“”I went today,” Fallon said. “That’s where I’ve been. I waited my turn at da Costa’s one o’clock confession. When I went in, I told him I’d shot Krasko.”
Billy Meehan said quickly, “But that’s crazy. He’d seen you do it himself, hadn’t he?”
“But he didn’t know it was me in that confessional box -not until he looked through the grille and recognised me and that was after hr confessed.”
“So what, for Christ’s sake?5 Billy demanded.
But his brother was already waving him down, his face serious. “I get it,” he said. “Of course. Anything said to a priest at confession’s got to be kept a secret. I mean, they guarantee that, don’t they?5
“Exactly,” Fallon said.
“It’s the biggest load of cobblers I’ve ever heard,” Billy said. “He’s alive, isn’t he? And he knows. What guarantee do you have that he won’t suddenly decide to shoot his mouth
“Let’s just say it isn’t likely,” Fallon said. “And even if he did, it wouldn’t matter. I’m being shipped out from Hull Sunday night – or have you forgotten?”
Meehan said, “I don’t know. Maybe Billy has a point.”
“Billy couldn’t find his way to the men’s room unless you took him by the hand,” Fallon told him flatly.
There was a dead silence. Meehan gazed at him impassively and Albert picked a steel and brass poker out of the fireplace and bent it into a horseshoe shape between his great hands, his eyes never leaving Fallon’s face.
Meehan chuckled unexpectedly. “That’s good – that’s very good. I like that.”
He got up, walked to a desk in the corner, unlocked it and took out a large envelope. He returned to his chair and dropped the envelope on the coffee table.
“There’s fifteen hundred quid in there,” he said. You get another two grand on board ship Sunday night plus a passport That clears the account.”
“That’s very cavil of you,” Fallon said.
“Only one thing,” Meehan told him. “The priest goes.”
Fallon shook his head. “Not a chance.”
“What’s wrong with you, then?” Meehan jeered. “Worried, are you? Afraid the Almighty might strike you down? They told me you were big stuff over there, Fallon, running round Belfast, shooting soldiers and blowing up kids. But a priest is different, is that it?”
Fallon said, in what was little more than a whisper, “Nothing happens to the priest. That’s the way I want it. That’s the way it’s going to be.”
“The way you want it?” Meehan said and the anger was beginning to break through now.
Albert tossed the poker into the fireplace and stood up. He spoke in a rough, hoarse voice. “Which arm shall I break first, Mr.. Meehan? His left or his right f
Fallon pulled out the Ceska and fired instantly. The bullet splintered Albert’s right kneecap and he went back over the chair. He lay there cursing, clutching his knee with both hands, blood pumping between his fingers.
For a moment, nobody moved and then Meehan laughed out loud. “Didn’t I tell you he was beautiful?” he said to Billy.
Fallon picked up the envelope and stowed it away in his raincoat. He backed into the kitchen without a word, kicked the door shut as Meehan called out to him and started down the stairs.
In the lounge, Meehan grabbed his coat and made for the lift. “Come on, Billy I’
As he got the door open, Donner called, “What about Albert?”
“Call that Pakistani doctor. The one who -was struck off. He’ll fix him up.”
As the lift dropped to the ground floor Billy said, “Look, what are we up to?”
“Just follow me and do as you’re bleeding well told,” Meehan said.
He ran along the corridor, through the hall and out of the front door. Fallon had reached the other side of the road and was taking one of the paths that led across the green centre of the square.
Meehan called to him and ran across the road, ignoring the traffic. The Irishman glanced over his shoulder but kept on ùwalking and had reached the fountain before Meehan and Billy caught up with him.
He turned to face them, his right hand in his pocket and Meehan put up a hand defensively. “I just want to talk.”