“Get out of my house. My mother’s sleeping upstairs.”
I sat on the sofa. “I’ll take a cup of tea.”
His really rather adorable visage contorted into the sort of rage Oliver Hardy contorted into when James Finlayson started smashing up his car in Big Business (1929).
“No tea, Duffy, get the fuck out of my house before I call the police.”
“I thought you had no truck with the police.”
“Get out, Duffy!”
“Lower your voice, Harry. Mother’s sleeping upstairs.”
“What the fuck is the meaning of this? You’re going to be in all the papers tomorrow.”
“No, I don’t think I will. To quote Bugs Bunny, it’s mongoose season, and you’re the fucking mongoose.”
“Have you lost your—”
“I know everything, Harry. I know about you and Strong and Deauville and that couple you murdered back in 1968. Maria McKeen and Patrick Devlin.”
He was momentarily taken aback but he recovered himself quickly enough. “We didn’t murder anyone. We were exonerated by—”
“It doesn’t matter. I don’t care. 1968? Might as well be 1868 or 1690 or May 29th 1453, I don’t give a flying fuck.”
He seemed confused now. I supposed he’d been expecting moral indignation and he wasn’t getting any.
“Go and make the tea and be quick about it.”
He made the tea and came back with a mug and a couple of digestive biscuits. I dipped the biscuit and sipped the tea.
“Have you seen my personnel record, Harry?” I asked.
“No.”
“Well, your friend John Strong has, and sorry reading it is, too. The shit I have had to put up with over the years. You wouldn’t believe it, mate. Promotion holds, demotions, suspensions without pay … And now they’re going to put some fucking connected Proddy bastard called Dalziel over me. Best years of my life I’ve given to the RUC. For what? So I can look under my car every day for bombs, so I can walk about with a big fat target on my back?”
“I don’t understand, what is it—”
“I want what John Strong has. I want a pay cheque every month from the IRA into a Swiss bank account. Nothing extravagant. Nothing you can’t handle. Let’s say 10 grand a month. Gaddafi gave you five million dollars so I know you’re good for it. Or pay me direct from Noraid in America if you want.”
“I don’t know what you think you’re—”
“I’m not done! And I want Strong to forward my career in the police. Immediate promotion to Chief Inspector and eventual promotion to Chief Super. Strong will become my mentor and he’ll make sure I rise up through the ranks with him.”
“Duffy, what—”
I took out my Glock and pointed it at his face. “I’m not fucking done,” I snarled. “And I want an end to attacks on my family. A permanent end. I want it to be known on the Army Council that I am one of the good guys now. I am not to be touched.”
“You’re wearing a tape recorder,” Selden said.
I shook my head.
“Search me, top to bottom, I don’t care.”
I held the gun in the air and he searched me for a wire and found nothing.
“Now we can talk, right?” I said.
But still he was suspicious. “I don’t know what you think you know—”
I yawned. “So tired of this shit. You blackmailed Strong into becoming an IRA agent because of what happened in 1968 and since, oh I don’t know, maybe the last decade or so you’ve been running John Strong as your agent. The most important agent the IRA has in the police.”
“That’s fantastic. Ridiculous, I—”
I pointed the gun at him again. “I’m in no mood, Harry. I’m just tired. Tired of all the nonsense. I’m as good as married. I have a wee girl who you tried to kill. You’ll pay me until I hit my twenty years in the police in 1994 and then I’ll retire with the rank of Detective Chief Superintendent and maybe an MBE and I’ll move to Spain and live on my pension and on the considerably higher sum you’ve put in the Swiss bank account.”
I finished the tea. Hopefully there wasn’t rat poison in it.
“You’ve got 48 hours to think it over. If you choose to decline my generous offer I’ll have to go public with my allegations. And my proof.”
“Proof?”
“Proof.”
“What proof? Proof of what?”
“You’ll see. Maybe no one’ll believe it, but fuck it, I don’t care. Look at my eyes. Look at them. I’m done. Done with all this bullshit. So what if I pull the temple down about our heads? I’m fucking exhausted by all of you.”
I stood up.
“It’s too risky for me to come up here, what with intel watching you and IA watching me. I never want to have to drive onto this bloody street again. From now on you’ll be servicing me …”
“Wait a minute, Duffy, we haven’t discussed anything. I haven’t committed to anything. I don’t know if any of this is possible. I—”
“Here’s the first step. You and me and Strong are going to meet. None of us can ever be seen together so it’s got to be somewhere safe at night. On my turf. Somewhere I control. At that first meeting I’ll bring my Swiss bank account number. You two will bring nothing. No IRA hit team, no bodyguards, no guns, nothing. Understood?”