McGinty addressed the others in the room. "Can I get a few minutes with my friend?"

The room emptied quickly, leaving only Fegan, McGinty, the pale cadaver and the deepening shadows. Fegan kept his eyes on the politician, the coffin between them.

"We have a wee problem," McGinty said, smiling.

Fegan didn't answer. The chill pulsed at his center. Despite himself, he put a hand on his own heart in case the politician would see its cold glow.

"You didn't do what I asked you," McGinty said. "Why not?"

"She's no threat to you. There's no reason to put her out," Fegan said, fighting to keep the anger from his voice.

McGinty stepped closer and rested his hands on the edge of the box. "If I let her stay I look weak. I can't afford to look weak, Gerry. Not now. I've too much at stake. I've already been more generous than that girl deserved. She would've been in the ground long ago if I hadn't indulged Michael. There's a limit to how generous I can be." He looked down at the corpse. "I've already allowed too many things to slide. I owe you a lot, Gerry, but my patience is wearing thin."

Fegan moved around the coffin, heading for the door. McGinty blocked his path.

"I mean it, Gerry. Don't test me. You don't want to tell her, all right, but don't interfere."

Fegan stepped to the side, but McGinty gripped his arm, and the two looked hard into each other's eyes. The politician's thin lips broke into a soft smile. He cupped Fegan's face in his hands, leaned in, and placed a dry kiss on his cheek.

"We've always been such good friends," McGinty said. "Ever since you were a kid. Don't fuck it up over a woman. Not a whore like Marie McKenna."

Fegan's cheek burned. He pulled away and finally reached the door. The people on the landing made way for him, and he hurried down the stairs. He stopped dead when he reached the bottom.

Davy Campbell nodded. Fegan nodded back, ignoring the crackling in his temples and the shadows moving in from the edge of his vision. Campbell had changed since Fegan saw him last. Thinner. Darker round the eyes. Death clings to men who've wielded it, like the stench of the abattoir. Fegan imagined they could smell it on each other, as a dog knows friend from enemy by scent alone. He opened the front door and left Campbell staring after him.

23.

Campbell watched Fegan disappear around the corner. As he went back into the house the mixture of fear, hate and anger in Fegan's eyes lingered with him. He looked like a killer, the purest kind, the kind who killed more out of want than need. Campbell sniffed and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. He made his way upstairs, struggling to squeeze through the mourners who had parted so easily for Fegan. He entered the bedroom where Caffola's body lay. McGinty had his back to the door.

"I want that cunt sorted, Davy," McGinty said without looking round.

"When?" Campbell asked.

"The day after tomorrow. I don't want the press getting distracted from my speech at the funeral, but no later than that."

"Whatever you say." Campbell walked around the coffin to face McGinty. "What about the woman?"

"Eddie Coyle can sort it out," McGinty said. "I made a kind gesture, letting Father Coulter speak to her, and she threw it back in my face. Well, no more. Eddie won't be so polite about it."

"What if he fucks it up? He's not the brightest."

"What's to fuck up? All he's got to do is put a brick through her window. Still, you've got a point. Maybe you should go with him."

"He won't like that," Campbell said.

"I don't care what he likes," McGinty said. "He'll do what he's told. And, Davy, listen to me."

"Yeah?"

"Whatever happens, don't hurt Marie or the wee girl, all right? Frighten them if you have to, but don't hurt them."

Something moved behind McGinty's eyes. Campbell only caught a glimpse of it.

"They won't get hurt. I'll make sure of it." Campbell looked down at Vincie Caffola's peaceful face. "Why'd Fegan do it?"

"Christ knows. He's off his head, so maybe he didn't need a reason. Anyway, if he hadn't done it, I would have, eventually. Caffola had a big mouth. It's no great loss."

"Then why go after Fegan now?" Campbell asked.

"Because if he thinks he can get away with it, where's he going to stop? Besides, the old man has spoken. Bull O'Kane won't have any unauthorised actions, even if they're against pieces of shit like this."

Campbell caught a scent and followed it. "So, the Bull still calls the shots? I thought he'd retired."

"Bull?" McGinty's laugh was laced with a little fear. "Christ, he won't retire until he's in a box himself. And no, he doesn't call the shots. But the boys on the street still look up to him. Us politicians have to indulge him sometimes."

McGinty stepped away from the coffin, then stopped and turned to look down at the corpse. He leaned forward and spat on Caffola's pale face. "You had it coming," he said, and left the room.

Campbell hung his new black suit from the handle on his bedroom door as he held the phone between his shoulder and his ear, listening to the ring tone. The handler answered, breathless.

"McGinty told me to do Fegan," Campbell said.

"When?"

"Day after tomorrow."

"After the funeral. Clever bastard. He wants to milk Caffola's death all he can. Try to move it forward a bit - give the press something else to think about - no point letting McGinty squeeze any more out of this than absolutely necessary."

"I'll see what I can do." Campbell removed the price tags from the suit. It was cheap, but it would do. It was only a thug's funeral, after all. "By the way, he let an interesting scrap slip: Bull O'Kane's still in the picture."

"The Bull was supposed to have retired," the handler said. "Last I heard he was putting his feet up at that farm on the border."

"Well, apparently not. That old bastard still carries some weight. The politicians don't have it all their own way."

"I'll pass it on. Anything else?"

"Just one thing. Once I've taken care of Fegan, what then? Do I stay in Belfast with McGinty or go back to Dundalk?"

