Danny felt the blade jab into the palm of his hand as he let the knife slip from his sleeve in readiness. He sat waiting, hoping the right moment would present itself before Croll did something stupid like pull the trigger. He needed Croll to lower the guns so that they weren't pointing straight at him: that way even if Vincent fired back he'd have less chance of hitting anything.

'You want one?' Danny held up the bottle of beer. He wanted to keep Vincent talking. 'Skeeter Bite! Got a bit of a kick: brewed locally.'

'Thanks, but I got a busy night ahead. Got a visit planned with your neighbours, and a big jug of margaritas across the street, ain't getting any cooler. So much as I'm sure we've got plenty to talk about I can't hang about.'

Out of the corner of his eye Danny noticed a movement on the balcony, but Vincent had caught it too. Suddenly Croll turned and started firing with both guns at whatever was out there. In the same instant Danny raised his arm in a small, but powerful upward movement and flicked his hand forward, releasing his grip on the knife. The dark bone handle spun through the air and delivered the blade deep into Vincent's throat. It struck him with such force that the shiny steel passed clean through his windpipe and out the other side.

Vincent lurched backwards, clawing at his throat. He immediately started retching and coughing as his airways filled with blood.

In the same moment Danny heard a loud, mechanical, rasping noise coming from the balcony.

Vincent started juddering and shaking in a grotesque dancing movement as his body lifted off the ground, and slammed backward against the wall, blood spurting from a cluster of small holes that had suddenly appeared all over his torso.

Hud ducked in through the balcony doors holding an Ingram M10 sub-machine gun. He walked over to Vincent and fired another burst into his head.

'Hope this motherfucker wasn't a friend of yours, Mr O.'

'He was the pizza delivery guy,' said Danny dryly.

Hud turned and stared at Danny.

It took him a few seconds, then he started laughing hard. 'You crack me up man. "Pizza delivery guy"! I was looking at you all serious too,' said Hud, picking the two guns from the floor that Vincent had been holding and passing them over to Danny. 'You hear us banging? We were hitting so hard we nearly knocked a hole in the goddamn wall.'

'I was a bit slow on the uptake,' said Danny. 'I didn't realise until it was too late.'

'Ardel be here in a minute; help us clear up. He was coming along the fire escape the two of us was gonna do a pincer movement on the big motherfucker but Ardel met your girl climbing out the window: she was so scared. She lucky she's alive, cause all Ardel saw was a head poking out and he nearly starts flicking his trigger finger . . . Was a close thing. He's acting like he's her own personal bodyguard now: making sure she gets to her car safe, then he'll be right up. Said to tell you she'll meet you down there. You got Jo to thank for this; she called us, told us Lee Croll was heading over. She's good that way: looks out for us. Says his mug shot's on ABC News: got the headline slot. Man, I told you he was givin off bad vibes. Asshole killed two cops. Jo said to tell you there's a black-and-white of you too, Mr O' Hanlon. Is only a drawing, but she says it's definitely you: you and a girl, who I presume to be the one Ardel is escorting right now. You got to get your skinny white butt in a taxi and cross the state line.'

Hud stepped over Vincent's body and flipped the light switch. 'Man, this dude's got a lot of blood in him for a skinny guy.'

He started laughing again. '"Pizza delivery guy" . . . You crack me up.'

Hud looked round, shaking his head and smiling.

Suddenly he lifted the M10 and pointed it straight at Danny. The wide-mouthed grin was gone, and the frown was back.

'Wait a minute. Who the fuck are you, motherfucker? You ain't Mr O.'

Chapter 28.

Lakeshore Hotel, Tuscaloosa, Easter Sunday 11.17 p.m.

The Hawaiian-style poolside bar they were sitting at looked unconvincing and out of place during daylight hours, but at this time of night with lines of coloured bulbs strung along its dried-grass roofline and the soft glow from the glass-covered candles that flickered on the wooden counter 'Chi Chi's' felt almost authentic: the atmosphere was warm and relaxed.

Palm trees and pots of trailing jasmine helped soften the look of the paved area next to the pool that sat adjacent to the bar. Sinuous patterns, thrown up by the underwater pool lights, flitted and danced along the walls and balconies overlooking the inner courtyard. A few of the small round tables sheltering in the shade of the large palms were occupied by the last of the evening's drinkers.

In another time, and under different circumstances, Marie could imagine this to be one of those nights that left an imprint. The recollection of which at some point in the future would be triggered by a smell or taste, or piece of music that would bring with it a wistful smile: a ghost of a memory in muted shades rather than a vision in glorious Technicolor, but still a night to remember.

As she sipped from the rim of her salted cocktail glass, however, Marie knew she would remember this evening for very different reasons.

Finn took a thick bundle of folded dollars from his pocket and peeled off two bills.

'Cornflake cash?' asked Marie.

'Sure is,' he replied.

'How much had you saved up?'

Finn gave her a sideways glance.

'I'm curious to know how much a cornflake box can hold,' she said defensively. 'I'm not sitting here working out my share.'

'About thirty,' replied Finn.

Marie raised her eyebrows. 'Really. Thirty thou? And, do you have it with milk or fruit juice in the morning?'

Finn smiled, but Marie could tell he was still distracted.

'That a family-size box?' she persisted.

'Sure,' replied Finn. 'There's a diary in there too, takes up a bit of room.'

