He ordered another drink and bought one for the old alky in the corner. Yeah, better here than in the city centre. He knew if he’d stayed, he would have drawn attention to himself by fucking over the couple of U2 T-shirt wearing pricks who were starting to take the piss out of him. He considered for a moment taking them out the back of the pub and biting the faces off both of them. Any other day he would have really enjoyed that. That would teach them to fuck with him. No - he was proud he was able to leave before the rage came and spoiled his night completely. He was still angry when he got to the door of the hotel, but now he was calm.

He ordered a night cap and allowed himself to think about tomorrow. He could taste the terror Cormac would feel when he realised the choice he was faced with. He ached for the moment when Cormac O’Reilly MP realised Liam Conlon had outsmarted him, caught up with him, and now owned him! He thought of Friday night, watching the news break, the scampering reporters, all fighting for the best vantage point; all scratching their heads at the simple brilliance of the mastermind behind the biggest terrorist attack on the establishment since 9/11. He was on the threshold of shaking the established order to its foundations. He knew there was little chance of sleep tonight.

He shook the pimp’s hand.

He started out low.

He’d have happily paid double for her.

29

By the time Cormac reached the car park, Harry had already started the engine. Annie and Claire were curled around each other in the back, desperately trying to make up for the sleep they’d lost last night. He’d been delayed in trying to find the young Polish girl who lived to work in the hotel. He found her, looking completely exhausted, sweeping tables in the deserted bar. She appeared very grateful for his words of advice on her ‘work-life balance’ and her mood was further elevated by the two hundred Euros he gave her. His lowered somewhat when she said it was only fair that she share it with her twin, who worked the evening shift last night while she was at the U2 concert and Lily’s Bordello until four o’clock in the morning!

He was convinced he’d gotten less sleep than the girls, though he was pretty sure by the look of them the quality of their experience outweighed his considerably. He gave up trying at four-thirty when his head threatened to explode with his constant replaying of the events of the day with Bernadette. The signs were there. She refused to talk about her marriage or future plans. He tried to talk about Annie, to no avail, and she showed no real interest in his life or his future. She was not someone who was ever intending to stick around and move forward with him. He was annoyed with himself for being so stupid. They hardly even knew each other. If he was brutally honest with himself, only a week ago, she would’ve barely registered in his thoughts at all. Yes, all that happened was he’d let a bit of silly nostalgia get in the way of reality. He’d allowed his grief to unhinge him for a short while. It was as simple as that. If that was the case, and he was sure it was, then why did he feel like his heart had been ripped from his chest, stamped on from a great height and shoved back in the wrong way?