Belfast Girls

by Gerry McCullough

  He caught the expression in O’Brien’s eye and decided abruptly to stop talking.

  O’Brien looked at him some more. Then he decided to smile.

  “The revenues from the drugs are good, Danny,” he said softly. “But what’s wrong with a bit extra? And you’ll be fine. Just as long as you do what you’re told, see? And don’t worry about the Celtic Tigress not being in on it. When was she ever not in on something?”

  Danny nodded miserably. As far as he could see, he didn’t have a choice. No way was he going to say no to O’Brien. O’Brien, even if he didn’t have him shot, would shop him to the police for his involvement with the drug pushing, without a second’s hesitation, if he didn’t fall into line.

  He nodded again even more miserably.

  O’Brien watched him narrowly, then shrugged.

  “Okay. Now, have you got it clear? I’ve picked on 21st January as D Day. I happen to know they’ll both be going to a fashion show, so they’ll be right out in public with no bodyguards round them. They’ll be expecting nothing. That’ll be our chance, if we take it properly, see?”

  “Fashion show?” Danny asked in surprise.

  “Yes. Top of the range, I’m told. Some new super model who’s getting all the headlines. Sheila Doherty. She’ll be grabbing all the attention. No-one’ll be expecting us to turn up. Until it’s too late.” He smiled his unnerving smile again.

  “That’ll be our moment, Danny boy. 21st January. The Magnifico Hotel. And then a life of luxury for us all, Danny boy. Provided I don’t have to shoot you first!”

  Danny, his eyes popping out of his head, dimly realised that this was a joke, one that O’Brien probably thought very funny.

  But, looking ahead with terror to 21st January, Danny felt quite unable to laugh.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  It was all very well, Phil thought, for Davy to tell her to keep away from the flat, but where else were they to go to be private?

  For a few weeks, they tried to meet elsewhere but it didn’t work. Gradually they drifted back to the old habits and Phil began to stay overnight again on a regular basis.

  As she lay in Davy’s arms in the narrow bed, she felt a confused something which was not quite happiness and which lay like a thick insulating layer over the deeper feelings of guilt and anxiety which she could not wholly push away. Responsibility gnawed at her.

  From time to time, she could not help picking up indications of some of Davy’s activities. Snatches of telephone conversations accidentally overheard, letters occasionally left about so that she had read a sentence or two before stopping quickly, the clear signs of the presence of strangers in the flat at times when she was elsewhere.

  As autumn turned to winter and the months passed, these and other things scattered over the surface of her life, like fallen leaves floating singly on the quiet river waters, kept reminding Phil that beneath that smooth surface all was not well. She and Davy had entered a more tranquil, settled stage of their relationship and from that came happiness. But Phil could not continually succeed in shutting out her knowledge and with it her responsibility to act in some way to change the course of events.

  Early in December, Davy disappeared, intending to be away for several weeks. He told Phil only that he had to go away for a short time. She could only guess where he had gone and her imagination presented her with pictures of tough criminal drug runners, of the police of other countries on Davy’s trail, of Davy being dragged from some plane with contraband drugs discovered in his suitcase and thrown into some foreign jail to be gnawed by rats and shut up for life, or just taken out to be shot.

  It was during this absence of Davy’s that Phil made a discovery which forced her for the first time to face up to the dilemma of her unwanted knowledge.

  She was working in the Library one evening, researching for her MA, looking up books, making notes, checking references. It had been a long day. The trek home by two cross town buses was unappealing. Davy was not at the flat but, nevertheless, Phil decided on the spur of the moment to go there rather than home to her parents’ house. It was near, it was warm and she could buy some food, make herself a snack meal and continue to work there after the Library had closed.

  She called in for some chicken fried rice at the nearby Chinese takeaway, then headed for Thomas Street.

  She had retained her key in spite of Davy’s original intention of keeping her away and when she reached the ground floor entrance to the flat she fished in her pocket and produced it.

  As was often the case, the street door, used by all the tenants, was open. Phil went quietly up the carpeted flight of stairs, hoping not to disturb the other people in the house. She had never met any of them and did not particularly wish to. They kept themselves to themselves and this suited both Phil and Davy well.

  On the landing outside the door to Davy’s flat, she paused, key in hand.

  It was strange to be going in, knowing that Davy would not be there, either now or later. Phil had entered the flat by herself many times but always in the expectation that Davy would arrive shortly. She shrugged her shoulders, unlocked the door, and went in.

  The flat was empty but Phil, wrinkling her nose, smelt cigarette smoke. Surely fresh cigarette smoke, not dating from the last time she and Davy had been there, over a week ago.

  It was nothing new to realise that someone else had been there in her absence, but somehow it was more creepy knowing that Davy was away. Phil, half inclined to give up all idea of staying and to go home, put the container with her chicken fried rice down on the worktop in the kitchen and looked round.

  Then her native courage took over again and she laughed at herself. What was there to be afraid of? There was no-one here now.

