bed, covered only by a sheet. It did little to conceal her ample body, but Dermott wasn’t tempted. He went over to the window and peered out. It was Pat O’Riordan, dressed as if he’d come straight from his farm.
Lynch went downstairs and let him in. O’Riordan looked at his wristwatch pointedly. ‘I know, I know,’ said Lynch. ‘I had a rough night. What’s wrong?’
‘The cops were at the Quinns’ house yesterday. Davie’s dead and Paulie’s disappeared.’
‘Fuck,’ said Lynch.
‘Yeah. Fuck.’
‘Do you want a coffee?’
‘Got anything stronger?’
‘Never touch the stuff,’ said Lynch with a smile. He took O’Riordan through to the sitting room and poured large measures of Jameson’s whiskey. They clinked glasses and drank. Lynch waved O’Riordan to the sofa.
‘It gets worse,’ said O’Riordan.
‘Worse? How can it get worse?’
‘You haven’t seen the papers, have you?’ Lynch shook his head. O’Riordan let out a sigh. ‘The guy who was driving the car, he’s related to an American politician. A member of the House of Representatives.’
‘Oh fuck,’ said Lynch. He rested his head on the back of his chair and stared up at the ceiling. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck.’
‘Yeah, tell me about it. He’s been one of the guys pushing for more Green Cards for the Irish.’
‘Oh Jesus.’
‘There’s more. His wife’s related to the Kennedys. The Kennedys, Dermott.’
Lynch closed his eyes. ‘Pat, if you tell me that she’s the Pope’s sister, I think I might just top myself.’
‘This is going to get very messy,’ said O’Riordan. ‘They’re going to move heaven and earth to get us. The Americans are going to put pressure on the Irish Government, and the Brits. We’re up shit creek.’
Lynch sat up and ran his hand through his beard. ‘Only if they know it was us,’ he said. ‘Davie’s dead, you say?’
‘Shot by the cops. He had a gun.’
‘Not one of ours?’
O’Riordan shook his head. ‘His father’s. From what I’ve heard, it wasn’t even loaded.’
‘Poor bastard.’
‘Yeah, well, if you ask me it serves them right for having the bloody thing.’ He paused. ‘You haven’t asked the big question,’ he said.
Lynch sat down on an overstuffed easy chair and put his bare feet up on the coffee table. ‘You mean why were the police at their house?’
O’Riordan raised one eyebrow. ‘Careless talk costs lives.’
‘It wouldn’t have been Davie. I’m sure of that.’ He took a mouthful of whiskey and rinsed it around his mouth before swallowing. ‘Paulie’s gone, you said?’
‘We’ve sent a solicitor to the family, and he’s trying to find out where he is. But we don’t think the RUC have got him any more.’
‘What, you think Five are holding him? If they are, he’ll talk.’
‘Yeah. I know.’
‘Can we reach him?’
‘We don’t even know where he is.’
The two men sat in silence for a while. Upstairs, Maggie had commandeered Lynch’s bathwater. O’Riordan grinned at the sound of splashing. ‘Anyone I know?’ he asked.
‘Aye. Your missus.’
O’Riordan pulled a face and finished his whiskey. He held out the empty glass but Lynch motioned with his head for O’Riordan to help himself.
‘You’ve already spoken to McCormack?’ asked Lynch.
‘Yeah. That’s why I’m here. He wants us to lie low. Until they’ve taken care of Paulie. He’s furious.’
‘Terrific,’ said Lynch. He banged his glass down on the table. ‘Shit, shit, shit. It was McCormack’s fucking idea to take the Quinns with us.’
‘He knows that, Dermott, but I wouldn’t go throwing it in his face, if I were you.’
‘What are you going to do?’ Upstairs, Maggie began to sing an Irish folk song.
‘I’m going south. I’ve got friends in Killarney, but I’ll keep moving.’
‘What about the farm?’
‘McCormack’s going to send someone to help out.’ O’Riordan leaned over and refilled Lynch’s glass. ‘He wants you out of the country.’
Lynch nodded. ‘No problem. I’ll cross the water.’
‘Where will you stay?’
‘Best you don’t know, Pat. I’ll keep in touch with McCormack.’ He took another drink. ‘This has got really messy, hasn’t it?’
‘Tell me about it.’ He looked up at the sound of splashing. ‘Are you going to introduce me to your friend?’