'You keep records?' said Marie sounding surprised.

'Not like a daily diary, more just a collection of notes; stuff I don't want to forget.'

Marie stared into her glass, mulling something over in her mind.

After a while Finn caught the look and asked, 'What you thinking?'

'I'm thinking why does a guy like you have thirty thousand dollars hidden in a cornflake box?'

Finn shifted awkwardly in his seat and shrugged his shoulders. 'I was saving for a rainy day,' was all he said in reply.

Marie was hoping Finn would open up, give her a little more, but it looked like that was all she was going to get. She turned and smiled and tried to make light of it. 'You're picking me up all wrong. Why did you hide the money in a cornflake box instead of a Krunchy-Bugs box? You'd get more into the Krunchy-Bugs.'

'Yeah . . . but then you've got to eat Krunchy-Bugs.'

'Good point,' nodded Marie. 'But they are "full of oaty goodness".'

Finn sensed he was being evasive and relented slightly. 'Would you believe me if I told you Ardel and Hud gave it to me?'

'Ardel and Hud?'

'I can tell by your eyebrows kissing your fringe you're having difficulty swallowing that one.'

'Ardel and Hud gave you thirty thousand dollars?'

'Not all at once . . . and not for nothing. We look out for each other, and every now and then they give me a kickback. I don't have much to spend it on, so I save. Over the years it's mounted up.'

'Do you deal for them?

Finn smiled. She didn't mind coming at it head-on. Finn admired her for that. 'No, I cover their backs every now and then that's it.'

'You never consider sticking it in the bank: earn some interest at least?'

'Can't use a bank.'

'"Can't" as in you don't know how, or "can't" because you're not allowed?'

'Not allowed,' replied Finn. 'How am I doing?'

'So far your eyes have stayed focused on me. Haven't strayed over to the left once, so I'm going to say . . . I believe you,' answered Marie as she took another sip of sour. 'One last question: is this a rainy day?'

'This is a monsoon and chances are high, there's a storm-front coming in right behind,' he replied. Finn wanted to change the subject now. 'You ready to go again?'

'In the time it takes you to order another I'll be finished the rest of this,' replied Marie, lifting her glass. 'This guy really knows how to mix a sour. The ones I serve in McHales don't taste anything like this. It's like a whole different cocktail.'

Finn caught the barman's attention and indicated 'same again' with a wave of his hands. The guy nodded and started mixing the ingredients for another two whiskey sours in a silver shaker.

'I think he uses eggs,' said Finn, 'to smooth out the taste.'

'Eggs. You sure?'

'Maybe just the whites,' said Finn.

'What does he do with the yolks?'

Finn looked at Marie and smiled. 'You getting high already?'

'Why are you saying that?'

'How do I know what he does with the yolks? Who cares?'

Marie cracked a smile. 'I care.' She put her empty glass down and smacked her lips. 'Damn, these are good.'

Marie leant in closer. She was staring into Finn's eyes, giving him that feeling like floating in warm, still shallows.

'What?' he said, giving her some of it back.

'Let's just get in the car and drive up to Cherokee Falls like we planned. I've got a bad feeling about all this.'

All Finn said was, 'It'll be fine,' then turned to look up at the balcony again.

Finn and Marie had been sitting at Chi-Chi's waiting for 'Mr Leonard' for over an hour. The barman had pointed out room 261 to them, and from where they were sitting they had a reasonable view of his balcony.

Finn lifted the house-phone from the bar and dialled the room again: there was still no reply.

'Maybe Vincent Lee Croll got him,' said Marie, pronouncing his name 'Vinshent'.

Finn gave her another look.

'I know I said Vinshent, I was just fooling,' she said, looking right back at him.

'Vincent didn't get him,' said Finn.

'You seem pretty sure.'

'I am sure' said Finn. 'Did he say anything else, other than tell you he was staying here at the Lakeshore?'

'Said a leprechaun had given him your message and that was why he was here,' said Marie: she'd already told him all this. 'He was very laid-back considering I'd just sprayed a barrel-full of bullets all over the place, even if none of them hit the target. His face was pretty beat up too: like he'd been in a fight, and the other guy was bigger.' Marie paused for a second while she thought, then, 'He said you know who murdered his brother and he wanted to talk.'

Finn sat nodding his head as if this all made sense.

'What you thinking?'

'I'm thinking when Ardel brought you down to the car I should have gone up to the apartment. The guy was right there.'

'But Lee Croll was there too. It would have been suicide. Coming here is bad enough. How do you know you can trust this guy "Mr Leonard" not his real name. I found his lying zone too.'

'If it's who I think it is then I can trust him.'

Marie stared at her drink in silence for a few moments. 'Do you know who killed his brother?' she asked eventually.

'I know a lot about what happened,' replied Finn.

'Couldn't you just call this "Mr Leonard" and tell him over the phone?' asked Marie, a serious tone entering her voice now.

'There's things I need to show him . . . in person.'

'What, like evidence?'

Finn didn't get a chance to answer. The barman slipped a couple of fresh coasters in front of them and placed their drinks on top. 'This for the sours?' he asked, lifting two ten-dollar bills.

Finn nodded, 'Keep the change.'

'Thank you,' said the barman, turning his attention to Marie. 'Excuse me, do we know each other?'