'I don't know any members of the old IRA and I don't know any drug-dealers.'
He was still issuing denials as we closed the door behind us.
Dom said nothing until we'd got out on to the street. 'Tell me about the finger.'
'Let's get a cab to the centre and lose our big green Seat. Then I'll explain while we wait for a call.'
We found our way to a taxi rank.
'By the way,' I said, 'I'm assuming you did national service?'
100
We paid off the cab in O'Connell Street; it was the main drag and there were plenty of shops to get lost in. The Seat was still behind us. It had followed us all the way in. At least the boys in the bomber jackets had learnt not to pass us when we stopped, so we didn't get any more eye-to-eye.
We walked down a little lane and straight into a coffee shop. I checked left as Mr Green jumped out and Mr Black drove off to try to find a parking space. Sundance and Trainers had been brain surgeons compared to these two.
I sent Dom to buy some more cappuccinos and went straight upstairs to grab some seats with a view of the street. It wasn't long before the two of them connected on the pavement below me. Mr Green got on his mobile, eyes darting left, right and centre. He wasn't wearing his happy face; he must have been trying to explain how they'd lost us yet again. Then there was lots of nodding; I guessed they were being told to go back to the house. Dom and I had gone in with bags and come out without. Chances were, we'd go back at some point.
They disappeared as Dom arrived with a tray.
I told him about Connor's pinkie, and about the Yes Man and why I knew him. I told him I'd worked for the Firm and been fucked over so many times by the man that I felt like a relation, which was why I knew what he was planning. I wasn't too certain whether it reassured him or not. But, fuck it, he'd wanted to know.
It only took another forty or so minutes before my mobile kicked off. The voice was from the Falls Road again, but this time without the evening classes. 'I hear you want to pick something up . . .'
'Yeah.'
There was a slight hesitation: he'd pinged – and didn't like – the accent. 'Sheriff Street Estate. Wait outside the Mace mini-market. Someone will pick you up.'
'There's two of us.'
Dom hated being out of the loop. He was straining to listen in, but music was playing, people were gobbing off.
'No fucking way, son. You come alone.' The voice was clipped and abrasive.
'It's two of us or nothing. You know what I'm doing for you cunts. We're both in black jackets and jeans. How far is that from O'Connell?'
'Twenty minutes.'
There was no way we were going to split up now. We had to keep together, and in the open. It was the only way to stay safe.
'Sheriff Street Estate – you know it?'
Dom nodded unenthusiastically. 'Everybody knows it. It's north. I can already smell the burning tyres.'
'Time for another cab, then.'
Five minutes later we were following the route out of town. It was rather nice and clean to start with, but slowly and surely we were getting to the parts the EU subsidies hadn't reached.
The taxi dropped us off at the mini-market and the driver took off like a shot the moment he had his money.
The area was a morass of grimy brown blocks of flats, probably thrown up immediately after the war. They must have seemed like paradise when they were built, but now it was like the Tabard in Bermondsey, a drug-ridden dumping ground.
The Mace store had filthy windows and peeling paint. It was protected by mesh panels and secured with rusty padlocks. According to the poster behind one of the panels, there'd been a drug-related shooting of a schoolgirl there last week and the police were desperate for information.
The burnt-out remains of a Ford Escort stood at the kerb.
Scabby dogs ran along the pavement with scabby kids. Some of them kicked a ball, some just screamed at each other.
Teenagers hung around in threes and fours. They were probably dealing. They looked us up and down like they wanted to know what the fuck we were doing on their turf.