Finn tried not to smile. 'Is that one of your curve balls?'

'No.'

'Why don't you turn round now?'

'I'm checking if it's possible to hear your lying zone.'

'No. I didn't go through your underwear drawer,' replied Finn.

'I don't even need to see your eyes to know you're a lying son-of-a-bitch,' said Marie. 'I've got a system too: smalls with string to the right, lacies beside them, cottons next to them and bras over on the left. When I came home to get changed they were all mixed up.'

'You see! I'm engaging with you in a conversation and you've got me tried and convicted already.'

'Were you checking my ass out this morning when I was getting dressed?'

'Curve ball?' asked Finn.

'No.'

'Of course . . . I wasn't checking out your ass.'

Marie turned back to face him.

'Liar,' continued Marie. 'I watched your reflection in the mirror you were staring at it like you'd never seen an ass before.'

'You were sticking it in my face. I had no option. And to be honest I haven't seen an ass quite like that before.'

Marie liked that.

'Do you want to kiss me?' she said.

Here was the curve ball, flying towards him at a hundred miles an hour.

Marie was staring straight at him, taking him on.

Finn hesitated before saying, 'Yes . . . but not on the mouth.'

Marie liked that one too. She let it sink in. The atmosphere in the room had changed: it was still hot and sticky, but suddenly that didn't seem so bad.

Finn and Marie were just inches apart.

'Do you want to lick me?'

'No.'

'Liar. Do you want to fuck me?'

'No,' replied Finn, looking deep into her eyes.

'Liar,' said Marie.

Their lips were almost touching.

Suddenly Finn pulled away.

'I thought you told them I'd asked for a beer?'

Marie's brow furrowed. 'Are you fucking serious?' she asked. 'I'm just about to get naked here. What the hell does beer have to do with anything?'

'You told them, the only thing I did was to ask you for a beer.'

'Are we still playing the game?' asked Marie, 'because I don't know what the hell is going on now.'

'No,' said Finn, aware that the tone on his voice was freaking her out.

'I said to them the only conversation we had was you asking for a beer . . . Jesus Finn.'

'How do you know I lived in Cottondale?'

The last question caught Marie in the stomach, knocking the air out of her. She'd thrown Finn a curve ball, but he'd hit it straight back at her. Suddenly she understood why the cops had exchanged a look. It was right around the time she'd said 'Who, the black guy in the alley or the guy from Cottondale who knows how to handle a gun?' How could she possibly have known he was from Cottondale unless they'd had more of a conversation?

'Well, I'll tell them I forgot that bit in all the excitement of people getting fucking shot. Why does it matter?'

'It matters because it's inconsistent. To their way of thinking it looks like you're holding out on them. They're going to pick through everything you tell them from now on with a fine-toothed comb.'

'Well, I won't be telling them anything else now that we're on the run, so don't worry about it.'

Finn stood up and walked over to the window. 'It's not a game, Marie. You're the innocent party in all this and you're in danger of ending up in some very deep shit.'

'So what d'you want me to do? Drive back to Tuscaloosa and hand myself in? Tell them the guy they're looking for has been staying in my apartment?'

'Yes.'

Marie was staring up at Finn in disbelief. 'Are you fucking serious? What about the press guys who saw us leaving together in the same car . . . how do I explain that?'

'Tell them I'd threatened to kill you and you were scared.'

'Jesus Finn when you throw a curve ball . . . Whoa! It's not a ball, it's more like a goddamn hand grenade.'

'I don't know what's coming my way, but it's not going to be good. I don't want you getting caught in the crossfire. It's real you could end up dead.'

Marie watched Finn turn and look out the window.

'Doesn't mean we can't fuck.'

Finn stood with his back to her and didn't answer.

'You still there?'

'Yeah, I'm thinking I need to go to the apartment.'

'Now? Why don't we wait: go tomorrow evening?'

'I should probably go alone.'

'Oh yeah?

Finn heard her jangling the car keys.

'And how you going to get there . . . you planning to walk?'

Chapter 24.

Cottondale, Alabama Easter Sunday evening

The storm clouds had passed swiftly over the low-rise buildings of Cottondale, giving way to a bruised-blue evening sky and light drizzling rain.

Danny was parked in a side street across from Finn O'Hanlon's apartment.

The three-storey red-brick building opposite had graffiti covering the walls of the ground floor, and the majority of the windows looked like they'd been boarded up for some time. The entire neighbourhood looked like it had been boarded up along with it.

A Victorian-style balcony ran the full length of the building on the first and second floors, with heavy glass panels acting as dividers between each of the apartments. The white paint on the balustrade had crackled and peeled in the humid atmosphere: the exposed wood underneath was grey and rotten.

Danny had planned to drive around for most of the day to familiarise himself with the area, but there wasn't a lot to see: he was all done within less than an hour. Cottondale was not the sort of place you'd take a tour bus to: even after sundown, when the appearance of every other small town in America improved under the soft glow of orange sodium, it still looked bleak. If O'Hanlon was the Thevshi then he must have been really desperate not to be found, to put up with living here. It was a good place to hide, but a shit place to live.

Danny had been sitting in the car long enough to get himself noticed, but not long enough to know for certain if there was anyone inside O'Hanlon's apartment. Aside from an old Mercedes that had circled the block two or three times like the driver was lost the street was deserted. However, even odd places have their own normality: a rhythm of life imperceptible to the casual passer-by. A guy sitting in a car on his own for most of the afternoon would be sure to attract attention: a beat out of time. It was time to make a move.

