The Drop

Danny would be okay. I couldn’t see why anyone, even someone who had been tailing me for weeks, would consider my bro to be anything other than a washed-up version of his former self. He was obviously a civilian who had nothing to do with any part of Bobby Mahoney’s business but, just to be sure, I had the Glock.
    The bell has never worked as long as I’ve been coming here, so I banged on the door. No answer. I hammered again, a bit louder this time, and still he didn’t come to the door. That wasn’t like him. Danny wasn’t a heavy sleeper even when he’d been drinking. I reached for my keys and found the spare one for the front door that I kept on the fob for emergencies. This was definitely an emergency. I told myself everything would be alright, as I opened the door, but I was already beginning to have a very bad feeling about it.
    My brother could be a bit jumpy, what with his war experiences and everything, so I made sure I didn’t burst in there unannounced. Instead I pushed the door wide and, before I stepped in, I called his name. No answer. The flat was quiet, the lights were on but he didn’t seem to be about. I called his name again, louder this time and that’s when I saw him.
    Danny was sitting in his old arm chair in the lounge. Because his back was to me, the only bit of him I could actually see was his left hand, which was resting on the arm of the chair. It was quite still. My brother wasn’t moving.
    ‘Danny,’ I called quietly at first, because my heart had shot up into my throat, and it was stopping the words from coming out. How could he have not heard me banging on the door? Unless…
    Oh no, not him, not my brother as well.
    ‘Danny!’ I called his name louder now. After all, he could be asleep. I told myself that he could be asleep but I knew he wasn’t asleep. A sleeping person would have heard me by now, ‘oh Christ,’ then I was running across the lino towards him. The bastards had killed my brother.
    I reached the chair and in the same moment I put my palm onto his hand and leaned round to see his poor, dead face.
    And he screamed.
    Danny screamed. He spun towards me and grabbed me by the throat. Next thing I knew I was being lifted off the ground and I was so relieved to see his scared, startled, lovely face that I forget to be annoyed when he upended me in one instinctive, fluid movement and threw me down on the deck. Then he was standing over me, one hand tight round my throat again and the other pulled back and formed into a fist like he was about to smash my bloody face in.
    ‘It’s me, it’s me,’ I gurgled and at that point he seemed to snap out of whatever auto pilot he was on. His eyes narrowed in confusion and he looked at me like I’d gone mad, ‘you’re alive,’ I said, not quite believing it myself, ‘I knocked, I called your name,’ I blurted out by way of explanation, ‘Christ I thought they’d killed you.’ And it was only then I finally realised why he didn’t answer, why he couldn’t hear me. There was a long, thin, white wire hanging down from his ear.
    ‘I was listening to me iPod man!’ he told me with not a little irritation, ‘I said I was going to sort it,’ he was shouting, as one ear piece from the iPod was still in place, the other one had fallen out. He pulled the remaining one free, ‘anyway,’ he asked, ‘who’s supposed to have killed me?’
    Palmer’s guy Toddy sorted me out with a BMW 7 series. He gave Danny his semi automatic. I issued instructions and they left without a fuss. Now that I had Danny with me I could leave Palmer to it.
    In my pocket I still had the shabby little business card Joe Kinane had given me down at the Cronk. I reached for the new phone Palmer’s man had supplied me and dialled. Kinane answered like he’d just woken up.
    ‘I need to meet you,’ I said.
    He recognised my voice straight away, ‘What? Right now? Where? Why?’
    I didn’t have time for subtlety and there was no need for it. I had to get my message across to him so he understood what was going on right away with no pauses, no questions and no fucking about. ‘Bobby’s dead,’ I said and I waited for that to sink in.
    ‘Jesus,’ he said a moment later. ‘Fuck’s sake,’ he added. ‘I don’t believe it.’ He wasn’t doubting me, it was a figure of speech.
    ‘Believe it,’ I told him, ‘it’s true. Bobby’s dead and so is Finney. I’ve seen it with my own eyes.’
    ‘Bloody hell,’ he said as he came to