"Not so fast," the handler said. "We've been talking at this end. My superiors think it's time you came out for good. I agree. You've been under for a long time."

Campbell gave a hard laugh. "What are you talking about?"

"How old are you now? Thirty-eight? You're not getting any younger. All right, you're still sharp enough, but for how long? All it takes is one slip. Get out while you're still young enough to have a life in the real world, away from all that shit."

Campbell dropped the suit onto the bed. "This is my life."

"Life? You call that a life? You've been under too long, Campbell. It's just not healthy. And besides, things are winding down there. You've seen the changes. The soldiers are off the streets, the watch - towers are being pulled down. Think about it: once this mess is cleaned up, what good are you doing there?"

"The dissidents. They're organising. They'll be-"

"They're a bunch of has-beens who can't accept it's over. Plumbers and bricklayers who call themselves soldiers. They're no use to anybody now, just dinosaurs who forgot to lie down and die. They destroyed themselves in Omagh, and they'll never recover. You know that, you spent time with them."

"There's the Loyalists. They're still-"

"They're what? They're pushing drugs and counterfeit handbags between bumping each other off. The police can deal with them." The handler sighed. "Listen, I'm not asking, I'm telling. Once you're done there, you're coming out. At least take some leave, just to get your head straight. And don't worry about money. I'll make sure you're looked after."

"Fuck the money. It's not about the money."

"Take it easy, Campbell. We'll organise some leave for you when you've taken care of Fegan. A holiday. Where would you like to go? The Mediterranean, the Bahamas, Thailand?"

"Fuck you," Campbell said as he hung up.

He threw the phone on top of the suit and paced the small bedroom. Leave? Get out? Why? Go back to what?

Campbell crossed to the dressing table, opened the drawer, and ran his fingers through the soft plume of his Red Hackle.

24.

The sun dipped towards the rooftops as Fegan rang Marie McKenna's doorbell. Her flat was on the ground floor of the old red-brick terraced house. The drawn curtains twitched in the bay window by the door. His skin tingled when he heard her footsteps approach from inside.

Marie opened the door and smiled. "Thanks for coming," she said. She stepped back to let him in. Her eyes were puffy from crying.

"Have you eaten?" she asked as they walked along the hallway. A bicycle was propped at the foot of the stairs leading to the flats above.

"Not since this morning," Fegan lied. His stomach had still been reeling from the whiskey and no solid had passed his lips that day.

"You must be starving," Marie said, showing him into the flat. "I'm just about to make something for Ellen and me. You'll have some too."

It was more an instruction than an invitation.

"Hiya!" Ellen chimed as he entered. She lay on the floor, a coloring book and crayons strewn around her. The flat was open-plan, with the living area to the front, a kitchenette to the rear. Two doors opened off this room, leading to the back of the house.

"Hello, Ellen," he said.

Fegan took in the large open space, and the homey objects scattered about it. His own home was drab and spare by comparison, decorated only by the wooden objects he'd made himself. He clutched one of them, wrapped in plastic.

"Lookit," Ellen said, climbing to her feet. She brought the coloring book over for him to see. There was a picture of a pig in a little dress. Ellen had colored it all green.

'Very good," he said.

Marie stroked her daughter's hair. "Ellen, leave Gerry alone a while, okay?"

Ellen pouted. "Okay."

As Marie took his coat, Fegan said, "I brought you something." He handed her the plastic bag as his cheeks grew hot.

"Oh?" She opened it.

Fegan had found the piece of oak on a derelict site near his home. It might once have been a small part of a mantelpiece or a banister. He had worked with the grain over weeks, sanding into its flow, until it became a fluid shape like a river current. He smoothed out the hole where a knot had been, and built up thin layer after thin layer of varnish, buffing between coats until it looked like it burned from within. To finish, he mounted it on a slate base.

"It's beautiful," Marie said.

"It was just gathering dust in my house," Fegan said. "It'll look better here."

"Thank you." She placed it on a table by the window next to an open laptop computer.

"Anything?" Fegan asked.

"Nothing. It's been quiet. I've been working, mostly." She studied the piece in what little light the drawn curtains let through.

"It'll be dark in a couple of hours. They'll come after that."

"And what'll you do?" she asked, turning back to him.

"Talk to them," he said.

"Talk? I doubt they'll listen."

"Well, then I'll try . . . something else."

Marie stared at him for a beat then said, "I'm glad you came."

Dinner was simple - grilled chicken breast with boiled new potatoes and salad - but Fegan devoured it like it was his last meal. When Marie asked if he wanted more, he said yes before she'd finished the question. The time since anyone had made him a home-cooked meal could not be counted in weeks, months or even years. It was almost two decades since he had last sat at a table and eaten with people he knew and liked.

Ellen had meticulously separated the red-leaf salad from the green, and banished it to the side of her plate. Likewise, she had removed dark spots from the potato skins with the care and precision of a surgeon, and deposited them with the unwanted salad. Other than that, she had cleared her plate whilst chatting to Fegan about shoes, drawing and Peppa Pig.

"What's Peppa Pig?" Fegan asked.

Ellen giggled, and said, "Silly."

Fegan didn't inquire further.

When the meal was done, Marie stood and shooed Ellen away to her coloring books lying strewn around the living area.

"So, what happens after tonight?" she asked. She began clearing the table. "Say you see them off. They'll just come back with more tomorrow, won't they?"

"Maybe," Fegan said. "I'll come back and take care of it again, if you want me to."