  She made herself a cup of coffee and curled up on the living room sofa to eat her Chinese while she continued reading Bleak House. Chasing the last remnants of rice with her fork, she paused to glance at her watch and realised in surprise that it was after midnight.

  Tidying away carefully after herself, she gathered up book and bag and went into the bedroom. Twenty minutes later, she was asleep in the narrow bed she had so often shared with Davy. As she snuggled down and switched off the bedside light, her last waking thought was that it was somehow comforting to sleep here where Davy slept.

  Much later, she jerked awake with a start and a pounding heart. Someone was moving about in the front room of the flat.

  Phil lay very still, the bed-clothes clutched round her, listening.

  Yes, she had not imagined it. There was someone there. In fact, at least two people, for she could hear voices.

  Phil found that the instinctive courage which had made her laugh at her earlier alarms seemed to have evaporated. She had to speak severely to herself to quell the panic which threatened to take over.

  Whoever was there, they could not intend harm to her. She was Davy’s girlfriend, they were presumably Davy’s friends. There was nothing to worry about.

  But in spite of these bold arguments, Phil continued to worry. What was the best thing to do? In the end, common sense, if that was what it was, took control.

  She didn’t want to stay and meet these people whoever they were. So why not leave quietly before they realised she was there?

  Phil dressed hurriedly and silently. It was easy enough. She had slept in shirt and pants. All she had to do was pull on her jeans, shoes and sweater, and wriggle into her jacket.

  She stuffed her book into her bag, opened the bedroom door cautiously and stepped out.

  A light came along the passage from the front room. She would have to pass the door to reach the flat entrance. It was partly closed but Phil discovered a reluctance in herself to move towards it. If she was heard trying to get away, would the two people – two men, she supposed – think she was a spy or an informer?

  It would be better to be discovered sleeping innocently than to be caught like that.

  For a moment she considered creeping back to the bedroom. Then she r
ejected the idea. If she could get away, she intended to do so.

  The voices which had woken her were much clearer now. The passageway where she was standing had doors leading to the front room, the bedroom and the bathroom. At the opposite end to the living room, behind Phil, it led to the kitchen. As she stood debating her next move, she realised that she could hear clearly what the two intruders were saying. She also realised with an illogical shock of surprise that one of the voices was female.

  “Danny,” said the female voice, “Give us a fag, will you?” A pause, then, “Thanks. Listen, are you sure you’ve got all the details clear?”

  “Oh, I'm stupid, now, am I?” responded the unseen Danny.

  “Don’t be so touchy. I just think it would do no harm to run over it again. You know we can’t afford to put any orders in writing.”

  “Well, Máire, you go ahead then and tell me all over again.” Danny didn’t seem to have lost his grouch, but Máire, ignoring his attitude, went straight ahead.

  “Maybe I’d better, then. I won’t be there at the time to help you, you know. I’m not a part of this gig. The date is January 21. The place is the Magnifico. The time is nine forty-five. Okay so far?”

  “Okay so far, mastermind.”

  “Willie and Con are the drivers. No need to go into that. You’ll be going in with the boss and Charlie. When you’ve made the snatch, you get out quick and then away like the hammers and up the Falls in the cars. Do as the Boss tells you and I don’t see where you can go wrong. But if everything gets mucked up and you have to split up and make a run for it, don't be coming back here, now. You’ll need to get as far away as possible. You know two or three places where you’ll be okay, right?”

  “Right,” Danny grunted.

  “Got it?”

  “Of course I've got it!” Danny's irritation at the unnecessary repetition of his orders became even more evident.

  Máire, however, continued imperturbably. “Well, I hope you have. The boss is trusting you with a big job. If you do okay there’ll maybe be something even better next time.”

  “Next time? I thought this was a one-off?”

  Danny sounded alarmed. Phil heard Máire laugh.

  “Poor little Danny, scared are you? Come here and maybe I’ll give you something to cheer you up.”

  There was the noise of Danny moving across the room, then what seemed to be the sounds of the preliminaries to love-making, kisses and scuffles.

  Phil was clear almost at once what she had heard. She stood rooted to the spot and found that although panic was lurking somewhere at the back of her mind, ready to pounce if given half a chance, her surface self was suddenly icy calm.

  It was no longer a question of being found innocently asleep or risking being caught as she attempted to slip out of the front door. These were serious criminals planning the details of a city centre kidnapping, it seemed. If they knew she was there, they were unlikely to be pleasant and trusting.

  The kitchen, she remembered, her brain working busily, had a fire escape outside the door which Davy used for carting rubbish down to the bin in the backyard. It seemed to Phil to be her best bet.

  Silently, thanking heaven that the flat was fully carpeted, she moved along the passage and pushed open the kitchen door. Earlier in the evening she had left it ajar, something else to be thankful for.

  Using the utmost caution, Phil slipped into the kitchen and drew the door quietly shut behind her. She held the handle until she was sure the snib had fitted into place, then released it slowly and carefully. There was no question of turning on the light. Phil groped her way across the room, finding her way by the gleam of moonlight filtering through the two windows.

