The Getaway - By Tom Barber Page 0,58

in touch since?’

Farrell shook his head.

‘No. They’ve got no idea what we’ve got planned this weekend. If they did, they’d probably try to screw us for the cash. But they can’t arrest me. If I go down, I’ll start talking and it’ll take them down with me.’

‘What’s his name?’

Farrell grinned, drinking from his beer. ‘Now I can’t tell you that. And I didn’t say he.’

He paused.

‘Anyway, apparently the fed who got shot was some asshole sent down here to see what was going on in their team. He found something but the rat took him out before he had a chance to squeal. They called and told me last week. Said they did me a favour and that I owed them to continue our partnership. But I told them where to get off. I don’t need them anymore.’

Archer kept looking straight ahead, seemingly impassive. Farrell drained his beer, then looked over at the other man.

‘Another one?’ he asked, nodding at the beer. Archer shook his head, keeping his eyes on the door ahead.

‘No. Think I’ll head out. Big day tomorrow, right?’

Farrell nodded.

‘OK. I’ll be in touch. Stay near your phone.’

Archer nodded, finishing his beer.

Then he rose and walked to the exit and left.

Outside on the street and out of sight of Farrell, Archer walked fast up 7, headed uptown.

We had some inside help.

Oh shit, shit, shit.

Someone in Gerrard’s team had flipped. That’s why Farrell and his crew had been so successful. That’s why Gerry was bashing his head against a brick wall trying to build a case against them. It all made sense.

And whoever they were, they were the ones who killed his father. Farrell had just confirmed it. A Federal agent murdered by another Federal agent. That’s why he’d left his service weapon at his apartment. He hadn’t been expecting any trouble.

Archer kicked an empty box as he walked up the street, cursing, worried. This whole thing had just been flipped upside down. Gerry had mentioned there were five agents plus himself in his team. Archer didn’t know any of their names, or anything about them. He couldn’t just walk down to Federal Plaza and claim that one of them was on the take or file a complaint. He needed Gerry’s help and he needed it now.

He swore. The only good thing Farrell had said in there was that he had severed communications with the Federal rat. Otherwise the moment Gerrard finished briefing his squad, whoever was dirty would most likely call Farrell and tell him the game was up. He’d said whoever the rat was needed to protect their own identity, so maybe they’d warn them off, tell them where the feds would be, or just tell them to bail on this job.

And depending on what Gerrard told his team, Farrell would know that Archer was the one who passed on the information.

He suddenly ducked into a Cosi coffee shop on 7 Avenue, just before 37, and headed straight through the café for the bathroom. He moved into the toilet and locked the door, and pulled his phone from his pocket, trying to stay calm. He dialled Gerrard’s number and lifted it to his ear.

Waited.

But it rang out.

No one picked up.

He tried twice more.

C’mon Gerry, pick up.

Pick up.

Nothing.

Shit.

Archer looked at his reflection in the mirror, taking a deep breath and trying to think straight.

Maybe it was a bad connection.

Maybe Gerry was still in a meeting.

Or maybe it was something else.

He tried Gerrard again.

But no one picked up.

TWELVE

Saturday night on 33 Street was always busy, but fight night always gave those evenings an extra buzz. The Garden wasn’t called the Mecca of boxing for nothing. All the greats and world champions had fought there, from Ali to Frazier, Sugar Ray Leonard to Roy Jones Jr, Joe Calzaghe to Sugar Shane Mosley. The list went on and on. Las Vegas was the fight capital of the world, but tonight the sporting eyes of the world would be focused solely on a square 20x20 roped-off ring inside the Garden. As much a social occasion for the rich and famous as it was a sporting event for others, from the moment the opening bell rang till the moment the winner got his hand raised, Madison Square Garden was the place to be in the city tonight.

The streets outside were busy. Spectators and those lucky enough to have tickets made their way inside, excited, looking forward to the evening, whilst scalpers worked those wandering around on the hunt for last-minute tickets, desperate to