Danny pulled the MSG90's scope from its soft leather pouch and sited it on O'Hanlon's front room. The magnified image told him nothing that he didn't already know: the flat was empty.

Situated directly opposite the shabby apartment block sat a small glass-fronted coffee shop with high stools facing out onto the street. From there he'd have a clear view of the first-floor balcony and the front door to the building: it would be easier to see who was entering and leaving. Maybe he'd go in and have a Coke, wait around for another twenty minutes or so to see if anyone showed up: or alternatively he could head into 'Jo's Bar' on the far corner and get a beer. Or maybe he'd just walk across the street and ring the bloody doorbell: the chances of O'Hanlon still being around were nil.

Danny wanted to have a nose around, get a feel for who this guy was: hopefully find a photograph so that at the very least he would know what the guy looked like. He flipped the handle on the glove box and lifted out the Walther PPK to check it was loaded. He'd already checked it ten times, but it was something to do. Danny liked the feel of the PPK in his hand. It was a good weight; comfortable grip too. He tucked it in his belt, pulled on his leather jacket and got out of the car. Immediately Danny wished he'd worn his light cotton Harrington instead. This late at night even with the light rainfall the temperature was still in the eighties. Before he'd reached the other side of the street he was covered in sweat. The heat was fine; it was the humidity that made it unbearable. Danny never imagined he'd long for the cold grey Newry drizzle, but anything was better than this.

There was a light on in the apartment next to O'Hanlon's. Whoever was in there was playing gospel music too loud for the time of night, but it sounded good echoing down the deserted street.

Of the twenty or so rectangular slots in the brass-framed plate screwed to the sidewall at the entrance, only three had names written in them. Flat B Four O'Hanlon's was one of the blanks. The other names looked like they were Polish or Russian something Eastern European.

Danny pressed the buzzer and waited.

Nothing.

Earlier on he'd driven down the alleyway at the rear of the building. It ran north to south along the back of the block. Danny decided to head round there and look for a way inside.

As he turned to walk away the lock on the main door suddenly buzzed and clicked open. The noise startled him. He hadn't expected a response.

He peered from underneath the overhang to see if anyone was looking down at him from the balcony of O'Hanlon's flat, but there was no one there.

Danny hadn't really thought this through: he'd been so sure O'Hanlon was gone.

Reading off one of the other nameplates he leant forward and pressed O'Hanlon's buzzer again. 'Mr Slovensky, parcel for you. You want me to bring it up?' Danny said trying an American accent.

There was still no answer, but the lock buzzed again. The tall main door creaked and groaned loudly as Danny pushed against it, the sound reverberating down the hollow corridors. If O'Hanlon was upstairs waiting for him then he would know for certain that Danny was inside the building.

The place looked derelict. The only evidence that anything had ever lived there was the overpowering smell of piss and dog shit. And the temperature inside was worse than outside.

Halfway along the unlit corridor sat two doors adjacent to one another; wooden battens were nailed across their frames, barring entry. At the far end was a stairwell leading to the upper floors.

Danny wiped the sweat from his forehead and stood for a moment, taking in his surroundings. The foul smell made him want to retch.

It struck Danny that this was a suitable place for a tout to live: hiding out in a shithole like a fucking rat. Served O'Hanlon right.

He turned back towards the entrance and took a big gulp of fresh air, then quickly made his way to the other end of the hallway. When he reached the stairwell he checked there was no one looking down on him before silently climbing the stairs to the first floor.

Danny was soon standing outside the door to O'Hanlon's apartment: listening for any signs of movement. But it was difficult to hear anything over the din of the gospel music.

He stood for two or three minutes before creeping back along the corridor towards the stairwell and up to the next floor. As he suspected, the apartment directly above also had a piece of two-by-two nailed across the doorframe. In a matter of seconds he had ripped the timber off, and using his Wiggler Rakes and a heavy shoulder managed to force open the door.

The air inside the apartment was dry and musty, and particles of dust, disturbed by Danny's intrusion, swirled in front of him, catching what little light there was spilling in through the windows.

In the middle of the room sat the carcass of an old sofa and next to it the remains of an upright piano. It looked as if the previous occupants had tried to strip it down in order to transport it elsewhere, then given up.

Danny tried the doors leading to the balcony and was surprised to find that they weren't locked. He stepped out into the warm night air and peered over the edge of the wooden balustrade. Beneath him he could see the irregular pulse of Cathode-ray blue illuminating the balcony adjacent to O'Hanlon's and he could hear the soaring voices of the gospel choir as their song reached its hallowed conclusion. Danny didn't mind the music, but he wished they'd turn the volume down.

The drop to the balcony below looked no more than six or seven feet. After checking that the street was still empty, Danny climbed over the railings and started to lower himself down.

He realised too late that he'd underestimated: even at full stretch he couldn't feel the top rail of the balustrade below. The only option he had was to drop lower and hold on to the concrete lip that ran around the bottom edge of the balcony, but there was no way of pulling himself back up.

The palms of his hands were covered in sweat and he could feel his grip starting to slip. If O'Hanlon looked out of his lounge window right now, it would be all over for Danny.

'You breaking in or breaking out?'

The voice startled Danny so much that his right hand lost its grip on the wooden balustrade, leaving only his left to take his weight. As he scrambled desperately to regain a hold, the voice came again.

'There ain't nothing to steal round here so I'm guessing you musta forgot your keys or something.'

Danny managed to grab on and twist his head round. His instinct was to reach for his gun, but there was no way he could do that without falling thirty feet onto the sidewalk.