  The door to the fire escape had a lock and Phil had never acquired its key, but she saw now with relief that it was, as she had half remembered and half hoped, a Yale lock, so that she would be able to open it from the inside. She eased it open with equal care and a moment later was standing at the top of the fire escape, breathing the cold night air with immense thankfulness and with a pounding heart.

  The episode was not over yet. She had still to get safely down without making enough noise to disturb the two intruders and then make her way out of the yard. Beyond that, she need not think for the moment.

  At last it was done. The back yard door, like the kitchen door which led to the fire escape, was protected by a Yale lock and, in its case, by the addition of a sturdy bolt. Both good protection against attempts to enter, but neither presenting any problem, except the dangers of noise, to someone whose only desire was to get out and away.

  Phil turned the lock carefully, and eased open the bolt.

  She pulled the door shut behind her, took to her heels and put several streets between herself and the flat.

  Only then did she pause to take breath, and to consider for the first time the new problem which now presented itself to her. Where was she going to spend the rest of the night?

  It was mid December, and cold. Her own home was a long walk away. Belfast streets, at this time of night, were not the best place to walk alone. More, what on earth would her parents say if she arrived at this time of night?

  The last problem was the least important. She had her own key, Kevin and Annie would be long since in bed and fast asleep, she would be able to slip in unheard. In the morning, there would be nothing to reveal at what time she had arrived home.

  The long walk was not a major problem either. Phil was young and fit, and quite capable of walking a good deal further if necessary. Besides, the exercise would keep her warm.

  The real problem was that Phil didn't want to walk through Belfast alone at night. It took her only a few minutes, however, to make the decision.

  There was no help for it. She was going to have to walk home because she had no-where else to spend the night. It wasn’t something she would have done by choice but, as things were, it was clear that she didn’t actually have a choice.

  Wasting no further time, Phil began to move, keeping up a steady pace.

  Much to her relief, her journey was undisturbed apart from one incident when she had already been walking for half-an-hour when a large grey cat suddenly jumped up from almost under her feet as she rounded a corner, making her bite her tongue in shock.

  She reached home in the small hours, beating the milkman, and gained her room without waking anyone.

  Sliding thankfully between the bed covers, sure that she was safe again, she was able to think for the first time since her own danger had swamped every other consideration,

  “What am I to do now? How can I let this go on? But how can I tell without involving Davy?”

  It was the gun business all over again, but so much more serious.

  Her thoughts churned round and she lay, tense and sleepless, until the light of morning began finally to creep in through the window.

  Chapter Fifty

  Each night, Phil lay awake fretting herself into a fever, unable to eat or to rest by day.

  In the end, after many days of this, she succumbed in her weakened state to a virus. She was confined to bed with a serious attack of flu.

  Christmas came and went and still Phil lay in bed, tossing and turning. Her parents and her doctor grew more worried as she showed no signs of recovery. Day by day she grew paler and thinner.

  Annie Maguire sat on the edge of her daughter’s bed and held her hand.

  “Phil, dear, you must try to eat something. Please, dear. You can’t go on like this.”

  Phil turned her large, listless eyes towards her mother. For the first time for days she became aware of the presence of someone who was not just a figment of her own mind. Her mother looked desperately worried.

  A sudden feeling of compunction seized Phil.

  “Oh, mammy, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

  Easy tears came to her eyes.

  Annie leaned over and brushed her daughter’s tears away.

  “Well, you have done,” she said gently
, doing her best to look more cheerful. It was the first sign of recovery Phil had shown. “Daddy and I love you very much. We need you to get better.”

  “I will try,” Phil promised weakly.

  “I’m going to bring you some good home-made soup,” Annie said. “If you could manage even a bit, it would help you.”

  Phil obediently took some of the soup, Annie spooning it to her as if she were an infant.

  Then she slept.

  The hot flush of the fever seemed to have receded.

  To her mother’s eye, Phil looked a little better and she was thankful. It was several more days before Phil was ready to leave her bed for a few hours in the afternoon. January was already a week old before she was able to think clearly again.

  “What date is it, mammy?” she asked Annie on her second day out of bed.

  “January the twelfth,” Annie told her.

  Suddenly everything came back to Phil with a sickening rush.

  She said nothing but a clear intention to act in some way took possession of her.

  There was so little time left. Just over a week.

  She must get her strength back and then make some sort of plan.

  It was the next day that Kathy Doherty came in to see Annie in the evening while Phil sat with her mother watching television.

  Kathy and Annie had reached a stage of friendship by now which included occasional calls when there was something important in the way of news to share.

  “It’s a pity you’ve been sick the whole time Sheila’s been here, Phil,’ said Kathy when she was comfortably seated with a cup of tea and Annie had turned off the television. “She was saying she’d have liked to have a chat with you. Now she’s back to work again, getting ready for this new show. Mr. Delmara likes her to be on the spot when there’s something big coming up. She has this wee flat now near his showroom where he can call her in any time for fittings. Makes her work evenings as well as days, she tells me. But there, the money’s good, so it’s well worth it.”

  “What’s the new show, Mrs. Maguire?” asked Phil languidly.