He knew he'd seen me before; he just didn't know where. He would soon enough. You never forget the faces round you when you think you're going to die.
Dom turned on the small-talk. 'Sorry we're a bit bruised. We were involved in a car crash last week.'
McNaughten lifted his left hand to show off his missing pinkie. 'That's how I got this.'
I smiled at him and he did a double-take. He looked just like his picture on the Sinn Fein website. He was dressed straight out of Matalan, with a polyester tie and just enough nylon in the mix of his grey suit for it to shine under the fluorescent light. Dress Sense 101 was obviously one of next term's modules.
He overplayed a desk-tidying routine, then took another glance at me. 'We're proposing new traffic-calming measures at the next meeting. Something really has to be—' He frowned. 'Do I know you?'
I took a step forward. 'Last time we met, you were in the boot of my car on the way up to Castlereagh for the night. Then I read you your horoscope. You came back minus that finger, remember? Car crash, my arse.' I threw the paper across the desk. 'You might be Mr All-green-and-biofuelled-up now, mate, but the old ways are still snapping at your heels, aren't they? I see white-and-above-board Sinn Fein's Seamus Quinn was sent a bullet in the post. What did he do to deserve that? Propose a congestion charge?'
He sat back in his chair, not fazed, not worried, just watching me. 'I'm mistaken. I do not know who you are, and I do not understand what you are talking about. Have you come to threaten me? I would like you to leave.'
I leant forward, my eyes locked on his. 'Connor, mate, I don't give a shit what you'd like. Your only job right now is to listen. This man here, his son is in the shit. You're going to help me get him out of it.'
It was his turn to lean forward. He was about to deliver his enraged-politician bit and fuck us off. He took a deep breath and aimed his right index finger at me.
'Stop.' I stared him out. 'I don't have time to fuck about, so do as you're told or I'll cut that one off as well.'
He looked at his watch and sighed impatiently, trying to make it seem like he was going to give us five minutes of his precious time. But it was a bluff. I knew that, deep down inside, he was flapping.
I pointed at Dom. 'His son has been taken hostage. We know who's done it, but we don't know where the boy is. You're going to help us – not because I'm going to make you but because when you've heard what I have to say you're going to want to.'
I sat back, letting things calm down a little now I had his full attention. 'This drugs turf war – wouldn't have happened in your day, would it? Not on your own fucking doorstep. But times have changed. The boys that are stepping on everyone's toes are not only Brits but one of them is working for the intelligence service. And he's using UDA dickheads as enforcers.'
I gave it time to sink in. 'You're interested now, aren't you?' I could see it in his eyes. 'You give me what I want, and I'll get rid of them for you. I don't give a shit about who sells what to who – all I want is my friend's boy back.'
I waited for questions but he was too clever for that. He wasn't going to incriminate himself in any way. We might be recording.
'You get me weapons,' I said. 'I want two assault rifles and at least three mags each.'
I reached for his pad of pink Post-its and a pen, then wrote down my new mobile number. 'You sort it, get your people to call me, and I'll collect. Once I'm done, you can have the fucking things back – along with a body or two that can still talk. If you try to fuck me over, make sure you do a good job, because if you don't I'll come back for you.'
He didn't touch the Post-it, or even look at it. He didn't move a muscle. His voice became very clear and very slow, just in case we did have wires. 'I have no connection with anyone involved in drugs, or the now disbanded IRA. I am