Читаем The Hunter полностью

“Some of them carrots,” Mart advises him. “They were fierce flavorsome, so they were.”

“I might throw in some of those either way,” Cal agrees. “And I’ve gotta build us a bed, too. Most guys just hire a carpenter to do it, these days, but I’m lucky that way.”

“Jesus, man,” Malachy says, eyebrows up. “You weren’t joking about being busy.”

“Nope,” Cal says, smiling at him. “And somewhere in there, I gotta find time for the ancient tradition of looking a guy in the eye and calling bullshit.”

That gets a roar of laughter, and Malachy takes a couple of arm-punches. “Didn’t I tell you?” Mart says, delighted. “I told you this lad wasn’t some fool of a tourist that’d fall for your guff. I shoulda made you put money on it.”

“Get off me,” Malachy says, grinning. “ ’Twas worth a go. He’da been only gorgeous jogging down the road in his boxers.”

“I’da bought Jason Momoa ones,” Cal says. “In honor of Senan.”

“He had you there with the rabbit,” Mart says, jabbing Malachy gleefully in the shoulder. “Admit it.”

“He did not. I was only—”

“Have you really got to bring Mike a rabbit?” P.J. asks Cal, trying to get matters straight.

“Nah,” Cal says. “Probably I oughta buy him a beer, though, just to get on his good side.”

“My round,” Senan says, reminded by this. “Barty! Same again!”

Cal finishes off his pint to make room for the new one. After all this time, the guys still have the power to impress him by the flawless, impregnable unity with which they come together in a common cause. He passed this test, at least, but he’s under no illusion that it’ll be the last.

Mart is still gloating at Malachy and Senan, who are defending themselves vehemently. “I asked Lena to marry me, one time,” Bobby confides in Cal, under cover of the argument. “I kinda reckoned she’d say no, but I hadta give it a go. I knew she wouldn’t give me shite over it either way, d’you see. There’s some ones around here, if you proposed to them, you’d never hear the end of it.”

“Well,” Cal says, “I gotta admit, I’m glad she turned you down.”

“True enough,” Bobby says, struck by this. “Every cloud has a silver lining, isn’t that what they say? Only now there’s no one left around here that I can ask.” He sighs, down at his glass. “That’s what I liked about all that carry-on with the gold,” he says. “I thought I’d a chance.”

“You just liked having a posh cousin,” Senan tells him.

“No,” Bobby says mournfully. “I liked having a chance. Only I never did. And now he’s gone and got himself murdered, and even if I hadda had a chance, I don’t now.”

The drink is starting to get to Bobby. “I never once expected him to get murdered,” he tells Cal. “That’s not the kinda thing anyone could see coming. And now there’s detectives knocking on doors, disturbing everyone’s dinner. My mammy’s digestion was ruint for the whole night.”

At the mention of detectives, the other conversations fall away. The men’s feet shift under the table, and then are still.

“I didn’t like that fucker,” Francie says. “The detective. Nealon.”

“He’s smooth,” P.J. says, “so he is. Sly. And pretending he’s not.”

“I nearly decked the little prick,” Senan says. “Sitting in my kitchen complimenting my missus’s tea, hearty as Santy, like he’s an old pal of mine, and then outa the blue he said to me, ‘I’m working on a list of everyone that had any problems with Rushborough. Is there anyone else that you can think of?’ I don’t mind him asking questions, it’s his fuckin’ job, but I mind him thinking I’m thick enough to fall for that.”

“He’s a Dub, sure,” Malachy says, the corner of his mouth lifting ironically. “They’d always reckon we’ll fall for their guff.”

“He said to me,” Bobby says, worried, to Cal, “he said, ‘No need to come into the station yet, we’ll chat here for now.’ What did he mean by that? ‘For now’?” He has his glass clutched in both hands.

“If you weren’t fuckin’ wojous at cards,” Senan says, “you’d know a bluff when you hear one. He was trying to shake you up, so’s you’d give something away. That’s how they work. Don’t they?” he shoots at Cal.

“Sometimes,” Cal says. The air in the alcove has tightened. They’re coming closer to the evening’s business.

“I still haven’t met the man,” Mart says, put out. “He called round, but I was away to town. I came home to a pretty wee card through the door, saying he’d try me again. Here’s me only dying to make his acquaintance, and he’s off bothering the likes of ye who don’t appreciate him at all.”

“Tell us, so,” Senan says to Cal. “What does he reckon?”

“What are you asking him for?” Mart demands. “Sure, how would he know?”

“He’s a fuckin’ detective. They talk shop, same as anyone else.”

“He’s not a fuckin’ detective as far as your man’s concerned. He’s a suspect, the same as yourself and myself.”

“Are you?” Senan asks Cal. “A suspect?”

“Nealon wouldn’t tell me if I was,” Cal says. “But yeah, probably, as much as anyone else. I was here. I knew Rushborough. I can’t be ruled out.”